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All his pain—and hers—reflected back from her shining eyes. “So, it doesn't matter how many interviews you set up or how many jobs you try to get for me, I'm too stupid.”
His heart, lately fragile at best, broke at last. All this time, she had been alone, coping with this terrible burden. If only someone had paid more attention to her in school, if only he had visited more often, if only she had asked for his help.
‘If only’ could take a running jump. From here on out, there was only Jules.
He wrapped himself around her, willing her stiff frame to relax into him. “You are not stupid, baby girl. You're my amazing, gorgeous, funny, clever, and incredibly annoying sister. You can do anything you want.”
“Except hold down a decent job or read a book without giving up two sentences in or have sex without getting preggo.” With every self-accusation he grasped her tighter. “Oh, God, Jack. I was on the pill, I swear. But sometimes, I might’ve missed a day. I’m so ashamed.”
“I wish you had told me. Everything.”
She didn't answer, just sank into him more. This is what comes of being a bloody optimist. He expected so much of people that his own sister couldn’t confide in him, fearful of his disappointment.
“Jack, I'm worried about the baby. What if he's got th-this same thing I have?”
“What if he does?” It sounded like a learning disability, dyslexia perhaps. He would get her diagnosed and hire tutors or whatever was necessary to make this better. Make it right.
Drawing back, he cradled her face in his hands.
“Now I know you don't want to hear this, but for the love of everything that's holy, would you please, please let me help you?” He just wanted someone he cared about to let him love them. His world had been upended by her revelation then righted again as he realized what he was dealing with. He would fix this because that's what he did, but for the moment he would give her what she needed most. He would hold her and never let her go.
“Jack, you don’t have to—”
“I know I don’t. I want to and you know what I’m like when I don’t get what I want.” Her eyes flew wide, shiny and filled with something he hadn’t seen before. Hope.
Supporting her would be his highest priority and his thoughts tumbled over each other, his mind racing with everything he needed to do. First on the list, a chat with Evie.
“And you won't send me away?” she whispered against his shoulder. “No, you're stuck with me. Wherever you are, I am.”
Turning his head, he sought out Lili, but the spot of tile she had occupied a moment ago was empty. She had stepped up to the plate to help, then receded back into the shadows.
Just like always.
Forty-One
The message from his sister had said Tony would be cooking at DeLuca’s tonight and that he wanted to talk about the cookbook offer. To say that astonished Jack would be a massive understatement, but then his life over the last month had been a cavalcade of surprises, most of them at the hands of a certain Italian family. And now, just as he had cut his ties to Lili, the man who was adamant he didn’t want to encourage Jack’s connection to his family, was holding out his hand.
Hell if he could figure out those crazy DeLucas.
The restaurant was closed on Mondays, so she wouldn’t be here. Still, as he approached the large, oak doors, his body primed in anticipation of seeing her like it knew she was nearby. Upstairs watching those trashy reality shows he teased her about. Or over at the studio on the next block, cataloging her secret photo collection. Crossing paths at her house had only made his need burn hotter and now, almost three weeks without her, he was a junkie jonesing for his fix. A clammy, jittery bundle of nerves.
More likely, he was nervous about Tony. Sure he was.
He stepped inside to find the place was hopping. And filled to capacity. And different. He tried to put his finger on it.
The tables looked to be in the same configuration, but gone where the crisp white cloths, revealing lacquered tops that took it from staid to hip. The ceiling was still frescoed, but the imaginative drop-bulb lighting over the bar looked like something out of a modern art museum. The walls were still exposed brick, but the art—
The art. The swan-like curvature of a neck, the subtle arc of an inked calf, the graceful taper to a well-turned ankle. Sensuous, quirky, but tasteful enough so as not to scare away the regulars. Something unfurled inside his chest, a tentative curl of warmth and hope that he stamped down before it could race to the photo finish.
He blinked, and a blonde, cherubic vision materialized before him. Francesca. Her serenity faltered for just a moment before she made a smiling recovery. Clearly not expecting him.
“Ciao, Jack. It’s good to see you.” She leaned up, he leaned down, and they did the Euro double-kiss exchange.
“New hours, Francesca?”
“No, just a special occasion.” The smile stretched wider now and his heart turned over. Looked like he didn’t even need Lili’s presence to get the yen. “We are showcasing a new menu and well, you see…” She gestured to the end of the bar where a large flat-screen TV had been placed kitty-corner to give everyone an unobstructed view. Even from a distance of thirty feet, Jack could see images of cookware carouseling across the screen.
His heart swooped to his stomach. Commercials. Cooking Channel commercials.
