Conclusion now posted below!! Plain, ordinary, dull…deadly dull. It seems the only time that timid Michelle Koslowski really lives is when she's penning the latest glamorous and daring adventures of her heroine, Chelle Charming, the star of a series of books she's hoping to one day see published. If only…if only Michelle were more like Chelle—sexy, seductive and confident, then maybe that gorgeous guy down at the diner might notice something more than her daily order for cappuccino and biscotti. But, between trying to keep his diner solvent and keeping real estate developers from squeezing him out of the neighborhood, Gene Francetti has too much on his mind to even notice the customers coming into his diner…especially when his long lost Uncle Guiseppe sweeps into town in a stretch limo and carrying a wad of dough that boggles the mind. For some reason, Gene's dad isn't too keen on renewing acquaintances with his kid brother. In fact, his dad warns all his children to stay as far away from their uncle as possible. That's pretty unusual for a man like Gene's father who has believed and passed on his philosophy that "family is everything." Yet somehow, between gummy cakes and goons and muffins and the Mafia, Gene begins noticing more and more that nice, quiet woman who has seemed to found a way into his life. Perhaps…maybe one day…but then again, just how is she connected to Uncle Guiseppe? Sign up for this free serialization! Subscribe to DiskUsChapters Powered by www.egroups.com Chapter Seven Gene looked down at the sheaf of papers offered by Ted Crocetti. He glanced up at the minute businessman. "This isn't some joke?" "Absolutely not, sir. When it comes to business, I don't joke…neither does the consortium I represent. We have had our eye on you for some time. Your presence was brought to our attention by the daughter of an associate of the chairman of the consortium." Ted Crocetti smiled, sliding up on the chair Gene had cleaned off for him. "This recent unpleasantness aside, we believe that you have a product here that could form the basis of a successful chain." "As long as the quality remained high." Gene shook his head. "I'm not going to lie and say that something like this hasn't been an unspoken dream of mine, but I never expected at this point in my life." "Gene, you offer a perfect blend here. There are many business models with American cuisine that have successfully offered both an exquisite dining in service as well as a bakery take-out. Why this hasn't been extended to international cuisine, I can't tell you." Ted brushed some dust from his pant leg. "What I can tell you is that the Spiro Stheno consortium is willing to bankroll this endeavor-provided that you remain with the company to direct the culinary aspects." "This wouldn't be one of those plastic kinds of places with the fake grape vines and such, would it?" Gene asked warily. "I create Italian cuisine; I don't do pizza." "Absolutely, Gene. If you're interested in discussing this further, I have some artistic renderings at my hotel you can look at. Of course, the aim we're going for is a taste of Italy here in the States. The authentic Italy." "Yet, this is a Greek consortium? Why wouldn't they be more interested in Greek cuisine?" "To be honest, because the American people are more familiar with Italian cuisine. That's established. To create a chain of Greek restaurants would require a lot of education. Mr. Stheno is a proud Greek; don't get me wrong. But, he's primarily a businessman focused on profitable ventures." Gene nodded. He looked at the papers and then around the remains of his trattoria. It certainly would solve a lot of problems. Yet, it would create more. He knew it would disappoint Uncle Guiseppe if he sold out to the Greek. Maybe, if he could convince Guiseppe to just retire…Heck, he could even buy him a condo close to his Dad's house with the spare change from the deal he was being offered.

"I need to think about it. You said the trattoria was recommended by the daughter of an associate. Could I ask who that is? I'd like to thank her for her good words," Gene said, folding the papers.

"I truly wish I could tell you, Gene. But, that information was not provided."

"And you'd buy my place here? Even in the state it's in?"

"Yes, Gene. Though, we wouldn't rebuild here. We have a site purchased not far from here. We'd like to establish the first Geno's there. It's a nice location right on the shore-near a new seafood place, actually. We'd like to be able to give a quality background to the cuisine-so much of which comes from the sea in Italy. Of course, that won't be possible as we expand across the country, but the flagship of the line will be used in all the promotion and marketing."

Ted hesitated, cleared his throat and lowered his voice. "You must be aware that this neighborhood is rapidly being secured by another party. They wish to create a resort-a family resort though dependent on gambling as their prime revenue source. Mr. Stheno and his associates believe that this Italian-American organization has darker reasons to build here." Ted looked around. "Gene, Mr. Stheno is a man who highly believes in family values. He does not want to see the kind of crime normally associated with this type of place come here. He's in a position to fight them. He has the money. From what I understand, you've resisted their offers. Let Mr. Stheno deal with them."

"But…what about my neighbors?" Gene found himself whispering, too. "They're really excited about selling out."

"And they'll be able to conclude their dealings. But, this very site is the linchpin to that development. If we can secure it, then we hold the key to its future." Again, Ted looked around. "Gene, wouldn't you rather see a renewal of this neighborhood than a gambling resort? We know that eventually we'll be able to purchase most of the property here. Once they realize their plans are thwarted, they'll move on to greener pastures. What we envision is single-family housing and a few tastefully designed brownstone apartment buildings. Sprinkled throughout will be the services needed by those families. It will become a real neighborhood again, Gene."

Spiro Stheno adjusted his sunglasses before flipping open his briefcase and pulling out several folders. He dropped them on the glass table and closed the case, pausing for a moment to gaze out over the dark, undulating ocean. Other rooms in the expensive resorts lacked the spectacular view of the Atlantic, but Spiro hadn't even considered what others might be able to view from their resort room, just as he hadn't noticed the luxurious appointments of his penthouse suite. It wasn't that such things were normally beneath his notice. In normal circumstances, Spiro was one of the most observant men in the world, considering everything around him. Today was different.

That she'd chosen to run away from him and his private island seemed totally impossible to believe. Then, again, that she preferred mucking about in the dust and dirt in the mere slimmest of hopes of finding some fragment of an artifact was a continual puzzlement to Spiro. Not that he didn't take an inordinate amount of pride in the legacies left to the world by his Greek ancestors, because he certainly did, donating generously to various museums and archaeological expeditions. It was because of him that many artifacts stolen and pirated away were returned to the public museums of Athens. His agents were constantly on the alert, swooping in to purchase artifacts when they became available on the black market.

