Kissing Under The Mistletoe: The Sullivans (Contemporary Romance) (25 page)

Her tears fell then, not just for all the
years they’d lost, but because between her and her mother, Jack and
her father, the small room was overflowing with love.

Mary and her mother held each other close for
a long time, and when they finally drew back, Lucia framed Mary’s
face in her hands. “Let me look at you, my beautiful girl.”

There was so much Mary wanted to say to her
mother, and she was sure there was at least as much that her mother
wanted to say to her, but for now, just being with each other again
was enough.

“You’re not a girl anymore.” Mary could read
her mother’s regret at losing those years just as clearly as she
could see the pride in what she’d grown to become. “You are a woman
now.”

Another tear slid down Mary’s cheek. Of all
the things she needed to say, two stood out above all the others.
“I love you.”

“I love you, too. More than you will ever
know.”

Her heart so full she thought it might burst,
Mary said, “Jack came home with me, to meet you and Papa. I love
him, too.”

Hearing his name, Jack came closer. Mary took
his left hand in hers even as he held out his right hand for her
mother. “It’s very nice to meet you, Signora Ferrer.”

Mary was amazed to hear him speak Italian,
however halting. Was there nothing he wouldn’t do for her?

As her mother studied Jack carefully, Mary
could almost read her mind. He wasn’t Italian or one of the men
from the village, but he was clearly solid…and handsome enough to
make even a happily married woman’s heart beat a little faster.

But instead of taking Jack’s hand, Lucia
said, “You need to promise me you will always be a good husband to
my little one. That you will never hurt her. And that you will love
her even when she makes mistakes.”

Mary flushed as she translated her mother’s
demands. All the while, Jack never took his eyes from Lucia, and
his gaze remained as serious as hers.

“I love your daughter.” He spoke in English
this time and paused so that Mary could translate. “I will always
put her and our family first.” Again, he paused while she
translated his sweet vow in a voice that grew thicker and thicker
with emotion. “And I promise you, I will never, ever hurt her.”

Finally, Lucia smiled. But instead of taking
his hand, she opened her arms and hugged him as if he were already
her son-in-law.

That was when her mother began to cough, a
deep rattling sound that jarred Mary’s heart just as badly. “Mama,
you need to rest.”

“No, I need you here with me. I need you to
stay.”

It was what her mother had said thirteen
years ago, but instead of feeling trapped by the words this time,
Mary felt only the sweet warmth of knowing she was loved.

“I’m not going anywhere, I promise.” Brushing
the hair back from her mother’s forehead, just as her mother used
to do when she was sick, Mary said, “Rest now, and when you wake up
I’ll have made you
pastina in brodo
. We’ll
eat together.”

“I don’t want soup. I want to talk to you. I
need
to talk to you.” Her mother coughed
again, this attack longer as she was obviously too exhausted to
fight it. “I need to tell you everything I was too proud to say
before.”

Both men had left the bedroom by then. “I
love you, Mama," Mary said again. “I never stopped loving you, not
for one single second. How could I?”

Mary pressed a kiss to her mother’s soft
cheek. She could see the pill bottles by the side of the bed for
antibiotics and cough suppressants, but while she prayed they would
do the job of healing the infection inside her mother’s lungs,
there was one thing she knew would likely be more powerful than any
drug in inspiring her mother’s recovery.

“I need you to be healthy and happy at my
wedding.”

“Your wedding!” Her mother smiled then and
finally sank back into the pillow to let Mary tuck her in. Lucia’s
voice was heavy with drowsiness as she said, “Yes, we’ll give you
and your Jack a perfect wedding, on the day before Christmas Eve.”
Mary could see the pride sparkle in her mother’s eyes as she
declared, “You will be the most beautiful bride in the world.”

* * *

When Jack had seen that Mary and her mother
were going to be just fine, he followed Mary’s father, Marco, out
into the walled garden. Although it was barely noon, when her
father handed him a glass of prosecco, Jack took it with a
smile.

