A Billionaire for Christmas (4 page)

Anthony sighed. Damn, that was supposed to be today. His gaze flicked toward the door. Time to do damage control. No Shelly meant a sad Mrs. Bello. He’d try to make her holiday nice, even if Shelly had disappointed her grandmother again.

Anthony grabbed the box of goodies and climbed from his car. He’d tried since summer to manage Mrs. Bello’s expectations, because he knew damn well Shelly wasn’t going anywhere for Christmas, except maybe jail or, God forbid, the morgue. She’d been on a downhill slide ever since she’d run from home, right after Vincent died. When he’d found her that once, deep in Texas, he’d hoped he could bring her back, save her, but she’d only run from him too.

In the decrepit roadhouse outside of McAllen, Shelly had been heroin-thin, with dark half-moons beneath her sunken eyes, her body unclean and her skin the color of a cloud-filled sky. He’d tried for a week to get her into rehab, and the entire time Shelly had tried to peel his wallet off of him. Then, finally, when he’d thought she was convinced, and the rehab people were on their way, Shelly’d disappeared. Slid back into the muck she resided in.

He couldn’t find her. He’d gone back to the seedy roadhouse where he’d originally tracked her down. Nothing. He’d left Texas disgusted by his inability to help, demoralized by Shelly’s fall into the abyss. He couldn’t break Mrs. Bello’s heart with all the details, but the sadness in her eyes told Anthony that she knew about Shelly’s life in Texas without him having to say a word. Still Mrs. Bello hoped and hoped and finally, actually believed that Shelly was clean and living near her great-aunt, Mrs. Bello’s sister, in San Francisco. And with that belief came the conversations, ever since this summer, about Shelly returning home for the holidays.

Frozen foreboding, like a block of dirty ice, pitted in his belly. He almost hoped Shelly wouldn’t come home for the holidays, because with her arrival came emotions and complications and memories Anthony did not want to revisit. Sure, he hoped she was clean, and he hoped she could be happy, but he also hoped he never saw her again. Or to be honest, part of him hoped he never saw her again. Another part, the inner eighteen-year-old who still carried a torch for the girl he’d been mad for, hoped to God that the beautiful version of Shelly Bello turned up for Christmas at Mrs. Bello’s door.

He slammed the car door and hustled up the walk. The sun had long since slid below the horizon, the air had grown much colder, and wisps of his breath floated in the air. He pulled up his jacket collar, the fabric protecting the back of his neck from the wind. The staccato sounds of loud Korean came from the house next door. Arguing? Nope. Laughter followed. He hustled up Mrs. Bello’s front walk and the steps to the house. He’d climbed these steps so many times, his heart filled with love for Shelly. He’d still loved her when he’d seen her in Texas. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before he knocked. But while he’d been trying to get Shelly into rehab in Texas, Anthony discovered that the girl he had loved was gone. And with her, the kid he’d been all those years before…that guy was gone too.

He rapped on the door. Usually the loud sounds of cable news greeted him on the front step, but today the house was quiet. Mrs. Bello spent most evenings listening to the TV and pretending to knit. He stamped his feet on the mat as he waited in the unusual stillness. Damn cold for December. Anthony plastered his best smile to his face and glanced down at the box in his hands as the door yanked open. After everything Mrs. Bello had endured, she deserved Anthony’s best smile and some holiday cheer. Warmth blasted from the house, along with the crooning sounds of Bing Crosby singing “White Christmas.”

“Hey, Mrs. Bello, I brought you—” Anthony looked up from the box.

His heart stopped. His jaw dropped open. The Carmine’s box wobbled in his hands. The one thing he had been nearly one hundred percent certain would never happen, the one thing that he’d spent the last five months managing Mrs. Bello’s expectations about, that one thing, Shelly Bello, stood just inside Mrs. Bello’s front door.

Shelly’s blue eyes, which Mrs. Bello blamed on her Irish great-great-grandmother, sparkled in the porch light. She was clean. Her shiny hair, a pale blondish color, settled over her shoulders in soft waves. Her skin was clear, the dark half-moons that had stained the skin beneath her eyes in Texas gone. Or nearly gone.

A deep breath.

Lavender and lemons. She smelled like the Shelly he remembered
from long ago, not at all like the Shelly in Texas. Part of him wished he’d never seen her there, never been witness to the Shelly she had been in Texas. Strung out and desperate. That Shelly had smelled of booze and old nicotine, reeked of fear and scents he didn’t want to remember.