It was because of that he'd met Tess. A private auction, his agent had whispered to him, rumored to be where the Stone of Mydria was going to be sold to the highest bidder. Intrigued that he might purchase this mythical stone, whispered to have been created by the goddess Hera herself, he threw caution to the wind and ordered that he be invited to the auction, though it meant rubbing elbows with the scourge of the blackest of men, those who would slash a throat if it meant possessing something no one else could ever possess. Many believed the stone didn't even exist, but if there were a chance that he could buy it for the national museum, he'd spend his entire fortune.

Spiro smiled to himself, remembering his first sight of Tess. Still dusty from a dig, she strolled into the private room in the back of the gambling club with a backpack over one shoulder and a look on her face that warned anyone from approaching her. She'd demanded to view the stone, to ascertain its authenticity. They'd laughed at her until she'd opened the backpack and offered a glimpse of stack upon stack of thousand dollar bills.

"I believe this buys my way into this game," she'd taunted, zipping the bag shut again. Immediately, she was ushered to the table in the center of the room where the stone was veiled beneath a piece of black velvet. She'd leaned over table peeked under the cloth, then threw her head back and laughed.

"It's a fake!" she announced, before wheeling to the swarthy, sweating owner. "You waste my time, sir."

She'd nearly made it back out of the room by the time the owner threw back the cloth and shouted an alarm. Spiro, captivated by this creature, snapped his fingers and his own bodyguards immediately swept them out of the room and into his limousine before the owner's revolver had left its holster under his arm.

Yet, while he'd perhaps expected a bit of gratitude for the rescue, he'd been surprised to discover he was sitting with a spitting and clawing wild cat in the back of his limo and fighting off her attempts to create a portal out of the car straight through him. He could laugh about it now, but at the time, it took all his powers of persuasion to get her to calm down and listen to him. As the limo sped through the streets of Athens toward the countryside where his estate was located, she'd finally calmed down enough to believe that he'd meant her no harm. He'd called her "Indiana Joan." She'd called him…well, it was better not to remember quite what she had called him. But, he'd fallen totally in love with her in the back of that limo.

That it turned out the stone she'd stolen to give to the national museum wasn't even a good fake made no difference to him. That the backpack he'd assumed was filled with money was actually stuffed with newspaper and enough cash to make it appear she was walking around with a fortune first amused and then worried him. He couldn't bear to think what those thugs might have done to her had she been caught.

Still, Spiro reached up and lightly touched his bruised cheek; he figured that Tess could probably take care of herself in any situation. She was totally different from any other woman he'd ever met. Where most women fought to gain his attention, she hardly noticed he existed when she was consumed by one of her expeditions. Where most women would hang on his every word as if it were written in stone, she annoyingly argued and tossed his own edicts back into his face. Where most women bribed and stole into his bedroom to wait for him with open arms, she…and this was most annoying…could rouse his wildest passion and then walk away as if it had been a pleasant interlude but nothing worth noting.

"She's a wild creature," his mother warned him. "Do not try to tame her. Be grateful only to get her to walk by your side as long as it pleases her."

But, had he listened to his mother's sage advice? Of course not. He was Greek and used to having his way. Too late, Spiro realized he'd played the game with Tess exactly wrong. He maneuvered and manipulated and tried, tried truly hard, to arrange everything that would please her. Expense was no object. Obstacles designed to be overcome.

Hadn't he bought enough stock in the New York publishing company to persuade them to publish her daughter's books-sight unseen? When Tess had worried about what her daughter's involvement with this cook who seemed connected to the Italian Mafia, hadn't Spiro himself sent private investigators to ferret out the truth?

Of course, the cook wasn't involved with the Mafia. And the uncle, who was suspected of being involved, had actually simply turned out to be the shill for a syndicate of Italian businessmen intent on establishing a gambling resort right where the cook's restaurant stood. Spiro shook his head in dismay. For that old man to shoot himself was a pure act of desperation. And why? To manipulate his way back into the family and into the cook's trust just to get him to sell his property. Only an Italian would resort to such drama.

Spiro flipped open a folder and began to review the report prepared by Ted Crocetti. What a stroke of genius for a Greek like Spiro to hire an Italian to deal with these people. He chuckled softly to himself because it was his own stroke of genius. And it was all for her, his Tess. And she wouldn't even speak to him! No, she had to run away instead. Run away to her daughter. Run away to hide from the obvious truth that they, the two of them, should marry and spend the rest of their lives together.

The jewels he'd tried to bury her in hadn't convinced her of his intentions. The money he'd spent to secretly finance her expedition had been thrown back in his face once she'd discovered the truth. Again, he looked toward the ocean and saw the color of Tess' eyes-her angry eyes as she'd accused him, and rightly so, of attempting to manipulate her life.

That's when he decided he needed to eliminate all the obstacles she set before him-knock them down one at a time beginning with the biggest, the daughter. Tess wanted her daughter to be happy. The daughter wanted to write romances and see them published. Okay, that was accomplished, even though the daughter didn't even know it yet. The daughter wanted her friend out of danger. Well, as soon as the cook signed the purchase agreement and agreed to the franchise scheme, he'd be well beyond any danger she might have imagined him in. Then, there'd be no need for Tess to remain here. She could not object to returning with him to Athens and home.

Then, he'd tackle the second obstacle. Tess said she wanted a "regular" guy. Spiro had no idea what a "regular" guy was. Hell, he didn't even know who he could ask about that. But, he'd find the answer.

A firm knock on the door of the suite brought Spiro's gaze back from the ocean. Theo, his right hand, was immediately at his side. He waved Theo away, knowing the hulking figure would see to answering the door. While he waited patiently, he scanned the report filed by Crocetti, familiarizing himself with all he needed to know before this encounter.

"Boss?" Theo interrupted. "You want to talk to him out here?"

"Yes, Theo. And please, bring some refreshments." Spiro closed the folder. He watched as the man shuffled slowly forward and dropped into the chair across the table.

"Guiseppe Francetti, I am Spiro Stheno."

"I know who you are," Guiseppe replied calmly. "What I want to know is why you summoned me here? What do you want? I've been an ill man, you know, and-"

"Only by your own hand, Mr. Francetti. You've been a naughty boy. Would your family welcome you back into their embrace if they knew exactly how desperate you were to find your way back to them?"

