The Claim (12 page)

The truth. The most dissatisfying and disappointing meal she’d ever had.

Her head feeling like it was full of static, Anna didn’t know she was at Rocco’s house until he opened the door. “Hi!” he beamed at her, his dark eyes glowing with pleasure.
Is that really for me?
she thought. The fight with Imogen was still rippling over her, and she really was finding it difficult to form words. “Are you okay, Annie?”

“Who is it?” Anna heard Nonna yell from inside.

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

Rocco lifted a brow. “Who the hell are you and what did you do with Anna Taylor?”

“What?”

“You apologised,” he said slowly.

“No, I just— Look, I didn’t mean to interrupt you at dinner. I honestly don’t know what I’m doing here. I’ll go.”

Rocco caught her by the arm and pulled her inside. “I’m glad you’re here.” He closed the door behind her, tucked her hand into his own and tugged her toward his dining room. “Nonna, look who dropped by.”

Nonna Mamione had her glasses around her neck topping  a twinset, and a long grey skirt printed with white flowers. “My lawyer! You look upset. Have some of this.”

She poured something that looked like lemonade into a glass. “You’re not driving, are you? Rocky, don’t let her get in a car after this.”

Rocco pressed a kiss to her temple. “A sip may just knock you out, so just before you pass out remember you came here voluntarily.”

She laughed. “Yeah. I will. Thank you, Mrs. Mamione.”

Nonna frowned. “Hmm. What did I tell you?”

“No fighting,” Rocco commanded. “Annie, sit down, grab a plate and help yourself.”

“What are you eating?” she asked, and as soon as she approached the table her stomach grumbled. Rocco curved his hands around her waist.

“Sea bass and basil mash. Let me take your coat.” She unravelled herself from the coat and sat down.

“No Mama Mamione tonight?” Anna asked.

Nonna rolled her eyes. “She’s having an evening off from me, so I’ve come to my grandson’s. Do you like fish?”

“I do. No, no, you don’t have to serve me.”

“Be quiet, we’ve only just sat down to eat. We were talking and making dessert first.”

Anna perked up. “What did you make?”

“Triple-layered cherry mousse cake.”

She nearly melted into a puddle on the chair. “That sounds good.”

Nonna pushed a plate with two huge pieces of fish, cherry tomatoes, olives, sitting on top of pale green-coloured mashed potato and what smelled like chili oil. “Now eat.”

Rocco re-entered the room with another glass. “For your water. You’ll need it when you’ve had that cocktail.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“Nonna, you’ve got the most deliberately unsteady hand when it comes to pouring alcohol. I’m just giving Annie fair warning.” He sat next to Anna, his hand warm on her thigh as he started eating with his other hand. Neither he nor Nonna pressed her into their conversation, but they both spoke in English, an invitation for her to join in when she was ready. The fish melted in the mouth and the chili oil had the most wonderful level of heat. Politeness stopped her from licking her plate clean. Then Nonna brought out the cake, and nothing could stop her from running the tip of her finger over the cherry liqueur-flavoured cream barely left on her dessert bowl. Still talking around her, Rocco put his arm around the back of her chair and gently tugged on the ends of her hair. While it felt dreamy, Anna started getting angry. Really angry. Imogen’s words started to echo in her head, almost as if Anna hadn’t made a single reply to her utter ridiculousness.

“What’s wrong with your face?” Nonna demanded. “You look like you’re about to explode!”

Rocco picked her up. “Annie needs to vent.” He led her upstairs to his bedroom and closed the door. “Go for it.”

It was mostly profanity, but to be able to scream what she was feeling was the best release. “God, that motherfucking bitch,” she ended on a whisper.

“You good?” he asked.

“No,” she sighed. “I think I need more cake.”

He gave her a quick kiss and led her back downstairs. Nonna was finishing the cocktail. “Impressive vocabulary,” she said dryly.

“Thanks,” Anna muttered. “May I have some more cake, please?”

“Was that really over cake?”

“No, Nonna.”

Nonna cut her a huge slice and heaved it into her bowl. “People will always disappoint you. Because they’re human, or dickheads. Normally dickheads, but humans tend to make mistakes. The trick is to not let those mistakes hold you back, or you end up regretting the mistakes
you
made.”

“Right,” Anna mumbled around the cake. It was utterly sinful. Enzo Vitale clearly had been denied cake all his life. If he’d had even a crumb of one of Nonna’s creations, he wouldn’t have been so short-sighted as to get rid of such a jewel. “This is the best cake I’ve ever had.”

“Good!” Nonna looked smug. “Rocky, get some coffee. Espresso.”

“What? I’ll never sleep!”

Rocco kissed the top of her head. “Maybe I’ll help you.”

Oh God, don’t let me start getting turned on with his grandmother in the room. It’s creepy.
“Tea. Please.”

The tea calmed her, and on her second cup with some biscotti, Rocco and Nonna moved her into the living room. The armchair she curled up in was better than her own bed. How different his house was now! So much more comfortable. She'd felt nervous going to Rocco's home just for the fact that she didn't want to make a mess—it had been
Elle Decoration
perfect.

It seemed like a minute later when Rocco said softly, “
Tempesta,
I'm just going to drop Nonna home, okay? I'll be back in fifteen minutes.”

“Oh. Well, I’ll just go home.”

“No, no, no. Please, stay. I won't be long.” She received a long, luscious kiss for her troubles and then Nonna's dulcet cackle rent her ears. “See you, screamer.”

She winced and hoped it was a nickname that wouldn’t stick. “Nonna, I do need to talk to you, actually.”