Guilt. A cold weight settled in his gut, because he hadn’t been able to save her in Texas. He’d tried and failed.

“Hey, Anthony.” Her voice was soft, with a tiny rasp heightened by years of cigarettes. “How you doin’?” Her chin dropped and her eyes skittered away from his. Still with the swan-like neck and the sharp chin. Her cheeks were fuller than the last time he’d seen her. Her hands rested at her sides, instead of nervously raking the flesh of her arms with grime-caked fingernails while she spoke as they had then.

“Shelly.”

This Shelly, the healthier version, much closer to the girl he’d fallen for in high school, ignited a heat that fired through his blood. She seemed somehow delicate now, though, nearly fragile. She’d been tough when they were kids. Did this fragility come from all those years of addiction? Or from her hard-won and achingly fresh sobriety? How long? Mrs. Bello had said six months. Of course, Anthony hadn’t believed her. He wouldn’t have believed it from Shelly herself, if he wasn’t seeing her right now, standing in front of him, beneath a strand of Christmas lights. “You look good.”

Her cheeks flushed, and those blue eyes that he’d spent his late teenage years staring into fluttered up and met his.

Again, heat swept through his body. Little electrical pulses danced across his skin. The warm scent of cinnamon and espresso jerked him back from losing himself in Shelly’s eyes.

“I brought these for your Nonna.” He held out the red box decorated with candy-cane-striped ribbon and a sprig of holly.

“Carmine’s.” Shelly took the box from him. Her rosy lips curved into a delicious smile. “I love Carmine’s.” She leaned closer and lowered her voice. “Please tell me there are cannoli in here. As much as I love Nonna, the woman cannot make a cannoli.”

Anthony lifted his brow and the corner of his mouth quirked up. “There are cannoli in that box.”

Shelly closed her eyes and licked her lips.

Every muscle in Anthony’s body tightened. Shelly had no idea the impact she had on him. Closed eyes. Her tongue on her lips. A look of near-euphoria on her face…a look he remembered from long long ago.

“Shelly, let Anthony in, he’ll freeze!”

Shelly’s eyes flashed open. Anthony stepped up and nearly filled the doorway. His body brushed by Shelly’s in the narrow entryway. He looked down at her, catching her gaze. There, in her eyes, he could see she too felt the heat that remained between them. Heat that sizzled like a live wire ready to burst into flame. She stepped away and toward the kitchen.

No. He hardened his heart, set his jaw. No matter what he felt, this woman, this Shelly, wasn’t the love from his youth. He’d seen what she’d become in Texas, and while now she might look like the girl he’d once loved, he couldn’t forget the ghost with the dark, ringed eyes and a craving so great she’d even tried to steal from him.

“Anthony, did you see my Shelly is back? And just in time for Christmas.” Mrs. Bello lifted her arms to take Anthony’s jacket. He shrugged it off into her hands, knowing better than to fight her.

“I did.” He glanced at Shelly, and her blue eyes flicked down toward the floor.

“So healthy, my girl.” Mrs. Bello turned with Anthony’s coat over her arm to grasp Shelly’s cheek with her fingers, giving it a loving pinch. “Carmine’s? Oh, Anthony, you brought us Carmine’s? Shelly loves that bakery. Go sit. I’ll get some plates. They have good cannoli.” She handed Anthony’s coat to Shelly and took the box. “Nothing like mine, of course, but good.” Mrs. Bello walked to the kitchen.

Shelly lifted an eyebrow and flashed a smile toward Anthony as she hung his coat in the closet. It would be their secret from Mrs. Bello that her cannoli weren’t actually very good.

“Sit.” Shelly nodded toward the living room couch. “I’ll help Nonna.”

Anthony did as he was told. For the first time in a lot of years, he felt like a visitor in Mrs. Bello’s home, instead of a regular who stopped by at least once a week to make certain she was well and had everything she needed. He scrubbed his hands over his jaw. Was it him or Shelly’s presence that made him feel awkward in his own skin?

Shelly. The discomfort was definitely caused by Shelly. Anthony did not welcome surprises, nor was he fond of change. His gaze skimmed the walls and passed over the multitude of pictures he’d seen so many times that he hardly noticed them. There were Shelly and Vincent as small children. Then each of them in cap and gown, graduating high school. Finally, Vincent in his Marine uniform and Shelly smiling under a sign reading Fordham University, starting her final year of college. After that there were no more pictures. An abrupt end to a visual story. For the Bello family, there hadn’t been any reason to take pictures after Vincent had died.