Spiro smiled, as he watched the old man pale before his eyes. He wouldn't be cruel, though that might be entertaining. By nature, Spiro simply wasn't a cruel man. Still, it was good to make the opponent realize that one held the more powerful hand.

"What do you want?"

"Your help. That is all. Simply your help."

"Gene, it's…it's too good to be true." Michelle gasped, as Gene finished telling her of his meeting with Ted Crocetti. "It's like the answer to your prayers."

"But how can I do that, Chelle?" Gene shook his head. He leaned his head back against the chaise lounge on Michelle's deck and looked out over the ocean. "If I'm going to sell to anyone, I should sell to my uncle's people. It's so important to him to make this deal. And it might be the only way to bring this family back together again."

Michelle looked over at him. Beneath the familiar hair falling softly across his brow were lines of worry, etching themselves into his skin. To anyone else, his ruggedly handsome face would appear normal, but Michelle could see the anguish in his eyes and the tight set of his jaw.

It wasn't her business to pry, to interject her personal feelings. They were friends, perhaps close to becoming more than friends. She worried if she spoke her mind it would kill the budding of this romance, a romance she'd like to see flower fully. Instead of answering, she reached for the pitcher of lemonade she'd prepared and poured him a tall glass. She watched as he gulped it down thirstily, then refilled his glass.

"Any ideas?"

"I don't want to say, Gene. This is your business, not mine," she said, carefully.

"Chelle, I want to hear what you think. It's important to me. I trust you."

Emotion stirred in her chest. What she thought was important to him? He trusted her? She looked down at the table, hoping to hide the flood of color rushing in to her face. Did he understand just how much his faith in her meant? Still, if she chose to tell him her thoughts, the truth of them, she'd risk angering him. She doubted greatly if he really wanted to hear what she really believed.

On the other hand, what kind of relationship could they have if they weren't as honest as possible with one another? If the truth was going to stop what had begun between them, wasn't it better for it to happen now? Now, before she committed herself body and soul to him?

"Come on, Chelle," he urged. "Please…"

"You might not like to hear what I think, Gene." Nervously, she tucked her hair behind her ears and glanced at him. "I don't think you should let your family come between you and realizing your dream. I don't think the gesture would be appreciated."

"The gesture?"

"Look, we both know that your uncle wants you to sell to his outfit. And we both know your mother would sooner die than allow your uncle to succeed at anything. To be perfectly honest, your selling to this Ted Crocetti isn't going to make the situation any better-or any worse as far as your family is concerned. But, selling to him opens up all sorts of doors to opportunity to you."

"Granted, Mom is a bit…umm…what's the word I'm looking for?"

Michelle could have tossed out a dozen adjectives, but discarded each and every one. None of them would have pleased Gene.

"Determined?" she finally settled on.

"No…"

"Stubborn?"

"Yeah, stubborn. But, eventually, she's going to see just how much having Uncle Guiseppe around really pleases Dad. Heck, pleases all of us. She'll come around."

Sadly, Michelle shook her head. "No, Gene. Don't dream for the impossible. People don't change, not really. And your mom will never do more than maybe tolerate his presence. And even that-just tolerating it-isn't going to make it any easier on anyone. There's a history between those two that isn't anyone's business but theirs. I doubt either is going to change their opinions at this stage of the game."

"Still, Uncle Guiseppe is family…and I owe it to him to sell to him if that's what he really wants. And whether Mom likes it or not…well…"

"Actually, Gene, I see this new opportunity as a great compromise. You're not going to tick off your mother by selling to Crocetti. And if Guiseppe really loves you, then he'll want what's best for you. This is way beyond what he's offering you. He'll see that." She smiled at him. "Gene, you need to decide what's best for you and you alone. You don't need your family's approval. You don't need anyone's."

He reached over and picked up her hand, bringing it to his lips. "Not even yours?" he murmured.

She blinked and looked at him solemnly. "No, Gene. Especially not me. This must be your decision, yours alone. You're far too generous in allowing other people to arrange your life for you." Warning. Walking on thin ice here. Yet, if there were to be anything-even just a friendship between them-Michelle needed to be totally open and honest with him. If he blew up and told her to go to hell, so be it.

His fingers tensed around hers. "What do you mean by that?"

She took a deep breath. "Exactly what I said, Gene. I swear, it seems as if any time you want to change channels on the television it requires a vote of a quorum of your family members-with your mother having final veto authority over any decision." She laughed nervously. Well, he'd asked-and she'd responded.

Now, the fingers tightened. Michelle bit her lip and raised her chin. Oh, yeah, she'd definitely touched a sore spot.

"You make it sound as if I have no mind of my own, Chelle," he accused.

"Oh, no. You have a great mind. You're very intelligent, Gene. But, you have a huge heart that most of the time tends to do your thinking for you. And, that's fine in its place, but…well, Gene, it's like this. Take your house-do you really like how it's decorated?"

"Look," he dropped her hand and pushed himself up in his chair, "if Mama hadn't offered to take care of that I'd still be living in boxes. She and the girls worked damned hard to get that place fixed up. What would I have done with Uncle Guiseppe if they hadn't done that?"

"It speaks to larger issues, Gene. Just why did you live so long there without making the time to fix it up any way? Seems as if you have some unresolved issues that you need to deal with-perhaps you've needed to consider for a long time." Again, Michelle pushed her hair behind her ears and glanced out at the ocean. So constant, so steady. It might occasionally roar and beat at the shore, but it was always there. "It seems as if you're almost afraid to chart your own course-as if you don't have to take responsibility if you let others do that for you."

"And you get all this from the fact that I let my mother and sisters decorate my house?" His laughter sounded angry and bitter.

"That…and other things."

"Such as?"

"Jennifer." One word, spoken softly, but it echoed between them. Michelle glanced at Gene. He looked as if she'd struck between the eyes with a two-by-four.

"Jennifer?" The word came out in a hoarse whisper.

"Yes. Jennifer."

Michelle would not confess that within the past few weeks she and Jennifer had become close, firm friends. Indeed, Jennifer really was the first best friend other than her mother that Michelle had ever had. She liked Jennifer. The woman had wit and style and grace. Oh, Michelle supposed that as Gene's ex-girlfriend, Jennifer might pose a threat, but Michelle certainly didn't see her that way. No, Jennifer had done more than Gene had to move on with her life. She was successful and popular and totally in love with Don. Maybe that was why Michelle didn't worry about Jennifer laying previous claim to Gene.

