The Sicilian Surrender, page 14
But for how long?
The women in Stefano’s circle had perfect faces, if not through genes and nature then by the skilled hands of a surgeon.
She heard snatches of female conversation, references to this plastic surgeon or that; once, she walked into a ladies’ room and overheard two women in adjoining stalls discussing the miracles performed by a certain doctor. Their voices were loud enough, their comments deliberate enough so she half suspected the information was meant for her.
She did think about seeing a surgeon—someone in the States might have a different technique for dealing with her scars than the doctor in Italy—but she wasn’t ready for that. She wanted to get used to this new face, this real face, before she made any decisions about changing it.
God help her, she wanted Stefano to tell her he loved her, and to tell it to her while she still looked like this.
At night, she lay in his arms, knowing he was as wide-awake as she, wondering what he was thinking. She wanted to ask him, but she was afraid to. If she was right and that was pity she saw in his eyes, if he could no longer see beyond her scars…
No. She wouldn’t think that way.
Maybe she had too much time on her hands. She’d worked hard all her adult life. She’d never sat around for so long without doing something productive.
One morning, after Stefano left for a meeting, she dressed in a Chanel suit and a pair of Jimmy Choo stiletto heels and went to her agent’s office. She’d already spoken to Jackie and told her about the accident, but they had yet to see each other.
It was tough, walking into the agency, striding past the photos of all the perfect faces that adorned the walls—photos that still included hers—and tougher still to see the flash of compassion in Jackie’s eyes when Fallon whipped off her oversize dark glasses.
“I need a job,” Fallon said bluntly.
Compassion didn’t keep Jackie from being blunt.
“I can’t use you anymore. Your face—”
“I know everything about this business, Jackie. Surely, somebody can use me for something.”
Jackie tossed her pen aside and sat back. “I’m an agent, not an employment office.”
“But you know people. You hear things.”
Her agent tapped a finger against her lip. “Well, yeah. Matter of fact, I had lunch with Carla Kennedy yesterday. Wasn’t your last assignment with her?”
“Does Carla have a job I could handle?”
“She’s looking for an assistant.” Jackie smiled. “A gopher. Go for this, go for that…You know the drill. Lie to people she doesn’t want to deal with when they phone, make barely enough money to pay your bills…” Jackie’s grin widened. “Though from what I hear, paying bills isn’t your problem. You’ve got somebody to do that.”
Fallon rose to her feet. “Thanks for the tip,” she said politely. “And by the way, I haven’t ‘got’ anyone to pay my bills. I made a lot of money, Jackie. You should know that. You got fifteen percent right off the top but what the government didn’t take in taxes, I saved.”
“I only meant—”
Fallon didn’t want to hear the rest. She left the office, made her way through the cramped waiting room packed with hopeful girls from little towns nobody had ever heard of and taxied straight to the offices of Bridal Dreams magazine.
She gave her name to the receptionist and didn’t flinch when the girl’s eyes widened after a glance at her face.
Carla came bustling out to the desk to greet her.
“Sweetie,” she said, “oh, you poor baby. I just heard the news the other day…Oh, my God, your poor face! Darling, what are you going to do? Have you seen a plastic surgeon?”
“No,” Fallon said briskly. “I heard you’re looking for an assistant.”
“I can get some names for you. There’s this incredible guy who took, I swear, ten years off Irene Whitmore’s face—”
“Are you looking for an assistant, Carla?”
“Yeah, but why would you care?” Carla’s smile seemed to tighten. “I also heard you’re having a thing with Stefano Lucchesi. Is it true?”
“I really didn’t come here to talk about myself,” Fallon said pleasantly. “About that assistant’s job…”
“What about it?” Carla blinked. “You mean…You? You’re interested in…?” Her voice dropped to a purr. “Don’t tell me your boyfriend isn’t paying your bills, darling. He has scads of money.”
“The job,” Fallon said coolly. “Is there one or isn’t there?”
Carla led Fallon into her crowded office, motioned her to a chair while she perched on the edge of her desk, swinging one long leg over the other.
“It’s not a job for a prima donna.”
“I didn’t think it was.”
“Three hundred a week,” Carla said brusquely, “half an hour for lunch, no medical, dental or anything else. Still interested?”
Fallon had earned more than that in ten minutes, but the money didn’t matter. Feeling useful—not having endless time to brood and think foolish thoughts—did.
“Yes,” she said, and held out her hand. Carla ignored it.
“Does your boyfriend know you’re going to be working for me?”
“I haven’t told him yet.”
Carla seemed to find that amusing. “You’re hired,” she said, and smiled like a cat anticipating a mouse fillet.
* * *
Fallon waited a week before telling Stefano.
She had the feeling he wouldn’t like her news. She kept thinking back to her second day in Sicily, to Carla taking a call on her cell phone and then staring up at the castello as if she’d seen a ghost before taking off in a rush. And there were the lies Carla had told about the owner of the castle.
What was all that about?
Why hadn’t she ever asked Stefano?
Something had gone wrong in the deal he’d made with Carla and Bridal Dreams, but that was another thing she only now wondered about.