“Here we are.” Mrs. Bello walked slowly into the room. Shelly patiently trailed her with a Christmas platter decorated with painted candy canes, plus three cafe cups. Anthony jumped up and took the tray from Shelly. His hands brushed against her wrist.

A thrill heated his blood. Their eyes met. Damn. Not what he wanted. He had neither the time nor patience to have any feelings for Shelly. She would never again be the woman for him. She was damaged beyond repair.

“Thank you,” Shelly said softly. She retreated as if burned. A timidity flashed over her face, and she sank into the chair farthest from the couch where Mrs. Bello slowly seated herself. Mrs. Bello reached up and pulled at Anthony’s arm.

“Sit. Sit. So lovely to have both of you home.”

Shelly leaned forward and placed a cannoli on each plate. Mrs. Bello handed him a tiny cafe cup. “She got home around four today, the flight was on time. No problems. Right, Shelly?”

Shelly nodded. Her untouched cannoli lay on her plate. Her gaze flitted about the room. Distraction traipsed over her face as though she’d just remembered something, such as a stove left on or a curling iron left plugged in.

“Excuse me.” She slipped from her chair and was up the stairs and out of sight in an instant.

Anthony hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath, but with a long sigh the tension in his shoulders and chest drained away. The heat he had felt slowly faded. His gaze, however, remained fixed to the staircase where Shelly had disappeared. Was she still using? Perhaps she wasn’t nearly as healthy as Mrs. Bello hoped. She couldn’t stay here if she was still an addict, he wouldn’t allow it. Mrs. Bello did not need her granddaughter stealing and doping and breaking her heart.

“She’s been a little weepy since she got in,” Mrs. Bello said. “I mean she hasn’t been home since the funeral and, well, my sister says it’s to be expected. A big trip for our Shelly, isn’t it Anthony?”

Our Shelly
.

Anthony reined in the words on the tip of his tongue, and instead simply nodded and sipped his cafe. She was no longer
our
Shelly, he wanted to say. She was merely Mrs. Bello’s granddaughter. The promise Anthony had given to Vincent before he’d left for Iraq hadn’t extended to Shelly. And even if it had, he’d done everything he could in Texas to save Shelly. She hadn’t wanted his help. She hadn’t wanted anything to do with him.

“How long is she home for?”

“I wish forever,” Mrs. Bello said, dabbing her lips with her napkin. “But her return flight is the day after Christmas.”

“That’s not very long.”

“She’s got a job, and Pat says a nice little apartment not far from the convent. I’m guessing she can’t be away for long.”

Hmm. He wondered what kind of job a former addict could find. When he’d seen Shelly in Texas she’d yet to be busted for anything, because though she might be a horrible addict, she was also smart. Was her criminal record still clear? He doubted it. A person didn’t go through the years of addiction Shelly had weathered without getting pinched at least once.

“You’ll all come to dinner here and mass on Christmas Eve. Won’t it be lovely?”

Anthony coughed. For the last five years, the Travati brothers had spent both Christmas Eve and Christmas Day with Mrs. Bello. They didn’t have any family remaining, nor did Mrs. Bello, aside from her sister Pat, and also Shelly, who’d been MIA. The Travati brothers and Mrs. Bello had cobbled together their own traditions and pieced together a family.

“Aubrey called me today,” Mrs. Bello said. “She invited both Shelly and me to the Teddy Bear Luncheon.”

“Of course she did.” Justin’s wife was nothing if not sly.

“Her sister and father are coming in from Kansas.”

“Excellent.” The muscle in his jaw flinched. Anthony pulled at his cuffs. He had little tolerance for his sister-in-law’s family.

“You don’t like Aubrey,” Mrs. Bello said.

“That isn’t true. I was just surprised…caught off guard by what happened last summer.”

“That was six months ago. Besides, I’m certain you must have checked the results of the DNA test by now.”

A flush heated his cheeks. How could Mrs. Bello know he’d demanded that Max, Aubrey’s son, be tested to ensure that he was in fact the Travati heir?

Mrs. Bello smiled at his guilty expression. “You’re not the only Travati who talks to me. Granted, you’re the only one who comes and brings me cannoli, but the others…they call.”

Call? Which of his brothers called? As though it mattered. He had no patience for his brothers’ judgment of him anymore. Both Leo and Devon were content to sit back and let Justin run Travati Financial, but Anthony was finished taking orders. He’d already laid the groundwork to begin his own investment company with his meeting at Carmine’s today.