"I am so over Jennifer-Chelle, that was a long time ago. A life time ago."

"Yes, I realize that. But, you and Jennifer were very close, you had deep feelings for her and you don't seem to hold any animosity toward her now that you're past the hurt of her walking away from your relationship. And there's Don, too. You say that the three of you used to be close friends."

"True. All true. So, why do you see this as an unresolved issue for me?" He laughed again, as confusion clouded his eyes and he shrugged helplessly.

"Because of the way you allowed your mother to treat both of them that night at the restaurant. Gene, your mother was rude-beyond rude. She was positively bitchy." Michelle could hear the ice proverbially cracking beneath her feet. There was no retreating now, though. "You allowed your mother to belittle Jennifer without saying one thing to her…without even apologizing to Jennifer and Don. She got away with it, Gene, and just like a little kid, once she gets away with something she's going to see just how far she can take it.

"So…am I the next on Sophia's hit list?"

"Yes, Mom was totally out of line that night. I admit that-"

"And did you say one word to her about it? Did your father?"

"Errr…well, no. But you see…" He glanced away from her nervously.

"Yes," Michelle shook her head emphatically, "I do see. Your mother has been running your lives for so long that I think you believe it's just easier to go along with it than stand on your own two feet and tell her no."

"That's not fair-"

"Isn't it, Gene? Isn't it really? You do realize that she's already informed your uncle that as soon as he's back on his feet that those feet better hit the road? Isn't that pretty much what she said to Jennifer?" Oops. Big mistake. From the look of shock on Gene's face, he obviously didn't know about the final confrontation between Sophia and Jennifer before Jennifer packed her bags and left. Still, Jennifer hadn't told her that it was a secret. Michelle took another deep breath. "So, I imagine I'm the next one that Sophia is going to tell to leave you alone. I'm surprised she's restrained herself from saying it before now."

"What did she tell Jennifer? And how the hell would you know?"

"I know, Gene," Michelle replied, feeling a bit of anger rising in herself, "because I listen to people other than Sophia. Guiseppe told me himself that Sophia laid down the law to him that day he came home from the hospital. And as far as Jennifer is concerned-well, we've become friends. And it's only natural for friends to talk about their relationships. To be honest, she warned me against becoming involved with you because Sophia would never rest until she came between you and me the same way she did between you and Jennifer."

Gene jumped up from his chair. It clattered across the deck. She watched him flex his fists. He was very angry, but she knew that Gene would never touch her in anger. He threw his hands away from his body and spun around, pacing back and forth on the deck.

"How dare she warn you! Of all the bullsh-That is totally out of line."

"Is it? Gene, you see only what you want to see. You hear only what you want to hear. It's easy for you to let your mother organize your house, organize your life, organize your relationships because then you don't have to take any responsibility for them. If things work out, fine. If not-well, then it's not your fault, is it? It's always the other guy's fault." With a shaking hand, Michelle poured herself another glass of lemonade. She took a sip, watching Gene pace from beneath lowered lashes. "It's time to cut the umbilical cord, Gene. It's time to stand on your own two feet and chart your own course."

It was almost a relief when the telephone rang. Michelle excused herself and walked into the apartment to answer it.

"Michelle Koslowski?" A stranger's voice called.

"This is she."

"Ms. Koslowski, my name is Stan Shepherd. I'm an editor at Pantages Publishing."

Michelle felt her heart stop beating. "Yes?" Was that her voice, sounding so squeaky and high?

"Some time ago you submitted a manuscript to us. Let me see…Ah yes, here it is. It's entitled 'Chelle Charming: Assignment in Paradise.' Do you recall sending us that book?"

"Yes…" This couldn't be happening. Not to her. She'd sent that manuscript to Pantages more than three years earlier. She'd long given up on ever hearing from them about it.

"Have you placed this book with any other publisher?"

"No." Why was it that she could only manage one-syllable words? This man would think he was speaking with an idiot.

"Then, we'd like to make you an offer."

"An offer for what?" Michelle squeaked, nervously wrapping the telephone cord around and around her wrist.

Stan Shepherd laughed warmly. "To publish your book. We're currently expanding our line of romantic adventures and your book will be the premiere of that line if we can come to an agreement on terms."

"Are you sure you read it?" Michelle asked doubtfully. It had been her first novel. Oh, she'd thought she known everything there was to know about writing back then, but life and experience had taught her that those first efforts were now amateurish and laughable.

Again, he chuckled softly into the phone. "That's not usually the reaction we get when we call to make an offer on a book. Most unusual."

"Well, it was my first book," she admitted. "I'm a much better writer now than I ever was then."

"I hope that means that you have more of Chelle's terrific adventures as yet unpublished. We'd like to offer you a three-book deal."

"A what?" she asked, incredulously.

"A three-book deal. Do you have any others?"

Michelle glanced over at the table and her box of diskettes. Did she have any others? Only about a dozen. Each summarily rejected by every publisher she'd submitted them to.

"Actually, yes, I do. Several others. As many others as you'd like," she laughed, as she began to absorb the news. "I can't quite believe this. I mean…it seems I've been waiting so long for this phone call. I can't believe you still have that book after all this time."

Stan cleared his throat. "Well, we have quite a backlog of submissions and we like to give each one thorough attention before making a final decision. Actually, if we'd come across your manuscript at any other time, I doubt we would have been interested. But, as I say, corporate changes, expanding lines, that sort of thing." Did he seem flustered all of a sudden? He was talking so rapidly that Michelle could hardly understand everything he was saying.

"At any rate, could you please give me the name of your agent so I can contact him. Get the ball rolling and all."

Now, it was Michelle's turn to chuckle. "Do you realize how difficult it is to obtain representation by an agent? I think it's easier climbing Mount Everest. Sorry, Mr. Shepherd. I don't have an agent."

"Hmmm. Well, we can negotiate directly with you, Ms. Koslowski. But, I can tell you this. You'll find it much easier to find representation now that you have a three-book deal on the table. Why don't you call around to a few of the agencies here in the city? If you select an agent, we'll deal with him or her. Leave the creativity to you. If not, then…"

"Then, I need to brush up on my negotiating skills? Okay, Mr. Shepherd."