Her father lifted his glass.
“A amore!”

Jack could easily translate—“To love”—and
repeated the sentiment as he raised his glass.

It was amazing how much could be said with so
few words. Jack could see, could feel, how much Mary’s father loved
his daughter, and Marco could clearly see the same thing in
Jack.

Mary found them sitting in a patch of winter
sun, sharing a companionable drink. “Of course I should have known
you’d fit right in,” she said to Jack as she walked outside and
pressed a kiss first to his forehead and then to her father’s. “I’m
going to walk into town to pick up a few things to make soup for
Mama. I can see how much my father is enjoying having a man around
the house. Stay with him, I’ll be back soon.”

Jack knew that she needed a little time alone
to process everything. Not just making up with her mother and
seeing her father again, but coming back to her childhood home.
She’d made it over the first hurdle, but Jack knew she wasn’t done
yet. Forgiveness had been freely given, thank God, but both Mary
and her mother still needed to explain and understand each other’s
behavior over the past thirteen years so that old wounds wouldn’t
ever accidentally open up.

Taking a moment to think of everyone back in
California, Jack realized that the Pocket Planner was now
officially on sale. Finally, people would be using the invention
that he and his partners had created. And he hoped it would be a
gift found under many Christmas trees this year.

From a sunny walled winter garden in Italy,
Jack Sullivan silently toasted the hope that sales were going well
and that customers were pleased with the value of their new
purchase. Then he turned back to Mary’s father to continue their
extremely enjoyable conversation—one comprised of simple gestures
and laughter.

Mary wrapped her winter coat tightly around
her as she set out on foot through town. Tomorrow, she’d show Jack
all of her favorite childhood haunts, but right now she appreciated
the fact that he’d understood she needed to see them again for
herself first.

Young children playing by the fountain
stopped their game to point at her. The girls chattered excitedly
about her boots, her outfit and hairstyle. The boys wondered what
the big deal was. When she smiled at the girls and waved at the
boys, their cheeks colored and they quickly turned back to their
game.

Already she longed for little boys with
Jack’s smile and focus, and little girls with her passion and
determination. Love had come quickly for her and Jack. She hoped a
family would, too.

Mary put a hand over her flat stomach. She
and Jack hadn’t yet said their “I do’s,” but Mary had never been
one to wait when there was something she wanted.

Her father, she thought with a smile, was
likely getting their separate bedrooms ready right now. Well, she’d
mastered the art of sneaking out of her bedroom as a girl. Tonight,
she decided with a flutter of anticipation, she was going to sneak
into the bedroom on the other side of her parents’ house to seduce
her fiancé.

The butcher was her first stop, and she was
barely in the door when Antonio exclaimed with delight. Mary had
been afraid that people would be wary of her—after all, she’d left
without a backward glance thirteen years ago, and it had taken her
mother’s illness for her to finally return. But with each stop she
made during the next hours, she felt as if the years she’d been
gone were slipping away one by one.

From the butcher to the vegetable stand to
the florist and then the cheese shop, none of the proprietors would
let her pay for what she needed. A half-dozen invitations came for
coffee and dinner, and she was thrilled to get to hold her friends’
new babies and admire their beautiful older children, as well. By
the time she turned to head back to the house, her heart was as
full as the bags of food and flowers she carried.

Jack was playing scopa, a game similar to gin
rummy, with her father in the living room when she returned, and
her heart hitched in her chest at what a beautiful picture they
made, the two men she loved most in the world.

Jack quickly put his cards down to take the
bags from her and bring them into the kitchen. Once she’d taken off
her coat, he took her hands in his and pulled her close.

“You look happy.”

“I am. And tomorrow, I’ll introduce you to
everyone in town. I told them all about my gorgeous, brilliant
American fiancé. They can’t wait to meet you.”

His mouth was warm over hers, and when he let
her hands go to slip his around her waist, she slid her fingers
into his soft, dark hair and pulled him even closer. She’d never
kissed a boy in her parents’ kitchen before, and when she heard her
father’s footsteps—made purposely louder, she was sure, because he
could guess what she and her fiancé were up to—she drew back with a
laugh.

