Somebody's Angel (#5 in a Military Romance / BDSM Romance series) (Rescue Me) (15 page)

A sense of sadness for Marc overwhelmed her, and she blinked away the tears but continued to watch the boys grow older as the show progressed. Soon a third son was born to the couple, Alessandro. Marc could be no more than five years old then.

The family was complete with the addition of baby Carmella a couple of years later. “Finally,
mia bella bambina
.”

“I’m your
only
baby girl, Mama.” Carmella beamed at her mother, though.

Angelina hadn’t seen much of this maternal side of Mama D’Alessio before, but the woman’s love for her children—all of them—was genuine. She might be a driven businesswoman, but she probably had only wanted to provide a good life for her family. Having lived in Italy after the war must have shaken her sense of security in where her next meal would come from.

The next snapshot caused Angelina to lean closer to the TV. “Look at you, Marc, in your First Communion suit! Adorable!” She smiled and turned toward him. “You should wear a suit more often.”

He pinched her butt hard, and she jumped as he leaned forward to whisper in her ear, “Bite your tongue,
amore
. I detest wearing a suit—and I’ll leave the ties to you.” She hoped he’d spoken quietly enough that no one had heard but held no doubts that Sandro and Mama at least were aware of Marc’s kinky nature. Therefore, by association, hers as well.

The scenery changed on the screen to Aspen when Marc was now eleven or twelve.
Dio,
what a handsome boy he was even then. He and his entire family, including Gramps, posed next to a hand-carved sign touting the name Bella Montagna. The place hadn’t started out as a four-star resort. Back then, it had a mom-and-pop feel to it, but the sense of old-world charm probably soon had American skiers flocking here.

“Remember how much we paid for that sign, Papa?” Mama shook her head. “Highway robbery.”

Angelina smiled. The woman’s business acumen was keen even then. Although they could barely afford it, she’d invested in a sign that would attract guests from far and wide to their beautiful mountain property and give the appearance of a world-class resort.

In the next few slides, Angelina’s attention was riveted on the growing boy who had become the man holding her in his lap. He’d relaxed since the show had started. She stroked his arm where his rolled-up sleeve revealed the soft hair on his forearm. She’d missed touching him these past few weeks. Maybe they could get back on track once they put this weekend behind them.

As the two older boys grew into teenagers, she noticed how Gino often had his arm draped around his little brother’s shoulders in a protective gesture. Angelina blinked back the tears again, saddened that they had drifted apart before Gino’s death.

In his late teens, Marc more often than not was pictured alone. Lots of sports activities, with soccer and skiing being the most prevalent. There was an increasing wildness about him. His disheveled hair—sexy as hell—made her want to reach out and finger comb it into submission. He often sported the beginnings of a beard, even in his late teens, attesting to why he sometimes had to shave twice a day. His eyes exuded a defiant, careless nature, with a hint of loneliness.

He had a cocky way about him, though, as if he could control any woman he wanted. She shivered, and he wrapped his arms around her. Oddly, there were no photos of him with girlfriends, including Bitch Melissa, but Sandro and Carmella may have just kept those out knowing Angelina would be here today. A number of photos featuring Carmella and Sandro followed. The two usually stood separate from their older brothers, possibly because of the five-year age difference between Marc and Sandro.

Marc grew quiet and tense when an image of Gino in his Marine portrait filled the screen. Angelina stroked his arm, knowing how hard it must be to see his brother appearing so vibrant mere months before his life had been snuffed out in an ambush far from his family’s safe haven. She blinked away the tears and glanced surreptitiously at his parents, who remained stoic as they stared at the screen. Marc’s Navy portrait in his dress whites was next. Angelina hadn’t seen the photo before but had loved seeing him in his dress uniform at Karla and Adam’s wedding a few months ago. A man in a military uniform was hot, but none could compare to
her
man in
his
uniform.

Or out of it. She stifled a giggle, but Marc pinched her as if guessing where her thoughts had roamed.

A photo of Mama and Papa D’Alessio standing outside a quaint church flashed on the screen. “Ah, Papa, our thirtieth anniversary. Wherever did you find that photo, Alessandro?”

“I have my sources, Mama.” Sandro seemed pleased he’d surprised her.

To Angelina, she added, “We returned to Brescia to renew our vows and take a little time away from the resort, because we couldn’t get away on Valentine’s Day, the actual day. We didn’t think anyone in the family even knew.”

Marc’s arms tightened around Angelina to the point of crushing her. “When was that?”

Mama’s expression turned wary, and she evaded his gaze. “Last summer.”

The tension was thick between them. Angelina turned to see a pained expression in Marc’s eyes before he masked it. What had she missed?

“Your thirtieth?”

“Oh, dear. I misspoke.
Scusa.
I meant to say our thirty-seventh.” Mama patted Papa’s leg. “Now, who wants dessert?
Grazie, bambini
, for going to all this trouble for us. It was—”

Mama stopped speaking and faced the screen again. Angelina followed Mama’s gaze and found a portrait of Marc, Sandro, and Carmella taken in this very room earlier today judging by the clothes the three were wearing.

“Oh, Papa, our children all together.” Tears streamed down her cheeks, and Papa wrapped an arm around her. Angelina caught a glint of tears in Papa’s eyes, as well.

Sandro turned off the power using the remote, oblivious to the emotional level of the couple on the sofa. “I have the camera set up still. Let’s take a complete family portrait today while we’re all here.”

Angelina hated for this fascinating glimpse into Marc’s past to end, but when she tried to scoot off Marc’s lap, he held her tighter. “Join us in the photo. You have as much a place in the family as I do.” His words held a defiance that confused her.