Michelle could hardly restrain herself from dancing around the room as the editor outlined the specifics of the deal. She simply couldn't absorb it all. It was a challenge just to write down his name and telephone number. After she promised to call him within the next couple of days and finally untangled her wrist from the telephone cord, Michelle gently placed the receiver back on the telephone.

"Chelle? You can't just drop a bombshell and then walk away," Gene said, leaning against the open patio door. "I have a few things I'd like to say to you."

It only took one look for Michelle to realize these were things she probably didn't want to hear. And wouldn't hear…not today. Not the day when her dreams were finally realized.

She walked over and took him by the arm, leading him toward the door.

"This conversation is over. Think about what I said, Gene. Think hard. Step back and take a look at your situation." She opened the door. "I just received the best news of my life and arguing with you isn't going to kill this high I'm on right now."

"That's not fair, Chelle."

"Tough. Life's not fair, Gene. Like I said-think about what I said. Talk to your uncle. Talk to Jennifer. And this time really listen."

"If I get what you've been trying to tell me, Chelle, you want me to make a choice between you and my mother. I'm not going to be pushed into that corner again," he said firmly, shaking her hand from his arm.

"No, Gene. That's not what I'm asking. What I'm asking is that you make a choice-your mother or you. Who's going to be the master of your destiny, Gene? You or her? I don't enter into it all until you make that decision."

As Gene staggered back, Michelle shut the door. She ran out on the patio and whooped for joy, startling three seagulls and an elderly couple strolling down the beach. Nothing-absolutely nothing was going to spoil her day. Not even speaking her mind and probably chasing away the only man she'd ever fallen in love with. She would worry about that later. It was safer that way.

"Well, you're getting your wish, Sophia. I'm leaving," Guiseppe stated, closing the door to Gene's house firmly behind him. He took a couple of steps in to the living room, glancing at his sister-in-law, evidently so shocked at his news that the knitting had dropped from her hands to the floor.

"Aren't you going to jump up and down with happiness? I imagine the only thing that would make you any happier would be for me to completely disappear from the face of the earth, but that's not going to happen."

"You-you're leaving?"

"Happily so, Sophia. I won't be the fly in your ointment any longer." He stepped slowly to Gene's favorite recliner. The trip to meet Spiro Stheno had fatigued him. No, the realization that this powerful man had made it his business to know virtually everything about him and his past was wearying in itself. Still, Stheno had turned out to be a fair man, a kind man actually. Guiseppe sank down into the chair and heaved a sigh of relief. "I need to catch my breath and then I'll go see about packing-not that I have much to pack."

"Why are you going?" Sophia asked, almost breathless, as if she couldn't believe her own ears.

"Why should I stay?" He shrugged, leaning his cane against the arm of the chair. "You've made it obvious you don't want me near your husband-or your precious son."

She huffed and looked away. Poor woman. She was really to be pitied. Guiseppe doubted that she'd ever truly been happy-unless it was when she was orchestrating other people's lives. And at that, she was an expert. There was something in the set of her jaw, the look in her eye. Suddenly, it became apparent just why she was so determined that he remain distant from his brother and his nephew.

"You think I would tell them what you tried to do-all those years ago? Is that why you loathe me so much, Sophia? Or is it still because I didn't want you for my woman? Wouldn't be fooled by your lies? Wouldn't do the one thing that would have killed my brother? Surely, you've gotten over that."

Wild-eyed, she glanced at him. "Hush, Seppe. Don't speak of that-ever again."

"You've no need to worry. Gene's vehicle isn't parked out front. He's not here. It's just you and me, Sophia. So, why don't you for once in your life tell the truth?"

Gene slid out of the driver's seat and looked at his house. No, to be honest, it had never been his idea of a real home. Sure, the location was splendid. It had been a wise investment. There was ample room for Penny. But, just why had he bought it in the first place?

Michelle's words came back to him as he considered the house. It was his mother who, when he refused to move back to the family home, had found it. In fact, she'd arranged everything. All Gene had had to do was sign the papers and make the payments. When he'd stubbornly refused to allow her to see to the move, she'd pouted, complaining incessantly about his living out of boxes. Like a toddler, he'd rebelled until only recently when he'd finally allowed her to do what she'd wanted to do from the beginning-organize his home for him. Is that why he felt no real tug of whatever it was one was supposed to feel about their home?

Was Michelle right?

Pocketing his keys, he walked up the sidewalk, noticing that the front door was ajar. Alarmed, he checked his rapidly beating heart. Guiseppe was all right. No one had broken in. The door simply hadn't latched properly. That had to be the answer. Whoever it was who'd shot Guiseppe wasn't lurking inside and attempting to finish the job they'd started. Still, he stopped, leaning close to the opening. Just in case there was any trouble inside, he'd be prepared.

He wasn't prepared for what he heard his uncle say.

"Sophia, I knew from the moment you first spoke the lie that I could not be Geno's father."

"How could you know, Seppe? You still don't know." Gene heard his mother respond angrily.

"My brother-that poor man who has stood by your side silently for so many years-confessed to me when I returned from Sicily. He told me that in a moment of weakness that he'd slept with you. I knew of your faithlessness the moment I stepped off the plane, Sophia. Even if he hadn't confessed, I would have known that Geno was not my son."

Gene leaned against the side of the house. Was this the cause of so much bitterness so long ago?

"How? How could you know that? We were intimate, Seppe," his mother said.

"Why do you think I've never married, Sophia? Do you think I would not want my own wife? My own family? I'm denied that, Sophia. Have been denied that since I was a small boy. They didn't have shots to give kids then so they wouldn't get the mumps. And when I came down with the mumps, I became terribly ill-so ill that caused me to become sterile. I knew that before I ever slept with you, Sophia. So, I knew your lie the moment it left your lips."

"And yet, you never told him?"

"I came very close, Sophia. Knowing what he'd married sickened me. I don't know how long I could take it. Watching you suck the life out of him, day in, day out," Guiseppe sighed. "That might have been my own fate. And had I known you would spirit him away, force him to marry you…I would have accepted the lie to save him. Maybe then poor Geno would have had a chance for a life of his own."