“I hope your jet lag isn’t too bad,” she said
to Jack in a low voice, “because I don’t know how much sleep you’re
going to get tonight.”

His eyes darkened with so much desire—and the
love she felt from him in every moment—that she lost her breath as
he whispered, “Your room or mine?”

Ah, so she’d been right about her father
setting up separate bedrooms for the unmarried couple. “Yours.”

Her father came into the room, and for the
next hour Mary cooked and translated the conversation back and
forth from Italian to English. Her mother had made this sickbed
meal for her several times when she was a child. This was the very
first time Mary had ever made it for her mother.

A short while later, when she’d set heaping
plates in front of Jack and her father, Mary made up a tray with a
full bowl of soup and a warm cup of tea. Her mother stirred as she
walked in, as if she’d simply been lying in bed waiting for Mary to
come back.

Helping Lucia sit up comfortably with a few
thick pillows behind her, at her mother’s protests that she wasn’t
hungry, Mary said, “You need to eat a few bites to build your
strength up.”

Her mother took a small sip of the soup. “It
tastes just like mine. Maybe,” Lucia said as she took another sip
from her spoon, “it’s even better.”

It was amazing how such a small compliment
could mean so much. “I learned from the best.”

Her mother put down her spoon. “
Cara,
I have much to apologize for.”

Mary was nearly bursting with the things she
wanted to say to her mother and that she wanted to know—but not
only had she learned unconditional love from Jack, she’d learned
patience, as well.

“I do, too,” Mary said in a soft voice, “but
tonight all you should be doing is eating and resting. In the
morning, when you’re stronger—”

“I’m strong enough now to tell you how much
I’ve missed you. How much your father has missed you. I’m strong
enough now to tell you how much we both love you and that if I
could rewind the clock back to that day when you were nineteen, I
would do it better this time. I would do it right.”

Her mother began to cough, and Mary handed
her the mug of tea. “Mama, I can’t tell you how much it means to
hear you say these things, but I promise you, I know how much you
love me, because I love you just as much. I don’t want you to wear
yourself out. We have time to talk about all of this later, once
you’re well.”

“We’ve wasted enough time,” Lucia insisted,
and Mary had to smile at the stubborn expression so similar to her
own. “I will talk, and you will listen.”

“Okay, Mama.”

“Before I met your father, I had dreams like
yours—to travel and to have people applauding for me as I sang and
danced on the stage.”

Of all the things Mary had thought her mother
would tell her tonight, learning that they’d shared similar dreams
had not been anywhere on the list of possibilities. Lucia had
always hummed as she worked in the kitchen and the garden, and Mary
had found her parents waltzing together in the moonlit garden more
than once as a child, but she’d never realized that performing had
been her mother’s dream. Yet again, they were more alike than she’d
ever realized.

“What happened? Why didn’t you follow your
dreams?”

Her mother lifted her hand to Mary’s cheek.
“I found a new dream. Your father was so handsome, so much more
exciting than any stage had ever been, that he swept me off my
feet. And then you came, exactly nine months to the day after we
were married. My greatest achievement. My biggest joy. I saw those
same dreams in you, watched them grow bigger with every year. Your
beauty was so stunning that the other mothers would make jealous
comments sometimes. Did you know, strangers passing through town
would often stop on the street to take your picture?”

Mary shook her head. “No. I didn’t know.”

“You were too beautiful for the nice boys in
town to have the nerve to approach you, but I saw the way the
dangerous ones watched you. I was terrified that you would be swept
off your feet, but not by a good man like your father. He often
told me you had a good head on your shoulders, but he didn’t know
what it was like to be a young girl, especially one who wanted so
much, who longed for everything life could give her. All I wanted
was for you to find true love and have a family that would give you
as much joy as you and your father gave me. But when you came home
that day to tell us you had been discovered by an agent and that he
wanted you to go to New York City with him—”