Why would a man who cherished his privacy give permission to a magazine to film on his property?
Things had happened too quickly to ask questions in Sicily, and now they were happening the same way. There was a rift growing between her and Stefano. Not a big one: he still held her through the night and they still made love with that same intensity, but the lazy ease between them had been replaced by an almost cautious politeness.
She waited to tell him about her job until they were spending a rare evening at home.
“Stefano.” He looked up from a magazine and Fallon took a deep breath. “I’ve taken a job.”
He gave her a puzzled smile. “A job?”
She nodded. “Yes. Last week.”
His smile tilted. “You took a job last week and you’re only now telling me?”
A flush rose in her cheeks. He saw it and could have bitten his tongue off but then he thought, no, why shouldn’t he be irritated? Fallon was changing; she’d become more quiet, more reserved, and now she’d found a job and never thought to mention it? Was she so unhappy, living here with him?
“I’m working at Bridal Dreams magazine as Carla Kennedy’s assistant.”
He blinked. Surely, he’d heard that wrong. “I beg your pardon?”
“I said—”
“You’re working for Carla?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because she needed an assistant and offered me the job. That’s why.”
“She phoned, out of the clear blue sky, and offered a job to you?”
“No. Of course not.”
“You approached her.”
“Damn it, why the inquisition? Yes. I approached her.”
“And you did this without telling me?”
“Yes.”
Stefano tossed aside the magazine. What the hell was going on? Was the woman who’d been content walking the cliffs with him so bored with her new life that she’d gone to work for his former mistress?
It sounded like the setup for a bad joke. The woman he loved, working for the woman he’d slept with and discarded.
But Fallon didn’t know that. Carla, on the other hand, was probably laughing her head off.
“Well, you’re not going to work for her anymore.” He spoke coolly, which surprised him because what he wanted to do was shout. “Call her in the morning and tell her you quit.”
“Excuse me?”
“There’s no reason for you to work, Fallon. If you need money—”
Her color deepened. “This isn’t about money.”
“It’s my fault,” he said, in tones he meant to be conciliatory. “I should have opened an account in your—”
“I do not need money from you, Stefano.”
“There’s nothing wrong in needing—”
“Damn it, are you deaf?” Fallon shot to her feet. “I’m perfectly capable of supporting myself.”
“Then why did you take a job with Carla Kennedy?”
“I like to work. I need to work.”
He nodded, as if he understood, but he didn’t. She needed to work? Why? She had him in her life now. She could redecorate this mausoleum of an apartment. She could come to his office and meet him for lunch. She could do anything she wanted, just as long as it included him.
Fallon had changed since Sicily.
She moped, she didn’t laugh, she insisted on going to the endless rounds of charity benefits he’d simply sent checks to in the past, and he’d be damned if he knew the reason when all he saw in her eyes once they arrived at a party was sorrow each time some insensitive idiot couldn’t keep his eyes off her beautiful, wounded face.
“What am I to you, Stefano?” Fallon said quietly. “Tell me.”
His tongue felt glued to the roof of his mouth. My heart, he thought. My beloved. But how could he admit that until she was ready to hear it? Until she accepted herself as she was? Until she was whole?
“You’re my responsibility,” he said carefully. “I want to take care of you, Fallon. Surely, you know that.”
She nodded. It wasn’t the answer she’d prayed for, but at least it was honest.
“I do know it. But you must know that it’s important I begin taking care of myself again.”
Damn it, if he wasn’t careful he was going to drive her away. Stefano swallowed his bewilderment and his anger. He reached for Fallon and took her in his arms.
“Cara,” he said softly. “This is a foolish thing to argue over.”
He felt her relax against him. “Yes. It is.”
“If you want to work, you should. But not for Carla.”
“Why not?”
He took a deep breath. “She’s a liar. She’s not someone to be trusted.”
“How do you know that?”
She was, as always, incisive and persistent. He admired her for that even as he tried to figure out what to say. How did a man tell the woman he loved that he’d had an affair with a woman she knew? A woman she saw every day? He knew Fallon didn’t think he’d lived like a monk, but still…
A man broke such news cautiously, that was how. And caution meant not making such an admission to a woman who was already angry at you.
“Carla and I had an agreement for that shoot at the castello and she reneged on it.”
“I’ve been meaning to ask you about that. How come you let Bridal Dreams take photographs there to begin with?”
Stefano managed a wry smile. “Carla made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.”
“What offer?”
“Must we discuss this now?” he said impatiently. He slid his hands up her arms, then down again to her wrists. “If you must work, I’d prefer you to find another job. Will you do that?” He smiled and tipped her chin up. “For me?”
Fallon sighed. Stefano had done so much for her. Surely, she could do this for him.
“Will you? Please?”
“Yes. If it’s what you want, Stefano, I will.”
She leaned against him, loving the feel of him, the strength of him, and all at once she knew that what she really wanted to talk about had nothing to do with Carla.
“Tell me something,” she said in a low voice. “How would you feel if—if I saw a plastic surgeon?”