"Leave my son out of this. Geno is doing well. He is doing much better than he ever would have if you had married me. He's going to rebuild his trattoria. I'll see to that. And I'm going to find him a good woman. A woman who'll give me grandchildren."

"Michelle? Is that who you've picked out for Geno?"

Gene heard his mother spit. "Her? Never. She's totally unsuitable. Just like that Jennifer was totally unsuitable. I'll send to the old country. I'll find him a bride who'll learn to be a good, old-fashioned wife to him."

"In other words, a poor, innocent creature you can bend to your own will. Right, Sophia?" Guiseppe sighed again.

Gene didn't know how much more of this he could stand. It was wrong. All wrong. He shouldn't be listening to this very private conversation. Yet, considering he was the subject of much of it, it seemed as if his feet had melted into the sidewalk making it impossible to move.

"Gene?" his uncle called. "Is that what you want for a wife? A carbon copy of your mother?"

"Gene! What are you saying, Guiseppe?" his mother demanded.

"Gene, come into the house. I know you're standing by the door. I can see your shadow," Guiseppe called again.

Gene took a deep breath and pushed the door open. He looked from his mother's face, whitened in shock, to his uncle's weary one.

"I'm sorry, Geno," Guiseppe said. "It's just time you knew the truth. What you do with it is your business."

"Geno…it's not what you think it is!" Sophia moaned, falling back against the couch.

"What am I supposed to think it is, Mama?" Gene fought the urge to run away, to run as far and as fast as he could. He shook his head sorrowfully. Jennifer had been right. Michelle had been right. He'd been a fool his entire life.

"I…I can explain…"

"I think you'd better confess to Papa. I think you'd better beg for his forgiveness. Then, I think you better go to the priest and confess all over again." Gene turned and walked back toward the door, pulling his keys from his pocket. "They might be able to forgive you, Mama. I don't think I can."

"I have to tell you, Mom," Michelle smiled at her mother across the table, "this is a whole lot better time than I had the last time I was here."

"Oh, you've eaten here before?" Tess looked around the seafood restaurant. "Here I hoped we'd be celebrating your good news in a place new to both of us."

"It's more than good news, Mom. It's colossal, out of this world, not to be believed news." Michelle giggled. She reached her arm across the table. "Quick. Pinch me. I want to make sure I'm not dreaming."

Tess batted her daughter's arm aside and laughed. "I'm just surprised you wanted to celebrate your good fortune with me tonight and not that adorable man you've been seeing."

For a moment, Michelle pictured Gene's angry face, wondering if she'd ever see it again. Well, she'd shot herself in the foot by being honest, but she knew that she couldn't really enjoy a relationship with him any other way. It was the only cloud on her mental sunny sky-a sky filled with colorful hot air balloons and rainbows.

"I'm not sure I'm going to be seeing Gene any more, Mom. We…ummm…we sort of had a fight."

"Want to talk about it?" Tess laid down her knife and fork and folded her hands patiently in her lap.

"No. Do you want to talk about you and the Greek tycoon?"

Tess laughed again. "Girl talk, darling. I'll tell you if you tell me."

Michelle shrugged. "You go first."

"Well, I'm still trying to sort through things. Without getting into specifics, I'm at a crossroads in my life. Toward the left is what I'm most familiar with, the known. What I'm comfortable with. But, I'm getting a bit old to enjoy that life much longer."

"And where does the other direction lead, Mom?"

"It leads toward the unknown. Adventure and high stakes living. It leads me away from what's comfortable, what I'm secure with and into something I've never experienced." Tess sighed, picking up her glass of wine and sipping. "I just don't know which way to turn."

"Which road leads to the tycoon?" Michelle asked mischievously.

Tess shook her head, tossing her long hair over her shoulder. "The unknown, of course." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "He wants to marry me. Can you imagine that?"

"Well, at least he has good taste. The question is…do you want to marry him?"

"Made that mistake once. Never planned on making it again."

"Plans are designed for change, Mom. What's this guy got that none of the others you've been involved with had?"

"Spiro is…is…he's like a charging lion and a shy lamb, all rolled into one. There's a softness to him, a vulnerability that screams out to a woman. Makes her want to clasp him to her breast and protect him from the world."

"Mom, Spiro Stheno did not gain a worldwide reputation as a ruthless businessman from being a lamb."

"There's business…and then there's personal. And that's where the problem lies. Just when I think that maybe there's a chance we can live together happily ever after, Spiro does some insane thing. I wanted to take an expedition down into the Congo. I'd heard there were some excellent possibilities for pre-Civilization ruins down there. My idea was to just get a crew together and scout it out. Then, take our findings back and determine where the best place to dig might be. You know, decide on a site and then start working on the bureaucrats to get permission."

"Your normal thing. What'd Spiro do? Forbid you to go?"

"Quite the opposite. He became really excited. Made me promise to take him with me. Which, after much thought, I did."

"Then, what's the problem?" Michelle popped a tiny shrimp into her mouth, savoring its succulence.

"The problem is that I'd no more than put in a few calls to get a crew together than Spiro announces that he has arranged it all. He's hired a crew, obtained permission from the government to dig, leased earth-moving equipment for the site. The whole enchilada!"

"And what fun is that? Right, Mom?"

"Honey, planning an expedition is nearly as much fun and work as actually going and digging. You know that."

Michelle nodded. She was much the same way. Planning a book, creating the characters, developing a plot and writing it was almost as much fun as actually seeing it come to life on her monitor.

"And Spiro just couldn't understand that I didn't want the whole expedition handed to me on a platinum tray." Her mother's voice imitated a thickly-accented Greek's. "But, darling, you want to go. We go. No waiting around. You don't have to deal with petty politicians. You don't have to bury yourself in maps. You want to go. We go!"

"And we still can go!" Spiro announced, pulling out a chair next to Tess and sitting down. "We can make it a honeymoon."

"Spiro!" Tess jumped. Michelle made a quick grab and rescued her mother's wine glass just before it toppled over.

"I simply do not see why you wish to keep placing obstacles in the way to our happiness, Tess. We belong together." He glanced at Michelle before scooting his chair close to Tess' and placing an arm around her shoulder. "Michelle, look at us. Do we not make the picture of a perfect couple?"

