A Billionaire for Christmas (2 page)

“How was your eye appointment?” All her doctors’ visits were logged into his personal calendar. He not only asked Mrs. Bello, but he also followed up with the doctors.

“My eyesight isn’t getting any better, but it isn’t getting any worse either.” She lifted her cup of coffee and took a long sip. She watched him over the rim of her coffee cup. She was stiff, as though there was something on her mind.

He took a bite of her cake. “Oh my, this is good.”

A giant smile spread over her face. She relaxed into her chair and clasped her hands in satisfaction. “I’ve wrapped up the rest for you to take home. Maybe share it with your brothers? I see Justin on the television”—her eyebrows tightened—“and he looks too thin.”

Ha! Anthony wouldn’t be sharing anything with any of his brothers, especially Justin, any time soon. After that dinner with Max and Max’s mother, he couldn’t imagine Justin wanting to break bread with him for quite a while. The earful he’d received from Leo had been enough for Anthony to want to escape the Travati offices today.

Sure, Leo and Devon also wanted Max to get a paternity test. But then they had the arrogance to throw out words like “loyalty” and “respect” and “family” when Anthony had done nothing except openly voice what the three of them had agreed needed to happen. He wanted proof of Max’s paternity. That wasn’t too much to ask, especially when dealing with a billion-dollar business.

“Have you heard from your sister lately?” Mrs. Bello’s sister, her last living relative aside from her granddaughter Shelly, was a retired nun living in San Francisco.

“Yesterday.” Another smile spread over Mrs. Bello’s face, causing her eyes to brighten with excitement. “Said to expect a surprise.”

Anthony tugged at his tie. “Surprises are nice.”

Mrs. Bello nodded. “Around Christmas. I know that seems forever from now, but Christmas will be here soon.”

Anthony forced his face to remain neutral. Christmas was five months away, but maybe the days flew by for Mrs. Bello. “We’ll all be together again this year for Christmas, yes?” He sipped his coffee. The smell reminded him of his parents. His mother had drunk coffee every hour of the day.

“I’d love that. With the tree and the mass! And the Teddy Bear Luncheon you do for the children.” She clasped her hands together and leaned forward. “I loved every moment of seeing them so happy.” She took a long deep breath. “If only I’d had my Shelly, too, the day would have been perfect.”

Anthony swallowed. Yes, with the Shelly that he’d loved when he was a teenager and in college, the day would have been perfect, but not Shelly as she was now. Not the woman he’d seen in Texas and tried to convince to go to rehab. No. Anthony shook his head. He shut out thoughts of the current Shelly, as well as the promise he’d made to Vincent before he shipped out.

Anthony had tried. Dammit, he’d tried. Five years ago he’d tracked Shelly down in some hellhole roadhouse in Texas, but couldn’t convince her to come home. Her eyes had held a scared wildness—her skin parchment thin, her formerly lush blonde hair limp and dirty. Ever since the last time he’d seen her, Anthony had expected a horrible call about Shelly’s demise.

“Have you heard from Shelly?” Anthony asked. His voice remained steady even while his heart beat faster.

“I did.” Again a small smile and a nod. “Not too long ago.”

His eyebrow arched. “Is she still in Texas?”

“San Francisco.”

“Really? Where your sister is?”

Mrs. Bello nodded. “Oh Anthony, I can’t keep a secret.” She leaned forward and pressed her hand to Anthony’s knee. “That’s the surprise! My Shelly is coming home this year for Christmas.”

Anthony’s fingertips tingled and his eyebrows pulled tight. “That is a surprise.” He couldn’t tell Mrs. Bello that he doubted Shelly would return for the holidays. Shelly had told her grandmother countless times that she’d come home for a visit and then had failed to return. Nevertheless, hope and happiness filled Mrs. Bello’s face. Anthony nodded. “That will make for an extra-special Christmas.”

“Yes,” Mrs. Bello said. “Yes, it will.”

Anthony lifted the china cup with tiny pink roses painted along the rim and took a slow sip of the now bitter drink. He would spend the next five months managing Mrs. Bello’s expectations, slowly, gently, getting her used to the idea that Shelly wouldn’t return for the holidays. He glanced at Mrs. Bello’s happy face, filled with hope and excitement because she believed that her beloved granddaughter Shelly was coming home.

