Broken Rules: A Stand Alone Romance Page 10

She smiled. “Nonna will love you, and she would have loved you before, too. Having listened to the accounts of her beaus from the past, you would have been just her type.”

  She led him inside. From the entryway hall, she could see the back of her Nonna’s favorite chair and her full head of white curls peaking out over the top.

  “Hi, Nonna,” she called loudly as she entered the room. “It’s me, Savannah.”

  She came around to the front of her chair and pressed a kissed to Nonna’s soft cheek. “You look beautiful. Amanda must have washed and set your hair.”

  Nonna slowly lifted her hand and gently patted her curls. “She did, indeed. It took most of the afternoon. She just left a few minutes ago. Such a sweet girl.” But then her voice dropped to a whisper. “Although I find it hard to trust her.”

  Savannah’s eyes widened. “Why? What happened?”

  Nonna motioned for Savannah to lean closer. “There’s a story there,” she whispered.

  “What do you mean?” Savannah whispered back.

  “She’s too beautiful to be a nurse.”

  Savannah straightened. “What the heck are you talking about, Nonna?”

  “She is one of the prettiest girls I’ve ever seen.”

  “True,” Savannah agreed. Amanda was, indeed, lovely. She was the kind of beautiful seldom glimpsed outside magazines. Her perfectly symmetrical features were delicate. She was slim and petite but had a huge rack. She had definitely won some kind of gene lottery. “But what do her looks have to do with trusting her. She is highly experienced and came with excellent references. She’s kind, smart, and capable. What more do you want?”

  “Girls like that don’t need jobs. She could have her pick of wealthy men. In my day, the only reason a girl like that washed old ladies for a living was because she was hiding something.”

  Savannah shook her head and smiled. “Nonna, it’s not 1942. These days, the most beautiful women have all manner of jobs, even washing adorable old ladies. Trust me when I say, Amanda is an excellent nurse.”

  Nonna patted her hand. “If you say so, my dear.” Her faded blue eyes crinkled at the edges and a heartfelt smile lit her face. “I’ve missed you,” she said. “Where have you been?”

  “I was here yesterday, Nonna.”

  “Oh my stars, Really?” A shadow crossed her beautiful, creased face. “It feels like it’s been weeks.”

  Savannah smiled and squeezed her nonna’s hand. “An army of ninjas couldn’t keep me away from you. You’re my woman.”

  Nonna’s smile returned. “And you’re my gal.”

  Savannah looked up and met Damien’s amused amber eyes. “Nonna, I brought someone to meet you.”

  Damien came around to stand at Savannah’s side.

  “Nonna, this is Damien.” Then Savannah’s gaze shifted to his. “Damien, this is Isabella Soldani.”

  Her grandmother beamed. “You can call me Nonna.”

  Damien clasped the old woman’s offered hand.

  Nonna tugged on him. “Come down here so I can see you properly.”

  Damien leaned over, bringing his face closer to the old woman’s.

  A smiled played at her lips as she scrutinized him. “You remind me of someone.” Her gnarled hand cupped his cheek. “It’s in your eyes.”

  “Who?” Savannah asked.

  “I can’t think of who,” Nonna said before waving her hand dismissively. “Let’s have some ice cream.” She held out her arms to Savannah. Having shrunk to below five feet and never having weighed more than a hundred pounds in her life, Savannah scooped Nonna in her arms, carried her over to her dining table, and placed her in one of the cushioned, high-backed chairs. Then she headed into the small galley kitchen and grabbed the gallon of pecan and caramel praline ice cream from the freezer and scooped out three servings. When she stepped back into the dining room, Nonna was scrutinizing Damien’s palm.

  “Nonna has psychic abilities. She read palms during the depression to earn extra money,” Savannah explained, flashing Damien a thank you-for-humoring-my-grandmother smile.

  “What do you do for a living?” Nonna asked absently while she traced the lines on Damien’s palm.

  He raised his brows in question to Savannah.

  “Go ahead,” Savannah said, knowing that in the morning Nonna would forget ever meeting him.

  “I’m a thief-for-hire,” he said simply.