Tess pushed away. "Spiro, what the hell are you doing here?"

"I've come to fetch you, my darling. You were worried about Michelle. Well, Michelle is taken care of."

"I am?" Michelle asked, leaning back against her chair. Damn, when her mother finally chose a man, she didn't settle for half best. He was gorgeous.

"You wanted to have your books published? Well, they are going to be published, aren't they?"

"How did you-"

He turned back to Tess. "And you were worried about her young man? Taken care of. He's going to be a powerful and wealthy man in his own right and by his own hard work. I simply took care of it for him."

"You…you're the one offering Gene-"

Tess pushed her plate aside and laid her head on the table, shaking it back and forth. "You see what I mean? I can't live like this."

"Sheesh…and I thought Sophia was the queen manipulator of the universe. She'd meet her match in him," Michelle muttered angrily.

Spiro shrugged and threw his hands in the air. "What? What? What did I do wrong now?"

"Spiro-" Tess began.

"No, Mom, let me." Michelle turned to face Spiro. "Mr. Stheno, first, you can take your book contract and shove it…"

Tess' head popped up from the table. "Careful, Michelle. If this oaf ever cleans up his act, he might just be lucky enough to be your stepfather."

Michelle counted to ten and smiled patiently. "Mr. Stheno. While I'm grateful you wanted to help me, I can't accept it. It would be an incredibly poor business decision. That book that was accepted is very substandard. I can-and have-written better. And, I'd just as soon do it on my own."

Again, Spiro shrugged. "Okay. You have both feet in the door. Prove it to them. If you can't, then it's your problem. If you can, all the better. Don't look this Greek's gift horse in the mouth, though." Spiro smiled. "I suppose you want me to tell your boyfriend I've changed my mind."

"Oh, no. Now, that makes perfectly good business sense. You give Gene a chance and he'll make both of you a pot full of gold. You're never going to find a harder worker-or someone who can really put normal Italian cuisine on the map. He's got ideas, plans. With the right backing, he could be the next Wolfgang Puck."

Spiro's smile widened. "I think he's already found his pot of gold. You, Michelle."

Michelle shook her head sadly. "I don't think so. Unless it's fool's gold."

"So, Tess. Spiro gently raised her back up, caressing her cheek with one hand as he pushed her hair away from her face with the other. "Now you come back to me? We'll get married whenever you say."

"Oh, Spiro. What am I going to do with you?" she sighed.

"You're going to work on me. If I promise not to try to help things too much, will you promise to stay and yell at me instead of just running away?" A cell phone rang from somewhere inside Spiro's suit jacket. "Pardon. I left word that I should only be called for an emergency."

Michelle looked at her mother who was watching Spiro extract the phone from his jacket. There was a look of pure adoration in her eyes even as she clucked at him disapprovingly. Oh, Lord. What a pair they would make, Michelle decided. They would constantly challenge each other, yet remain steadfastly supportive of one another. If only…if only things had worked out better between her and Gene. There wouldn't probably have been the drama, as between her mother and Spiro, but it might have been just as exciting and passionate.

"It's for you, Michelle. There seems to be a problem…"

Wondering how anyone could track her down through Spiro, Michelle reluctantly accepted the telephone. "Hello?"

"Michelle? Thank God. This is Guiseppe. There's been a…a…a confrontation between Gene and his mother. He's gone off. We've searched everywhere, but we can't find him."

"What happened?" Dear God, Michelle prayed, let this not be a result of what she'd said to him.

Quickly, Guiseppe told Michelle about what Gene had overheard, learning about his mother's manipulations and devious schemes. She felt the life drain out of her as she thought of the mental pain Gene had to be experiencing. How he must now be second-guessing everything that had ever happened to him and to his family because of an indiscretion so long ago.

"Have you checked the trattoria?" Michelle asked when Guiseppe finally finished recounting what had happened.

"Benno drove by there, but there were no lights."

"I know where he's at," Michelle announced. "Guiseppe, you know that it's time for it all to come out. To the entire family, I mean. Gene and his father are both going to need all the love and support they can get. Sophia, too."

"You can still be kind to her? Knowing-"

"Like it or not, Guiseppe, she is Gene's mother. And your brother's wife. She deserves respect for that alone. Of course, the things she's done…well, I neither condone nor judge. That's her problem to solve."

"You are a gem, Michelle. I'll bring the family together here."

"Yes, better at Gene's than at his parent's." Michelle sighed. "You get them. I'll bring Gene. But, Guiseppe…it might take a while."

Gene picked up one of the few remaining sturdy chairs, looked at the last unbroken mirror in the trattoria and smashed it with all the strength he could muster.

A lie. His entire life had been a lie. Had his mother ever truly loved his father? Was he conceived as part of a plan she'd concocted to finally win Guiseppe? And when it had blown up in her face…when she'd failed to win the prize…had she settled for second best? Had she determined to never lose what she wanted ever again, even if it meant arranging all of their lives to suit herself. Had she ever cared for any of them?

The scream that tore itself from his chest sounded feral, animalistic, even to his own ears. A scream composed of pain and anger equally. He ran his hands through his hair before ripping them out and balling his hands into fists. In the semi-darkness of the trattoria, he searched for something, anything he could destroy, destroy just as easily as his mother had destroyed his life with her lies and her schemes.

"Gene?" He heard Michelle's voice call from the front door. Damn. In his anger, he'd forgotten to lock it.

"Gene, I know you're in here. I just can't see you."

He heard a crash as Michelle had obviously stumbled into something in the dining room. "Come on, Gene. Give a girl a hand here. I can't see a thing."

"Go away, Michelle." His voice was hoarse; his throat dry. He'd never admit that crying spells had interrupted his fits of anger. He had some dignity-not much, but some-he wanted to keep.

"I'm not going anywhere, Gene."

"Did you come to tell you that you saw through her all along? Did you come to gloat, Chelle?" He leaned against the bar, fighting the desire to rush into her arms, to find comfort and warmth there.

"This would be easier if I could see you, Gene." He heard another crash. Good thing the place was already wrecked. If it hadn't, she'd be making quick work of it. "Have I ever appeared like the sort of person who'd want to gloat?"

"Then just why are you here, Chelle? Why?"