Shelly wouldn’t be here for Christmas. Anthony knew it. He would do all that he could to make up for Mrs. Bello’s inevitable disappointment. And he would make this upcoming Christmas extra-special for Mrs. Bello. He had five months to plan. Because if Shelly Bello actually came home to New York for Christmas that would indeed be a surprise for all of them.

Five months later…

Snow threatened. Cityscape spires jutted into the cloud-filled sky. Wind whipped down the street and blasted Anthony. He’d chosen to walk back from lunch, even though his car had been warm and at the ready. The blast of December wind wasn’t much different than the chill he still faced from his brothers at Travati Financial. He’d like to believe that the chill was caused by the potential criminal indictment that hovered over Devon’s future, or maybe the deal that Leo, his second oldest brother, had lost in Dubai earlier in the year, making Travati vulnerable to a takeover attempt.

But no.

No, the frigidity was due solely to his disagreement with Justin.

Anthony pulled open the door to the TF building. He unbuttoned his coat as he walked across the lobby and stepped onto the elevator. Air wooshed along as the elevator jetted to the top.

Ding
.

Travati Financial.

Four Travati brothers all wanted to be king, but there could be only one. So far Justin, the eldest, believed the crown belonged to him. Anthony walked down a long hall and around a corner.

“Tricia, anything I need to know?” He pulled off his jacket and handed it to his assistant, a blonde with sharp blue eyes. Like a hummingbird, she seemed to flit about, rarely stopping long in one spot.

She leaned in toward Anthony. “Well, I heard that Justin, Max, and Mrs. Travati leave for Switzerland the day after Christmas.”

No surprise there. The Travati family had a house in Switzerland, of course they would use it for the end-of-year holidays.

“Leo and Devon are going too.”

Anthony’s heart thudded to a stop.

“All of them?”

Tricia nodded. “Including Mrs. Travati’s sister and father.” She lifted a brow, her pointed expression filling in for her unsaid thoughts.
You’ve been left out. Iced. The rest of your family doesn’t want you.

“How lovely for them all.” Justin pulled at his shirt cuffs and then straightened his tie. “Please do book me the week before New Year’s at Mesquale.”

“Already done, sir. Your usual suite.”

“Excellent.” He glanced around at his brother’s assistants, who sat facing one another. Two of the executive assistants didn’t dare look him in the eye. They pretended to be busy on their computers or absorbed with papers on their desk. Of course they knew that his entire family was taking a Swiss holiday without him. Only Justin’s assistant, Liza, met Anthony’s gaze without looking away. She had no fear of him. Instead, her crooked mouth and tilted head conveyed an expression bordering on contempt. Liza had become close to Aubrey, Justin’s new wife, so she most likely had heard Justin and Aubrey’s version of the facts. She didn’t like him much, especially after what he’d forced Justin and Max and Aubrey, the new Mrs. Travati, to do.

Too bad.

“Tricia, please call Mrs. Bello and let her know I’ll be over later today.” His brothers could suck on that. They might as well be reminded that the “bad guy,” the mean brother, the one without a heart, was the only Travati brother who still managed to see Mrs. Bello every week.

Liza’s gaze flicked back to her computer screen. Let her report that nugget of information to Justin. Who the hell cared? Anthony was tired of existing in a fishbowl.

“And Tricia, speak to facilities. Tell them I’d like to move my office to the far end of the floor. We’ll switch over the holiday break. Come back to a clean slate, something new.”

All four pairs of eyes telegraphed the assistants’ surprise to each other.

“Uh, yes, sir,” Tricia said. “I’ll call them now.”

“Thank you. And don’t forget to call Mrs. Bello as well.”

*

“Shelly, are you at the airport?”

The hint of anxiety that tinged Nonna’s voice crumpled Shelly’s heart. How could it be otherwise? How many times had Shelly disappointed her Nonna? A thousand? A million? More than she could count, that was certain. But this time she really was getting on a plane. This time she was clean. This time she would be home for Christmas.

“Just got here.” Shelly scanned the departures board. “SFO to JFK, on time.”

“I can’t wait. I haven’t seen you in…”

Shelly’s heart hurt while Nonna tried to do the math.

“Oh my, Shelly, how long has it been?”

“I don’t know. Maybe not since Vinnie’s funeral.”

“Oh, yes, well, yes dear.”