  “That explains why I see so much shadow.” She trailed her thumb across his palm, but then she gasped and slammed her other hand on the table. “Sister Maria’s favorite pupil! That’s who you remind me of. She showed me his picture once. You have the same eyes.”

  “Sister Maria?” Savannah asked. “I don’t remember ever meeting her.”

  “Well, if you hadn’t stopped going to church when you were twelve, you might have,” Nonna scolded before continuing, “She led the church choir on Sundays, but she was also a teacher at the children’s home in town.”

  Damien cleared his throat, drawing both their gazes. But his eyes did not lock with Savannah’s. It was her nonna’s gaze that he held.

  “It’s you, isn’t it?” Nonna asked softly.

  He nodded.

  “What?” Savannah exclaimed.

  “I lived in a children’s home not far from here,” he answered.

  Nonna smiled. “Sister Maria spoke of you often. She adored you.” But then a soft gasp fled Nonna’s lips. “Oh my, I remember she told me that you had been abandoned at birth.” Her brow furrowed, creasing her forehead. “You were thrown away.”

  “What?” Savannah gasped.

  Damien’s face showed no emotion as he nodded. “I was discarded in a dumpster and saved by a homeless man who heard me crying.”

  Tears stung Savannah’s eyes. “You...you said were abandoned, but I never thought...” her voice trailed off. She couldn’t say the words out loud. Her mind was racing and her heart breaking. She met Damien’s gaze. “You were thrown away.” Tears rushed down her cheeks.

  He gently squeezed her hand to comfort her. “I told you I was abandoned as a child.”

  “I know, but I had assumed you were left on a doorstep or something.”

  “Tears cannot undo the past, Savannah,” Nonna told her as she continued to inspect his palm. “You grew into a strong man, educated, well-traveled.” Then her smile faltered. “You’ve risen out of shadow but you’re still afraid of the light.” Her voice trembled. “You’re broken, aren’t you?”

  He reached across the table with his free hand and patted Nonna’s arm soothingly. “You can’t break what was never whole.”

  Savannah wanted to go to him, to pull him into her arms and hold him as if he were still that abandoned child, but he wasn’t that child anymore. His emotionless face told her that he didn’t need her comfort, nor did she want to upset Nonna by causing a scene. She choked back her tears before asking Damien, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “He was waiting for you to remember,” Nonna said knowingly. Then she said to Damien. “Sister Maria told me the story about you and the little girl. That was Savannah, wasn’t it?”

  He nodded.

  A glint of excitement shone in the old woman’s eyes. “He has something of yours,” she said to Savannah who turned and looked expectantly at Damien.

  He stood and reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out a silver bracelet.

  Savannah’s gaze darted from Damien to her nonna, and then to the bracelet. Confused, her brows drew together, and then suddenly, she was awash in a flood of memory. A soft gasp fled her lips. She remembered...the field trip to the children’s home, getting lost when she went to the bathroom, and then the sound of a child crying...“I remember you,” she whispered.

  His lips curved in a slight smile. “I remember you, too. I remembered you the first moment I saw you standing on the bed, wielding that lamp like a sword.”

  “Sister Maria thought the world of you,” Nonna interjected, drawing Damien’s gaze.

  He
nodded. “She stayed in touch with me, even after I was placed in foster care. I doubt I would have finished high school had it not been for her encouragement.”

  “Clearly, my granddaughter thinks the world of you, too.” Nonna gave him an assessing look. “You’ve not lived up to your potential.”

  “I know,” he said simply.

  “It’s not too late.”

  Damien squeezed the old woman’s hand. “I will be a better man. I promise you.”

  Nonna smiled approvingly.

  Savannah witnessed their exchange, dumbstruck. She shook her head, at last finding her voice. “I...I can’t believe I didn’t see it.” She continued to shake her head in bewildered awe, and then she was struck by a new realization. “No wonder I couldn’t keep away from you. I’m not just some weak glutton for bad boys. Somehow, I knew...I knew we had met before.” She took the bracelet from his hand. “I remember now.”

  “I never forgot.”