She was silent so long, that Gene began to wonder if she'd quietly gone away, done what he'd asked. Half of him hoped that she had so he could continue his temper tantrum in private, nurse his wounds just as privately. The other half of him wanted to run after her, grab her and hold her because right now she was the only thing keeping him from totally diving off the deep end.

"Because I love you." The words were softly spoken, so soft that he feared he hadn't heard her correctly.

"You can't."

"I'm afraid you have little choice in the matter." Her voice was stronger now, as if in saying them out loud it had given her strength. "I'm not going away, Gene. Not until I look in your face and watch you tell me that you really want me to leave."

"How can you…how can you say you love me?" He couldn't keep the pain from his voice.

"Because when you strip away all the nonsense swirling around us right now, when you bring it down to just you and me, that's how I feel about you. I love you, Gene. I don't love Gene the chef who can make a person drown in their own saliva just salivating for some of your heavenly creations. I don't love Gene the son of two parents who adore him, and who might not show it in the wisest of ways. I don't love Gene, who owns the most selfish and belligerent mutt this side of the Atlantic."

"Then, you don't love me because I'm all of those things," he pouted, grasping the edge of the bar with all this strength.

"Wrong. I love you. I love the man who's tender and kind. I love the man who makes me laugh…and sometimes makes me cry. I love the man who challenges me to be a better woman just so I can please him by being the woman he desires. I love you because you make me feel silly." Another long pause. "That's what love is all about, Gene. You love somebody because of the way they make you feel. And you, darling Gene, you make me feel a million wonderful things. And that has nothing to do with your family or your job. It's only because of the essence and the essential man you are."

"You're a fool then."

"I'm a fool who loves you whether you want it or not," she replied calmly. "I'm going to be a fool with a broken leg if I have to keep looking for you in the dark."

Later, he decided it was her laughter that broke the dark spell he'd been under. It was the lyrical sound gently echoing in the darkness and the shambles of his dreams that reached him and rekindled the warmth in his heart. If she loved him for the way he made her feel about herself, then he loved her all that much more for making him feel much, much better about himself.

He pushed away from the bar and walked back into the dining room. In the shadows she stood, glancing toward the sound of his approach. Slowly, she raised her arms, opening them to him. He rushed to her, enveloping her in his embrace as he hungrily inhaled the smell of her, the security of her essence and the warmth of her body against his.

"It's not going to be easy," he whispered.

"It never is, but in the long run, it's worth the trouble," she replied, laying her head against his shoulder. "It's time for healing, Gene. But, before you can truly heal-before your entire family can heal, the entire wound needs to be opened, cleaned. Can you face that?"

"Will you be there with me?"

"For as long as you want me, Gene."

"Can we try forever? I'll settle for eternity."

"It's a place to start, darling."

Epilogue

Michelle saved the file on her computer, sat back and smiled. Done. It was finally completed. And it was the best she'd ever written. One from the heart as the others in her writer's support group called it.

Chelle Charming was gone, consigned to the bottom drawer of her bureau. In Chelle's place, other heroines, more real, more vital, rose from Michelle's imagination to capture her interest-and better yet, the interest of her readers. She glanced up at the wall by her desk and at the framed covers of her first two books. They were among her proudest possessions.

"Finished?" Gene asked, walking into her office and tossing his briefcase on the floor. He loosened his tie and dropped into a chair next to the desk. Michelle nodded happily. "Another best seller, of course. My wife wouldn't write anything less."

"Cross your fingers," she laughed. "I truly think this is the best one yet."

"And just in time, too. I heard from Spiro this afternoon. He and your mother will be arriving at the end of the week."

"Good. Though, I told my mother that I wouldn't see her unless I saw a wedding ring on her finger."

"Now who's trying to manipulate other people?" Gene laughed, reaching forward to kiss her lightly on the lips.

Michelle patted her round tummy. "Sorry, but I think this baby deserves to be spoiled by grandparents who are just as happily married as her mum and dad."

She watched a cloud of pain pass across Gene's face. Quickly, she grasped his hand and laid it on her stomach. "Gene, there will be two sets of happy grandparents. You have to believe in that. It might take some time, but it will happen. Sophia told me this morning that the family counseling is really helping. She said she and your dad are closer now than she thinks they've ever really been. She's changing, honey. You need to give her a chance."

Gene nodded, slowly caressing her abdomen. "Next week, she and I start going together. Working out our differences. It's not going to be easy."

"Honey, I told you that a long time ago. But, the results are worth the effort. And even when the going gets tough, you just remember that I love you…and the baby will adore you."

Gene smiled broadly. "It's all that I live for."

Michelle shoved his hand away. "Baloney! You live for those sessions you get to have back in the kitchen. Teaching your chefs and creating those award-winning recipes. The baby and I are just part of it."

"Hey, I consider that time in the kitchen my reward for having to deal with the business end of this enterprise." Gene chuckled. "Spiro never warned me that when he turned over a new leaf that he'd be turning over the entire control of this little enterprise to me."

"Only because he trusts you, Gene. Besides, look at what your hard work has gained you. This beautiful new home that we got to design together, just the way we wanted it…and exactly where the trattoria was located."

Gene nodded. "Yes, it was a nice turn of events that we managed to snag this lot in the new development. And the park across the street should just about be completed in time for us to use it for the baby."

Michelle turned the grimace of pain she experienced into a smile. "Honey, if I get too busy in the next few days, will you make sure the publisher gets a copy of the book I just finished?"

"Sure, but what's going to keep you too busy to do that yourself?"

Reaching out, she grasped his hand as the next wave of pain coursed through her body. As it began to diminish, she forced herself to laugh. "I think we have another schemer on our hands, honey. Seems like the baby doesn't want to wait until the end of next week."

"You mean…now…you're in labor now?"

"And have been since about noon. Better bring the car around."

Gene jumped up and rushed out of her office, only to immediately return. He dropped by the side of her chair and took her face in his hands.

"We're riding the rainbow to happiness, Chelle. And you know what we find at the end?"

"Honey, I've already found it. It's my pot of gold…and it just keeps bringing me blessings."

The End

Remember all U.S. shipping and handling charges are included in our prices.

© DiskUs Publishing™ ALL RIGHTS RESERVED