“Tomorrow. Eleven thirty.”

Anna could have found her phone and checked her diary, but she honestly didn't have the energy. “Okay, Nonna.”

As soon as the door closed, Anna placed her cup and plate in the dishwasher and switched it on. Then she traipsed upstairs and showered, using that body-melting scented gel that Rocco used. He had some simple body cream which she used liberally. In his underwear drawer, she found options for nightwear and decided a pair of boxers and a t-shirt would be adequate. Goodness, he didn't half have tight underwear. The boxers on her bottom looked like leggings shrunk in the wash.

Pulling them into some sort of comfort, she slipped between his cool sheets. Awesome mattress, she thought, wriggling into position. Exhaustion settled on her, and she felt a very sad sting of tears in her eyes. She really wished someone had told her just how much more painful it is to lose a friend than a lover. Pulling the duvet over her head, not even waiting for Rocco to return, she fell asleep.

Chapter Thirteen

Rocco closed the front door behind him and set the outer alarm. His nonna’s words were still ringing in his ears. “Try jewellery. Who needs friends when you have diamonds?”

He gave his scalp a rub. “Annie?” he called. The only response was the assured hum of the dishwasher. “Annie?” A worried feeling filtered through him until he looked in the dining room. Her bag was still sitting on the spare chair. Bedroom, then. He jogged lightly up the stairs and pushed open the bedroom door. A chuckle escaped his throat at the sight of that sweet little lump beneath the duvet. What a day. Unable to keep the grin off his face, he made sure the house was secure then showered before joining Anna in the bed. He did put on pyjama bottoms just to protect his manhood in case Anna freaked out about his nudity.

“You’re back then,” she mumbled, turning over and resting her head on his chest. He curled his arm around her shoulders to cuddle her closer.

“Yeah. I’d have got back faster if I knew you were going to be camping in my bed.”

“I slept for all of ten minutes.”

He slowly stroked his thumb over the soft skin of her bare shoulder. “Still angry?”

“So fucking mad.”

“Tell me,” he insisted. The swearing bout hadn’t worked—she obviously needed to really vent about it.

Anna turned onto her stomach and leaned on his ribs. “You know what really fucks me off? It’s the fact that she spoke to me as if she has the smallest idea what it’s like to
be
me. Like I just woke up one morning and I had everything. I worked for it! I studied for weeks to figure out how to help my aunt, and because my aunt is a decent woman, she gave me that money for my GDL. But that didn’t cover my living expenses, so I worked two jobs. I’ve been working two jobs since I turned seventeen. I’ve only just paid off my student loans even though I’ve lumbered myself with a mortgage, which I am paying by myself. I didn’t marry the first banker who looked the other way to my shagging about to fund my lack of direction in life.”
Ouch
, Rocco thought. If Imogen didn’t deserve it... “Even when I got a training contract, because I had more than education on my CV, do you know how many times I spoke to clients on the phone and as soon as they came to the office, they were all ‘oh, you’re black!’ Do you have any idea just how fucking insulting that is?”

He had an idea, from when he’d started his police station accreditation and his clients breathed a sigh of relief.
No offence, it’s better if a white guy represents me.
Telling them that it wasn’t strictly the case would have made matters unnecessarily complex. “How shitty it made me feel?” Anna went on. “But I put up with it, like I put up with a lot of things. I just got the fuck on with things so I could qualify. And that bitch, that fucking
cunt
, think she knows what it is to be me, that she has a vague idea of what I’ve gone through, what I’ve experienced because she can’t see past my colour? I’m not anything but black?”

“You know she said that to get to you.”

“And it’s fucking worked!” she fumed. “You know she had the cheek to say that she did me a favour because your mother wouldn’t appreciate a black daughter-in-law?”

Rocco gave a disbelieving laugh. “She was at my birthday. It was Moroccan themed for a reason. If she had the vaguest understanding of Sicilian history, she’d know that we’re pretty diverse.”

“Yes, but the doubt’s in my head now.”

“Stop it,” he told her. “My family’s not like that, we’re so mixed we don’t know what we are, so we stick to the Sicilian thing and hope no one digs too far. Listen, Imogen’s got a very limited understanding of the way the world works. She saw what she wanted to, which was you not breaking a sweat or giving up, or throwing your hands up and saying, it’s too hard. You got on with it. That’s what she resents. That you made it look easy when we all knew it wasn’t. Plus, you are incredibly hot.”

She hid a smile before her head fell on his chest. “God, I hate that bitch.”

“Don’t waste your energy on hating someone like her.”

“Does your mother really not like me?” she mumbled, her voice vibrating against his skin.

“To be honest, Annie, you stamped on her baby’s heart, which isn’t going to endear you to any mother. You’ll only really make up for it with grandchildren.”

Anna’s head came up sharply. “Wait, what?”

“Come here,” he ignored her, and wrapped her in a huge-armed embrace. “Don’t let Imogen’s ill-educated judgment undermine what you have achieved. If she worked for a thousand years she couldn’t accomplish half a fingernail of what you have.”

She made a little murmur in her throat and buried her face in his neck. “Silver-tongued bastard.”

He laughed. “You’re welcome.”

They were quiet for a moment, enjoying the hug. Almost as if he didn’t want to jinx it, Rocco tried not to think about how perfect this was and relax in the moment—until he felt Anna’s fingers stroking back and forth over the “chase the storm” tattoo.
What is she doing?
he thought, as his cock started to stiffen unrepentantly.

“Annie, I thought you were mad.”