  They locked eyes. For a moment, he was the little boy and she the little girl. She reached out, took his hand, and turned it so that his palm faced up. Then she placed her bracelet in the center and closed his fingers over it. “I gave this to you once. I’m giving it to you again.”

  His gaze held hers. “Thank you,” he whispered.

  Savannah’s heart brimmed fuller with every passing moment. Then she stretched on her toes and wrapped her arms around his neck. “I can’t believe its you. I always wondered what happened to you.”

  He flashed his devastating smile. “I never stopped wondering about you.”

  “This calls for a celebration,” Nonna exclaimed. “Music, we need music.” She held up her gnarled hands. “What I would give to play the piano again, but my fingers refuse to cooperate these days.” Then she pointed over to where her piano stood, covered in family photos and stacks of sheet music and said to Damien, “I’m certain it’s out of tune, but would you humor an old woman?”

  Savannah smiled. “Nonna, I don’t know if he plays.”

  Damien laughed. “That’s because you’re not psychic.” Then he turned and dipped his head to her grandmother. “It would be an honor. Have you a particular piece in mind?”

  Nonna didn’t hesitate. “Moonlight Sonata.”

  Breathless, Savannah’s gaze followed his tall, sleekly-muscled body as he crossed the room, folded back the piano lid and sat on the bench. His back straight and long fingers extended, he closed his eyes and began to play.

  Slow, anguishing beauty poured forth from his fingertips. Savannah had heard the haunting melody a hundred times before, but that night it’s sadness struck her to her core. She watched him play, taking in his beautiful profile, his nimble, confident fingers. What a life he had known. She could not get the image of a baby being thrown into a dumpster out of her mind or the image of him as the little boy in the vast, cold dormitory. Her heart broke over and over again with each mournful note.

  After the final notes faded, Damien surprised Nonna with a lively Italian folk song. It was a magical evening, and for the first time in more than a year, Savannah wished that Nonna would remember every detail.

  When it was time to leave, Savannah carried her to bed and tucked her in and said what she always said. “Your overnight nurse, Janet, will be here soon. I love you, Nonna. You’re my woman.”

  “You’re my gal,” came her grandmother’s practiced reply.

  As she and Damien stepped out into the night, she wove her arm through his. “So really, we’re like old friends.”

  He smiled. “We certainly are.” Then his expression grew serious. “After I took my mask off, I waited to see if you recognized me. When you didn’t, I just thought it might be best to make a fresh start.”

  “You don’t need to worry. I’m not mad. I love that we have a history. It also makes me feel way less reckless, which is a massive relief.”

  A grin played at his lips. “Because now you can say, you’re dating a guy you met in your youth, instead of the guy who tried to rob your boss.”

  She laughed. “Exactly. History is important. Knowing where you come from helps show you where you want to go. Nonna always used to tell me that, and she’d sit me down and show me old photos and—” Just then she was struck by an idea. “Hey, speaking of history and robbing my boss, do you know what I’m thinking?”

  “After everything your nonna bewitched from my past, I cannot even begin to guess.”

  “I think we should steal the painting.”

  His eyes flashed wide. “That was unexpected.”

  “I’ve had to sell a lot of my nonna’s things to pay for her care, but the heirlooms that mean something to her, I would never consider selling. I would get another job first. I bet the true ancestors of Baron Von Wilder would be thrilled to have their missing painting returned.”

  Damien shook his head. “They probably don’t even realize they’re missing it.”

  “But we do. We can set things right.”

  “So, you want me to steal the multi-million dollar painting from your boss’s house to give it back to the rightful owners.”

  She nodded. “You must think I’m crazy.”

  “No, I think you are good.” He cupped her cheek. “There is goodness in you that I’ve never experienced before, except maybe from Sister Maria.”

  Savannah laughed out loud. “That’s the first time I’ve ever been compared to a nun.”

  Damien smiled. “Laugh all you want, but it’s true. You don’t even realize how good you are, because you’re always punishing yourself. But you give of yourself so fully—to your work, to your friends. You love without agenda or expectation, and that is a beautiful and rare thing to witness, Savannah Honey.”