Why did she say that? Why had she brought up her brother’s death? Why couldn’t she just let that shit slide? If Nonna didn’t mention Vinnie, then she definitely didn’t have to. But she had. Damn. Always saying the wrong thing at the wrong time. Making everyone feel bad or uncomfortable. For fuck’s sake, so much of life didn’t change. “I’ll call you when I get in to JFK, okay? I’m taking the train, so don’t worry about me. But I’ll call you when I land.”

“Oh, yes, please. I can’t wait to see you! I made a tea cake.”

Always with the tea cake. For Nonna, tea cake fixed everything. They said their good-byes. Shelly pushed “off” on the phone and slid it into her purse. Aunt Patty had given her the phone, the purse, the clothes—she’d even helped her find a job in San Francisco. Without Aunt Patty… Shelly closed her eyes. She didn’t want to think about what her life would be without Aunt Patty.

She slung her purse higher on her shoulder, tugged her rolling carry-on bag behind her. The mass of humanity swarming the airport bumped against her as she walked toward security. The jagged edge of sobriety pierced her skin today. Booze would take the edge off. She’d always been a whiskey-type girl. Nothing frou-frou for her. Straight up and neat. But the booze, the whiskey, had never been the problem. She could take or leave drinking for days, weeks, months, maybe even, she hoped to find out, for years. Nope, the whiskey wasn’t the problem. It was what came after the whiskey that was problematic.

Her body ached with want.

Damn. Damn. Damn. Damn.

One hundred and eighty-two days sober and still…still her mind wandered. Lingered on the thought, the idea, the possibility of relief, release, and relapse. The memories of all those holidays high. The holidays were hard. Nearly unbearable. Her sponsor, Alex, had been over and over and over how tough the first sober Christmas could be. Had even suggested she postpone her trip to visit Nonna until after the pressure of the holidays.

How many more Christmases did Nonna have left, though? And how many holidays had Shelly already destroyed? Fuck that. She was tired of feeling sorry for herself and not doing all the things she needed to do, like going home and visiting Nonna. The woman had raised her and worried for her. Nonna had buried her son, Shelly’s dad, and then Shelly’s brother. The only one she had left was Shelly. Didn’t Shelly owe Nonna some good memories to make up for all the bad ones?

She walked down the corridor of SFO toward the security line. Her eyes flicked from person to person. Which one was strung out? Who was boozed up? Rapist? Pedophile? Dealer? As she showed her ID and boarding pass to the agent at the head of the line, she glanced at each traveler, wondering what secrets they hid. Everyone had secrets. Dirty little bits that you didn’t want to remember. Why remember? Why not just get high? That high felt so good. The problem was that the high created even more dirty little secrets and tidbits not to remember, so you got high to forget again, and then the snake was eating its tail.

Shelly slipped off her boots, put them in a bin with her coat, and set them, along with her carry-on and her purse, onto the conveyor belt for the X-ray machine. Her palms were wet. She had nothing to hide, and yet, her heart beat a cacophonous rhythm against her ribs. She walked through the metal detector. Not a beep. She nodded at the TSA agent and grabbed her boots and coat from the bin as it slid out through the fringe of vinyl straps at the end of the machine.

“Miss, excuse me. Is this your bag?”

She glanced up at the big uniformed guy with a mustache wearing blue plastic gloves who was lifting her roll-on bag from the conveyor belt. She nodded obediently, even though a jolt of fear shot through her.

“I need you to step aside.”

Fuck. She didn’t like badges. She didn’t like authority. And she definitely didn’t like being pulled out of line.

A thin line of sweat coated Shelly’s upper lip. What the fuck did she have that could get her busted? Had she owned that bag when she was in Texas? Did she coyote with it? Was it possible some residue had shown up?

“Please stand right there while I check your bag.”

Her heart careened in her chest. She looked guilty, she felt guilty, and yet, this was the cleanest she’d been in years. One hundred and eighty-two fucking days clean. Six months and twelve hours. Some days worse than others, but she’d done it so far. It wasn’t easy, and it wasn’t always better, but Alex said that eventually life would be better sober than it was high.

Shelly held her new boots in her hand while the mustached TSA agent unzipped her bag. A second pair of shoes rested on top of her clothes in the bag. She hadn’t had a second pair of shoes in a long time, but Aunt Patty had insisted she needed a nice pair of heels to wear to midnight mass. The bag held, neatly folded, a dress, another pair of jeans, three sweaters, plus a pair of snow boots they’d found at the second-hand shop for her to wear in New York. She held her winter coat over her arm, afraid to take her eyes off of her carry-on as he searched—for what?