Marriage Made In Monte Calanetti - Susan Meier The Vineyards of Calanetti

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cursed. “You’re confusing everything.”

      “No. Maybe for the first time the truth is coming out.” And it was killing her. All these years, she wouldn’t let herself examine their situation too closely because the pain of losing him had been suffocating. But now she finally saw the truth.

      She hadn’t simply lost Mic. She’d proven to both of them that he hadn’t really loved her.

      She slid off the bar stool. “I’ve got to go.”

      “That’s right. Leave when things get too difficult.”

      She shook her head. “No. That’s what you do.”

      Mic was so angry with Lily that he didn’t sleep that night. He actually debated not going to work the next day, but knew he had to, if only to prove he did not run from his troubles.

      When she stepped into the kitchen and took a clean apron from the shelf, he stood taller.

      Accuse him of being wrong? Ha! That was insane.

      “Good morning, Ms. Norelli.”

      Her face flamed with color. “Good morning, Chef Mic.”

      Rafe waved his knife. “And good morning to me. Now that greetings are over, could we do some work?”

      Holding Lily’s gaze, Mic said, “I’d love to work since I don’t let my responsibilities slip.”

      Her chin lifted and she left the room.

      But the quieter she got, the angrier Mic got. Every “please” and “thank you” grated against his nerves. Her sweet, polite act was just a way to make him wonder if she wasn’t correct. Had he really been the one to bail on her?

      As soon as that thought popped into his head, he balked. He had not bailed! She hadn’t given him a chance to prove himself. To prove that he could have supported her, helped raise her sister. She snatched that chance away with her refusal to marry him.

      The next time she gave him her overly polite thank you, he yanked the dish away from her. “Perhaps, if it’s too much trouble for you to be honest, I should serve this dish to our customer.”

      “Too much trouble? I was sparing you trouble!”

      Instantly, Rafe was beside him. “I don’t know what’s happening between you two, but take it outside.”

      Mic ran his hand along the back of his neck. “We’re fine.”

      Lily quietly said, “Yes, Chef Rafe. We are fine.”

      But Rafe took Mic’s shoulders and turned him to the back door. “No. I hear this all day. I grow tired of it. Go outside and solve it.”

      Lily followed Mic out the door. When it closed behind them, he turned on Lily.

      “You gutted me with your refusal of my proposal. You said, ‘No. I can’t marry you.’ Then you’d looked me in the eye and said, ‘I don’t love you.’ What did you expect me to do?”

      She stormed over to him, as angry as he was, and poked her finger into his chest. “I expected you to think. My God, Mic. I was eighteen and I had a ten-year-old sister who was grieving her parents. You were the bright spot in our lives and at my first confused answer, you left. You didn’t even come by the next day to ask if I was sure. To talk it out. You just left.”

      He caught the finger jabbing into his chest. “You want me to say I’m sorry you broke my heart? Are you nuts?”

      She looked up into his eyes. “I want you to say my sacrifice was worth it. That you’re who you wanted to be. That you’re grateful.”

      “Now I’m to be grateful that you broke my heart?”

      Her eyes filled with tears. “Yes.”

      The sight of her tears kicked away any common sense he might have. He caught her shoulders and drew her up as his head lowered. Their lips met in a blinding flash of need so intense it seemed to swallow both of them in its angry vortex. Her lips answered his raw need as he plundered her mouth. Desire burst through him. Heat that he remembered from a long-ago love.

      Lily. His Lily. Was in his arms.

      Breathless desire tumbled through Lily. Fire and ice raced down her spine. It had been so long since anyone had kissed her, touched her, that her soul wept with longing. She just wanted to be loved again. To feel whole again.

      The only time she’d ever felt whole had been with Mic. But as quickly as she thought that, she remembered that this might be Mic, but he wasn’t the same man she’d loved. This Mic was strong, smart, sophisticated. In the eight years she’d struggled for food and shelter for a ten-year-old sister, he’d seen the world.

      She pushed herself away from him. “Don’t. Stop.”

      His blue eyes skimmed her face. “I’m to be sorry for this too?”

      She cleared the ache in her throat, took a few more steps back. “No.” Running her fingers through her hair, she glanced to the right, unable to meet his gaze. How did a woman say no to the man who had once been the other half of her?

      “This is wrong.”

      “This feels right.”

      “Really? You’re going to stay this time?”

      He laughed. “Wow, you get right to the hard questions. You couldn’t even let us spend a few weeks, or even days, together before you took us right to the bottom line.”

      “We’re not the same people.”

      “So?”

      “So that means we can’t pick up where we left off. We’d have to start over. And I’m not sure that’s possible for us.”

      “Because I hurt you?”

      She smiled slightly at the fact that he was finally admitting it. She met his gaze. “Because I hurt you.”

      “We hurt each other.”

      “And in eight years apart we became two different people.”

      He looked away, then looked back at her. “I think I see.”

      She expected relief to sigh through her. Instead, tears pricked her eyes. “I better get back in.”

      She turned quickly and returned to the kitchen, but she didn’t stop or even pause. The tears in her eyes were bursting through and she needed a minute.

      A few quick dodges of tables, customers and waitresses took her to the restroom. Inside, she locked the door and leaned against the cool wall.

      Though she believed every word she’d said to Mic—they were different people; they could not pick up where they left off—she hated them.

      “Lily?” Mila, one of the other waitresses, knocked on the door. “Are you okay?”

      She grabbed a tissue from the box on the counter. “I’m fine.”

      “Do you need to talk?”

      Her breath shuddered into her lungs, heavy with the need to sob, but she straightened her shoulders. “No. I’m fine.”

      She was always fine. In eight years, she hadn’t broken down. She’d done her duties. Raised her sister. Taken care of Signor Bartolini. And even planned a real future when she enrolled in university for next semester. She had everything under control. She did not need a shoulder to cry on, someone to take care of her. She was strong.

      But that didn’t

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