“I think it’s up to your parents, but I’m sure they’d like one of just the immediate family.” She wasn’t even engaged to Marc and didn’t want them to have to photoshop her out of a family portrait somewhere down the road if things didn’t work out for her and Marc. As much as she didn’t want the two of them to drift apart again, nothing had changed since New Year’s and more often than not they were apart.

Unless perhaps the love exhibited in these photos had convinced Marc he was very much a part of this family—and loved by all of them.

Several shots were taken, both with and without Angelina, before Mama announced dessert was served. As Angelina started toward the dining room, Marc took her hand and pulled her back.

“We’re leaving after dessert.”

“What? I thought we were spending the night here.”

“Change of plans.”

“But what—”

“We’re leaving, Angelina.”

* * *

Lies.

His life had been built on a lie, and his parents had just slipped up royally in the perpetuation of that lie. Mama tried to cover her mistake, but he realized Melissa had told the truth all along. He probably should have called them outright liars to their faces, but all he wanted to do was get away without making a scene. Shit, the look on Mama’s face when she realized she’d slipped up made it abundantly clear he’d been deceived all of his life.

He didn’t care if they believed the story he’d told after dessert about not feeling well—a lily-white fib compared to the bigger ones he’d been fed the past thirty-four years. In truth, he felt like crap, so it wasn’t a lie at all.

“Are you going to tell me what happened back there?”

The oncoming headlights blinded him temporarily, and he flashed his brights at the jerk. “There’s nothing to tell.”

Angelina sighed and resumed staring at the scenery out the passenger-side window, not that she could see anything this late at night. Just as well she found something out there to look at, though, because it meant she wasn’t focused on trying to get him to express his feelings or open up.

He had no feelings anymore. If he’d only remembered to keep his emotions buried deep inside, perhaps he wouldn’t have felt that momentary stab of pain when the deception became evident at long last.

Angelina seemed bored with the silence. “Sandro and Carmella sure put a lot of time into that slideshow.”

He grunted noncommittally, hoping she’d drop the chattiness. He realized he’d seen many of the photos before but hadn’t made the connection that Papa was missing from the photos until about the time Marc was four. He’d just assumed Papa had taken the photos, as he’d often done later.

Wait. Mama had been there when he and Gino were babies. But who’s to say the babies in the photos were actually Marco and Gino and not someone else’s babies?
Dio,
this wasn’t going to be simple to figure out. Already he had a headache.

“Maybe we can get a copy of the slideshow on a thumb drive.”

“I don’t need any more reminders.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing.”

She looked his way. “I wish you’d tell me what’s the matter, Marc. You’re always shutting me out.”

“What are you talking about? We live together—
sleep
together, for Christ’s sake.” Most of the time, anyway. He heard her intake of breath and knew he’d spoken too bluntly, but he didn’t want this line of questioning to follow to its logical conclusion. “How can you be any more a part of my life?”

“Take now, for instance. Something obviously is bothering you. Talk to me rather than closing yourself off. We should be there for each other at times like these.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“What happened, then?”

“I don’t even know what the hell is going on.”
Who the hell I am.

“Well, welcome to the club. How can we have a committed relationship when you won’t confide in me?”

Did he trust Angelina? Could he trust any woman?

“Obviously this has to do with your family. If you won’t talk with me, then perhaps you should talk it over with them.”

“Drop it, Angelina. This doesn’t concern you.”

Merda
. That hadn’t come out right. He reached across the console to stroke her thigh but kept his gaze focused on the road. “I’m sorry,
cara
. Look, I’m on edge tonight. I need to think some things through.”

“You’re always pushing me away, Marc. If that’s the way it has to be for me to be a part of your life, okay. But I worry that you’re just afraid to tell me it’s over.”

He heard the hitch in her voice. Over? What the fuck was she talking about? The walls closed in around him.

“Nothing’s over. And I’m not afraid of anything.” Oh,
Dio,
but he truly was. Scared to death. Would she leave him?

Not to mention worrying about who he was. Where he came from. He needed answers but without the messy, emotional drama he’d get talking with Mama and Papa, if they would even tell him the truth.

Should he even call them that anymore?

The churning in his gut worsened until Marc maneuvered the Porsche onto a roadside pull off. He gripped the steering wheel hard enough that his knuckles showed white in the dim glow from the dashboard lights.

Angelina placed her hand over his right one, and her thumb stroked his knuckles. “Talk to me, Marc. What happened back there?”

He filled his constricted lungs, hoping to calm his nerves.

Epic fail.

The words came out in a whisper. “Melissa was telling the truth.”

Her thumb stopped moving.

“Marc, you need to go back and talk with your parents before making that assumption.” She laid her forehead on his shoulder. “But so what if she wasn’t lying? You can’t run away from this forever. The not knowing is eating you alive. You know I’ll be there for you, no matter what.”

But running had always been so much easier. Relieved she was here with him now at least, he patted the back of her head until she leaned away and smiled her encouragement at him.

“I need to go back.” He’d intended it as a question, but the words hadn’t come out that way.

“I think that would be a good thing to do. Get answers to your questions rather than let your imagination run away from you.”

He took a deep breath. After checking traffic, he drove onto the highway and executed a tight U-turn to head back to Aspen. Marc nodded his head toward the cell phone lying between them. He’d never equipped the vintage Porsche with hands-free capabilities. “Call Mama, and let her know we’re on our way back. Tell her I need to talk with her and Papa. Tonight.”

Chapter Eight