  She blushed. “You give me far too much credit.” Then she shrugged. “It was a silly idea. And I’m sure impossible. Anyway, it would take time and planning and you’re probably not interested in sticking around long enough for that.”

  He gave a cool shake of his head. “It won’t be me who’s eighty-sixed around here.”

  “What does that mean?”

  He stepped forward and clasped her body tight to his. “You’re eighty-sixed from the restaurant, from New Hampshire.”

  “What are you talking about?” she asked skeptically, wrapping her arms around his neck.

  “When I go, come with me.”

  She froze and looked him hard in the eye. “Don’t say that if you don’t mean it. Don’t bullshit me. I’ve been hurt too—”

  His kiss silenced her defense. She softened against him. Then, he pulled a breath away and looked down at her, his gaze unwavering. “I never, as you say, bullshit,” he promised.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The next morning, Savannah woke up to the smell of hot coffee. She found Damien taking the eggs out of the refrigerator.

  “Good morning,” he said and pulled her close, kissing her tenderly. “You were supposed to stay in bed so I could surprise you.”

  She smiled. “I’m like a vampire smelling fresh blood when anyone presses the brew button on a coffee pot. Nothing can keep me away.”

  He chuckled and quickly grabbed a mug. “Let me pour you some before the frenzy for caffeine becomes too great to contain.”

  She laughed, accepting the cup. “Speaking of frenzy, do you know what I’m craving.”

  “If you mention human blood again, I may become a little suspicious.”

  “Fried dough,” she exclaimed.

  He gave her a curious look. “How did frenzy bring you to fried dough?”

  She smiled. “Hampton Beach, of course. I’m only working the dinner shift tonight. We can walk around all the weird shops and do some people watching and eat fried dough.”

  “I’ve heard about Hampton Beach but I’ve never actually been.”

  She gave him a skeptical look. “Do you mean to tell me that you lived in southern New Hampshire, but you’ve never been to Hampton. How is that possible?”

  “Can you picture nuns walking around a p
lace that can be associated with the term frenzy?”

  She smiled at the image. “Now that you mention it, I’ve never seen any nuns on the boardwalk. It’s definitely the less polished side of coastal living. You’ll love it,” she promised.

  After they dressed for the day, they left behind the mansions of Rye and ventured further south to Hampton Beach. Noisy, crowded, unconventional, and less affluent, the brief strip of coast was known for its seasonal storefronts, which unapologetically boasted outlandish goods from motorcycle club vests to tie-dyed bandanas to beach towels that could make you look like a mermaid or a cowboy.

  Although fine dining could be found, most people flocked to the strip for fried dough, cotton candy, and loaded sausage subs. But Savannah’s favorite storefront was one she had never actually entered before. Flanked by an arcade and a pizza place, was an old time photo and costume shop where clientele dress up in period clothing.

  “I’ve always wanted to go in there,” Savannah said, pointing to the painted plywood store front with a sign that read Portraits in Time.

  Damien stopped and looked at it for a moment. She could see his gaze quickly take everything in. She imagined he was casing it—making sure he noticed everyone nearby. At length, he offered her his arm. “Shall we?”

  Her eyes widened with surprise. Whenever she had pointed out the shop to her other boyfriends, they had just laughed at her whimsy.

  Nodding, she allowed him to lead her inside.

  A man with thinning sandy blond hair, a blue t-shirt, and khaki shorts greeted them when they entered.

  “Welcome,” he said. “I’m Ted. Are you both ready to go back in time?”

  Damien simply dipped his head to acknowledge the man as he started to scan the surrounding photos—couples, families, and other groups dressed in everything from cowboy chaps to Victorian gowns to medieval regalia.

  “To which time period are we going to travel?” Damien asked her.

  “I’m not sure,” she said. “There’s so many to choose from.” She looked at the wall of photos, then stopped in front of an image of two lovely young women who were clearly sisters. They wore fringed flapper dresses and sequined headbands adorned with decorative plumes. It made her think of The Great Gatsby. “This one,” she said, showing Damien.