Brides, Babies And Billionaires. Rebecca Winters

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       Ten

      The Marchetti bakery on historic 25th Street in Ogden was in an antique brick building with sloping wood floors that creaked musically with every step. On one side of the shop was a handmade-chocolate shop and on the other, an artisan boutique that sold local artists’ work.

      The bakery drew customers from all over northern Utah, so they were constantly busy, which meant the entire family—except for the younger kids—were there when Rita arrived. Her mom and sister were in the kitchen while her father and brothers ran the front of the shop and handled any deliveries. This didn’t change, she thought with a smile as she glanced around at the shining display cases and the customers wandering, looking, sitting at tables and sipping lattes.

      Just walking into the bakery soothed the ball of ice in the pit of her stomach. It had been the longest hour-and-a-half flight of her life to make it here from Long Beach. She hadn’t told the family she was coming; there hadn’t been time. She’d simply packed her things, told Casey to close up the bakery for a few days and then raced to the airport. All Rita had been able to think of was getting here, where she knew her heart was safe.

      The long drive from the Salt Lake City airport had given her more time to think and she still had no answers. Hadn’t she done everything she could to reach Jack? Hadn’t she given him every reason to come out of the darkness? To live again?

      Tears were close so she blinked furiously to keep them at bay and smiled at a woman she knew who was busily wiping chocolate off her child’s mouth. Here was safety. Love. Understanding.

      The joy on her father’s face when he spotted her was like pouring oil on the churning waters inside her. Rita’s brothers, Anthony and Marco, called out to her as she threaded her way through the crowd toward the kitchen to find her mom. Of course she had to stop along the way to say hello to people she knew and try to make small talk, while inside she was screaming.

      Behind the counter, Rita was hugged hard by her dad, then passed from brother to brother before they released her.

      “This is a nice surprise,” her father said, then took a closer look at her face and frowned. “It is nice, isn’t it?”

      Nick Marchetti was in his sixties, with graying black hair, sharp brown eyes and a belly that was a little fuller than it used to be. Both of his sons were several inches taller than him, but it didn’t matter because Nick was, just as he always had been, a force to be reckoned with.

      “It’s good to see you, Daddy,” Rita whispered, relaxing into his familiar hug.

      He kissed her cheek and said, “Go on now, go sit down and talk to your mother. She’ll be happy you’re here.”

      “Okay.” Rita nodded, slipped through the swinging door and never saw the worried frowns on the faces of the men in her family.

      Stepping into the kitchen with the familiar scents and the heat from the ovens was like walking into the comfort of her childhood. Growing up, she and her siblings had spent most of their free time working in the bakery, so the memories were thick and reassuring.

      Rita had gone home to Ogden hoping for a little peace and quiet and maybe some understanding. A half hour later, she told herself she’d clearly come to the wrong place for that.

      “I can’t believe you left,” her mother said hotly. Teresa Marchetti had short black hair, carefully touched up to hide the gray every five weeks. She was a tiny woman but ruled her family like a four-star general.

      Rita took a sip of the herbal tea she wasn’t interested in. “Jack didn’t want me there. He told me to leave.”

      “And so you do it?” Teresa shook her head and scowled. “I don’t remember you being so obedient as a child.”

      Rita stiffened at the accusation. “I wasn’t being obedient.” God, that made her sound like some subservient fifties’ housewife asking her husband for an allowance.

      “Yet here you are.” Her mother huffed a little, muttered something Rita didn’t quite catch, then slid two trays of bread loaves into the oven. Turning back around, she reached for a bottle of water and took a drink.

      It was hot in the kitchen with four ovens going constantly. Rita’s father and brothers had deliberately stayed out front, leaving her mother and sister to do the heavy emotional lifting.

      Gina looked up from the counter where she was rolling out cookie dough. “So Jack says go and you say okeydoke? What the hell is that, Rita?”

      “Language,” their mother said automatically, then added, “your sister has a point. Do you love this man?”

      “Of course she does it’s all over her face,” Gina said before Rita could open her mouth.

      “Thanks, I can talk for myself,” Rita said.

      “Just not to Jack, is that it?” Gina rolled her eyes as fiercely as she rolled the dough.

      “I did talk to Jack.” Rita broke a cookie in half and popped it into her mouth. She should have known that no one in her family would pat her on the head and simply accept what she said. They all had opinions and loved nothing better than sharing them. “I talked till my throat was dry. He doesn’t listen to what he doesn’t want to hear.”

      “Hmm,” Teresa mused with a snort of amusement. “Sounds like someone else I know.”

      Fine, she was stubborn. Rita knew that. But this wasn’t about her, was it?

      “Mom, how could I stay if he didn’t want me?”

      “Oh, for God’s sake,” Gina blurted. СКАЧАТЬ