His expression didn’t change but it didn’t have to. A stillness came over him. He glanced at her scars, his gaze quick and guilty.
“The decision would be yours,” he said carefully. “I wouldn’t want to influence you.”
Fallon nodded. She wanted to weep but she didn’t. What should he have said? That he saw past her scars? That what he’d told her in Sicily held true in New York? That he wanted her for who she was, not for who she had been?
Somehow, she forced a smile.
“Thank you,” she said, “for being honest.”
“I would never lie to you,” Stefano said.
It wasn’t true and he knew it. He lied each day, by not telling her that he loved her.
He’d lied just now, by not telling her he didn’t want her to go under the surgeon’s knife.
He’d lied by not telling her about Carla.
I’m contemptible, he thought fiercely. The only time I don’t lie to her is when we make love.
He crushed her mouth beneath his until she clung to him and moaned his name. Then he carried her into his bedroom, and sought to expiate his guilt by making love to her through the long night.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
THE next morning, Stefano disappeared into his study before breakfast. When he emerged, he said he had to fly out of town but that he’d be back in time for dinner.
“Just us,” he said, taking Fallon in his arms. “We’ll have a quiet evening. Is that okay with you?”
It was wonderful. She’d have bartered her soul for more like it.
“Yes,” she said, “it’s very okay.”
Stefano leaned his forehead against hers. “I’m sorry I flew off the handle last night. We shouldn’t have quarreled.”
“It was my fault.” Fallon looped her arms around his neck. “I should have told you about my job.”
Stefano gathered her against him, holding her close.
“There are things I should tell you, too.” He went on holding her, as if he never wanted to let her go. Then he lifted her face to his and kissed her, his mouth gentle and warm against hers. “We need to talk,” he said softly.
Fallon nodded. “Tonight.”
“Tonight,” he echoed.
He kissed her again. There was something in the kiss that frightened her, a kind of finality, but before she could ask him about it, he let go of her, slung his jacket over his shoulder and went out the door.
Fallon stood alone in the marble-floored foyer for a long moment. It was silly, reading meaning into a kiss when what she needed to concentrate on were things that were in her hands.
Quitting her job, for example. Carla wouldn’t be happy—she’d turned out to be a short-tempered boss who expected things to be done when she snapped her fingers, and Fallon was in the middle of organizing her files. Well, she’d stay on for a week, if Carla insisted. Stefano was a businessman; he’d surely understand that.
And then—and then there was what she’d decided about surgery. She’d raised the issue, not Stefano, but she’d seen his reaction. Still, she’d come to the conclusion that she wasn’t going to do it. Not yet. Not until she was sure she was doing it for herself and not for him.
She loved him—oh, how she wished she felt free to tell him that—but something so drastic had to be for her, not for anyone else.
Fallon drew a deep breath, expelled it, gave herself a last check in the mirror and headed out the door.
* * *
The Bridal Dreams offices were in total confusion.
Something had gone wrong with distribution in the Midwest, the colors of the current cover were completely off, and the designer Carla intended to feature in the May issue had just revealed she was really a he and was tired of being in the closet.
Carla ran around barking orders and accusing everyone, including the kid who brought lunch from the corner deli, of trying to destroy her.
Under those circumstances, Fallon didn’t have the heart to drop the news that she was quitting.
Things quieted down in late afternoon and she stuck her head around the half-open door to Carla’s office.
“Carla? Do you have a minute?”
“Barely,” Carla said irritably. “I hope you’ve come to tell me you finished with those files.”
“Not yet. It’s a major overhaul and—”
“I don’t need excuses, Fallon. Just do your job and let me know when you’re done.”
Fallon shut the door behind her and came into the office. Carla looked up, surprised, as she sat down on the other side of the desk.
“I came to tell you I’m quitting. I’ll finish the files,” she added quickly, “but you’ll have to find someone else.”
Carla sat back, her eyes narrowing as they fixed on Fallon.
“I should have expected it. You think you’re too good for what you’re doing.”
“It isn’t that.”
“Give me a break!” Carla smiled coldly. “You’re accustomed to having everyone fussing over you and here you are, squatting in front of a dusty file cabinet or trailing around after me. As I said, I should have known.”
“I’m quitting for personal reasons, Carla. They have nothing to do with you.”
“What personal reasons?”
“I don’t see any need to go into them.” Fallon stood up. “I thought it only fair to give you notice. If you need me to stay through the end of next week—”
“It’s your boyfriend.”
“What?” Fallon felt her cheeks flush. “No. Stefano has nothing to do with—”
“He doesn’t like you working for me.”
“I told you, he has—”
“You can’t lie worth a damn, O’Connell.” Carla hunched forward, a thin smile on her face. “What’s the problem? Does he think this is beneath you? Is he afraid people might think he isn’t supporting you properly?”
“I’m not going to discuss my personal life,” Fallon said coldly. She turned and reached for the door. “As I said, if you need me to stay until—”
“Or does he worry that the woman he slept with a couple of months ago and the woman he’s sleeping with now are liable to compare notes?”
