Page 54 of Lucas & Melissa Falling in Love
Chapter 19
After a long flight, we land at Marco Polo Airport in Venice at 1:00 p.m. local time. Melissa slept most of the way and we have an uneasy truce as we walk through the busy airport. Her grip on my hand is tight, but I know it’s more from fear than affection.I can feel her anger simmering even if she’s put it on a back burner.
Leave it to my mother to send two drivers and to have them waiting out front in two cars, the sedate family sedan and my car, the splashy if classic Fierro 250 with its engine revving under a bright red hood. My smile is automatic and I feel the surge of warm familiarity, the anticipation of once again driving my sixteenth birthday gift from my parents. Of course, I’m not immune to the power and glitter of fast shiny cars. If I were, I’d be inhuman, or at least not a human with the blood of a Fierro.
Wincing internally, I realize the implication of blood can be strong, and know that that is the crux of Melissa’s struggle, that she has the blood of a family she doesn’t know because of her recently discovered adoption. I squeeze her hand and draw her nearer me, feeling a surge of protectiveness.
Then I remember my promise to find her father for her. When I was in New York, though I had proximity going for me, I had little else. I feel better equipped now, as Lucas Fierro, putting my family resources to work, to make good on the pledge.
“Lucas, there’s a man waving to us—to you. Over there.” She pauses and I see Interest glassing her eyes. “Standing at that gorgeous red sports car.” She turns her head to me. “A Fierro—yourFierro, I presume?”
The zip of pleasure I get when she says my family name, referring to my car so reverently, so admiringly, surprises the hell out of me. But maybe it shouldn’t. I know Melissa is impressed with pedigree. Hasn’t that been the crux of her issue? Isn’t that—her self-confessed obsession with pedigree—the exact source of her struggle over her adoption? And the source of my hesitance and guilt about trading on my family name?
Worry about Melissa floods me, washing away my pleasure as we walk to the bright-red sports car. I manage a smile as Louie gives me a two-armed embrace, then backs up and eyes Melissa with a smile bordering on a leer. Some things never change. Louie’s familiar good cheer lightens my mood, though I still feel the tension in the muscles of my back.
“This is Melissa Cooper. She’s very special to me, Louie. Treat her well.” Left unsaid was the admonition for him to treat her as mine, but I know I’ve implied it with my warning look. Louie has a penchant for charming every young woman he meets into bed with him, unless he’s mellowed with age.
“Si, Lucas. It’s so good to see you back home. It has been too many years.” He pauses and throws his arms to the side. “Look at you. Your mama will be so happy to see you in robust health.”
“That your way of saying I’ve filled out from the scrawny kid I was when I left?”
He laughs and I notice Melissa raise a brow at me. I know her curiosity is reaching that of a herd of cats about now.
“I leave you to drive your car home. I’ll return with Benedito in the family car. You are lucky it is warm today.” Louie waves and goes to the car behind us and yells, “Ciao.”
After tossing the meager luggage into the small trunk with room to spare, I open Melissa’s door to let her in. A smile teases at her lips as she slips down into the well-worn leather seat.
“Are you game to leave the roof down? It feels like it’s about sixty degrees. Warm by New York City standards this time of year.”
“Sure. I’ll leave my coat on.” She says, “After all, when in Fierro country, do as the Fierros do.” She sighs.
I tense up, knowing we need to talk. Getting behind the wheel once again after so long, I feel the appreciation for the magnificent and precise machinery of my car and nostalgia tugs at me. Pulling away from the curb into the wild traffic, I set my sights on getting us to the hospital.
“Are you ready for this? We have a two-hour drive. The good news is we’ll be taking back roads with little traffic.” She says nothing, so I prod her. “We should clear the air between us before we meet my family.”
She turns and faces me, her hair blowing in her face. “Fine. I get it. I’m here because I want to be here for you, Lucas, the you I met and fell for, confessed my soul and every secret to, the man of my dreams. But…” she trails off and I know it’s important. I give her a few beats.
“But what?” I ask softly.
“But I’m still getting used to who you really are, reconciling the man I thought I knew with this new version.”
I nod. There’s nothing I can say to that, nothing I can do to dispel the tension coiling, snaking through my muscles.
Letting out a big sigh, she says, “I call a truce. I can’t be angry with you now while you’re dealing with your father’s health crisis. I meant it when I said I wanted to be here for you. So, we’ll leave it—whatever it is—for later.” She reaches a hand out and puts it on my thigh and I immediately cover it with mine.
“Thank you.” It’s all I have for her. I want to put it all behind us—the hurt or mistrust or whatever it is she’s feeling—but I’ll settle for putting it aside for now. No choice.
“Maybe you should sleep,” I say.
“Not unless I take knock-out drugs. I already slept my quota on the plane and it’s so bright and sunny here.”
I smile and breathe and appreciate the fact that she’s put aside at least for now, any hesitations or problem she has with me over withholding my identity, my family background.Are they one and the same?
New anxiety about my father squeezes out the pleasure of driving, the feel of the breeze ruffling my hair, the strong sound of the buzzing engine, the Mediterranean sunshine. I take the sunglasses from the compartment between the seats and slip them on.
“Nice shades,” she says. I know her remark is aimed at the Gucci brand. I feel a pinch of annoyance and shake my head, dispelling it. Instead, I smile at her, choosing to be amused, as always, by her materialism. Who am I to judge? I’m the one wearing the designer glasses and driving the Fierro sports car.
Then I notice she’s wearing knock-off Tiffany shades, but I don’t comment. Instead, I slip my phone from my pocket and call my mother to let her know we’re on the way to the hospital. My mother holds in her sobs, but not her joy. She makes me smile.
