When It Falls Apart (The D'Angelos, #1)(35)

“They will.”

“So how about we go home. You take that long bath and a two-day nap and let some of this stuff you can’t control play out.”

Brooke looked like she wanted to argue, so Luca continued and didn’t let her speak. “Can you control the condo falling out of escrow?”

“No.”

“Can you sit on your father and make him stay put?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Silence his calls, take the ones from the home . . . and as Chloe would say, breathe.” As annoying as his baby sister was at times with all her yoga stuff, she’d be right in this situation. The only other suggestion Luca had was for Brooke to hand her phone to him and he’d be happy to field her calls for a day or two so the vein in her forehead could stop pulsating. Luca didn’t think she’d go for that.

“Can I do that?” she whispered.

“Tell me why you can’t.”

Brooke was quiet for a good minute, then she finally said, “You’re right. I can’t control him.”

She looked relieved just saying the words.

“What’s your dad’s name?”

“Joe Turner.”

Luca made several mental notes as he waited for Brooke to make a decision on whether to stay or leave.

She sighed. “We should go home.”

“Great idea.”

Their eyes met and Luca felt his heart rate speed up. She offered a soft smile, and damn, she was beautiful.

“Thank you, Luca. I’ve been so tunnel-visioned I can’t see anything.”

It took effort to not reach for her hand. “We’ve all been there.”

“You have?” she asked.

“Of course.”

“I’d like to hear about that.”

Luca wadded up the trash and tossed it in the to-go bag from the sandwich shop. “Another time.” He looked at her half-eaten lunch. “Are you going to eat that?”

She winced. “I have some great leftovers at home that are calling my name.”

“You didn’t eat it all?”

“There was enough for three people. I don’t know how you Italians stay so thin with all the pasta.”

He lifted the bag for her to dump her trash. “I’ll follow you.” Mainly to ensure she actually went home and didn’t change her mind.

“To make sure I go home,” she said, catching him.

He could lie . . . “Exactly.”

She sat forward, turned the key in the ignition. One last look at the home and she said, “Don’t do anything stupid, Dad.”

Luca smiled, got out of the car, and jogged to his.

She backed out of her space and waited. Her gaze caught his in the rearview mirror.

And the warmth in the pit of his stomach pulsed. “Oh, boy.”



Luca pulled into his space right beside Brooke, both of them exiting their cars at the same time. It was late enough that Gio should have picked up Franny, but early enough for him to help prep for the dinner rush. He glanced up and noticed a curtain moving inside his apartment. Someone was about to bombard him with questions, he felt that in his bones.

“I’m not used to this,” Brooke said as they walked toward the back door together.

“Used to what?”

“Getting any kind of real help and advice with my life. If I seem ungrateful or say the wrong things, it’s not because I’m not thankful.”

He laughed as he held the door open for her. “Does that mean you’re sorry for the judgy comment?”

She shook her head. “Let’s not get carried away.”

He laughed harder.

In the hall between the restaurant and the stairway to the residence, Brooke stopped on the first step. “Thanks again.”

Luca nodded and she turned to walk away.

“How about something other than pasta tonight?” he found himself asking.

She stopped, turned. “You know, Luca, I can cook.”

“You can?”

“Not like you, but I have managed.” She took another two steps.

He stopped her.

“Chicken piccata? I’ll send it up at six.”

“You’re too much.”

“That’s a yes,” he said and turned away.

She continued to laugh as she walked up the stairs.

He diverted to the kitchen, poked his head inside. The wheels were turning, the staff busy but not hurried. “Do you need me?” he asked in Italian.

“Check in an hour,” his second told him.

Luca’s second stop was the office. Finding it empty, he did a quick pass through the restaurant, saw his sister taking an order.

Satisfied, he made his way upstairs.

Gio greeted him at the door, a stupid grin on his face.

“Brooke, really?”

Luca immediately looked around for Franny.

“She’s in her room.”

He sighed, walked in, and closed the door behind him. “It’s not what you think.”

“Yeah, sure it isn’t.”

Ignoring his brother, Luca walked past him and into his kitchen, grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. “Your assumptions will make an ass out of you.”

“She’s beautiful and a little wounded. Exactly your type.”