An Angel's Song Page 9

  “Contessa’s symphonic debut was an utter triumph…” Luca began. And as he continued, Alec realized Luca was right. He didn’t like what he heard. Luca’s words conjured a mental picture of Tessa chatting with the patrons, dazzling the critics, saying the right things to the right people, all the while wearing a pasted on smile that never reached her eyes. Making excuses for Alec’s tardiness to both acquaintances and family, and lighting up whenever the door opened, still expecting him. Turning back to face her well-earned adulation with that happy light extinguished as, time after time, he failed to appear. The ache in the back of his throat spread into his chest and became a feeling he recognized though he’d felt it only once before. The sharp, acute pain of a heart breaking into a thousand pieces. But, this time his heart didn’t break because of Tessa. It broke for her. Just as hers must have broken that night ten years ago. And he’d been the cause. It made the agony nearly unbearable. When Luca finished, Alec propped his elbows on his knees, and dropped his head into his hands.

  “She’s quite an actress. Your wife fooled everyone, even those who loved her most. She hailed a cab and sent them all on their way with kisses and smiles, assuring everyone she was fine. But, I knew better. As anyone is happy to tell you, I know women. Though just for the record, I’ve put those days firmly behind me, and would appreciate it if you didn’t mention it to your sister.”

  Alec picked up his head and scrubbed his hands over his face. “Calli’s Earthbound, you idiot. She’s been in your head. And don’t forget the whole Giovanna affair. Trust me, she knows. She loves you anyway.”

  Luca cracked one eye open and nodded, the corners of his lips curving up. “Yeah, she does. Anyway, after everyone left, Tessa sent the cab away and started walking. I followed. Discreetly, of course.”

  “Of course.” Alec mocked. Luca’s eyes snapped open. He lifted his head and frowned.

  “I can stop right now, you know. I’d really rather be resting with my wife.”

  “Sorry. Go on.” Alec sat back with a sigh.

  “She was distraught, crying, talking to herself. Actually, I heard quite a lot of swearing, so perhaps the conversation was directed at you.” He smiled and leaned back, closing his eyes once again. “At any rate, she didn’t pay attention to her direction or surroundings. Beautiful girl, all alone, dark night in London. You do the math.”

  Her state of disarray had been the first thing he remarked on when she walked in the door in the wee hours of the morning. But, the sin hadn’t been hers. It rested squarely on his shoulders. Alec’s gut knotted as a sound registering somewhere between a groan and a growl clawed its way from deep within his chest like a feral beast seeking escape.

  “Oh don’t worry. Any asshole foolish enough to put a hand on her drew back a stump. That particular crew won’t bother anyone again. I made sure of it. I took her back to my car. I drove, she cried. Eventually, she pulled herself together and asked me to bring her home. I helped her from the car, gave her an encouraging hug, kissed her on the forehead, and sent her back to you. I suppose that’s what you saw.” Luca straightened in the chair and shrugged. “Clearly, had I known of your idiotic misconception, I would have told you sooner.”

  “Thank you for protecting her when I didn’t.” Alec forcibly pushed all thoughts of what could have happened to Tessa that night to the back of his mind. His stomach churned and his knees went weak thinking about it. “So, let’s recap, shall we? First, I fail to show on the biggest night of her life, then she’s damn near raped, or worse, because I wasn’t there to protect her. After everything, she arrives home physically battered and emotionally decimated and what does her bound mate, her husband, the other half of her soul, do? Apologize? Comfort her? Hell, no. The one person she should have been able to rely on for unconditional support and protection ripped her up one side and down the other and accused her of cheating. I’m pretty sure that adds up to three strikes. Three strikes constitutes an out. I’m out, Luca. She’s only here because she’s grieving, and because her father asked. She’ll never forgive me.”

  Luca pushed himself to his feet and stretched like a large, tawny cat. Then he reached down and swatted Alec in the side of the head.

  “Madre di Dio, am I the only one in this family who pays attention?” Luca threw his arms in the air and stalked to the door. “Of course she’s grieving, but she isn’t here because her father asked her. She’s here because her father asked you. You could have refused, but you didn’t. You stepped up to the plate. Three strikes may constitute an out, but any baseball fan worth his salt knows one out doesn’t end the inning. Tessa’s still hoping, still pitching, Alec. Don’t be afraid to take a swing. Talk to your wife.”

  “That’s the worst analogy for a troubled marriage I ever heard,” Alec laughed, climbing stiffly to his feet.

  “E perfetto!” Luca brought his fingertips to his lips and kissed them. Alec rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Bah, maybe it’s not perfect, but it makes the point. Blame Callista and her damned TV talk shows. She coerces me into watching with her as often as possible. I suppose if you watch them long enough, you begin to think you’re Freud.”

  Alec laughed, remembering well his sister’s fascination with television following her release from a century of captivity and isolation.

  “Yeah, well you should probably stick to fighting the bad guys. Wait a minute, what about this?” Alec gestured to the desk as Luca reached for the doorknob.

  “It isn’t going anywhere tonight, right?”

  Alec hesitated. He craved the challenge. For years, he’d lived for it, in fact. And he was damned good at it. No, it wasn’t going anywhere, but that never kept him from locking himself away and diving in before, to the exclusion of everything else. Everyone else. And what did his single-minded determination gain him? Frustration for the evil Fallen who sought to use Michael’s follies against him? Michael’s grudging respect? A sense of personal accomplishment? Sure, along with self-imposed isolation, two shattered souls, one broken marriage, and a partridge in a freaking pear tree.

  “Nope.” Alec forced his attention away from the mystery littering his desk and followed Luca out the door, pulling it closed behind him. Then he headed in the direction of the kitchen and Tessa. “Not going anywhere.”

  The vague sense of disappointment he felt on finding his mother alone in the kitchen caught Alec by surprise. Madge looked up from her fashion magazine with a smile.

  “The girls have gone upstairs to have a rest. Honestly, they’re both so exhausted, I’m not sure which of them to worry about more.” Her brows drew together, pleating her forehead. “Callista is anxious about the birth, feeling awkward and unattractive, while Tessa teeters on the brink, suppressing her grief, and feeling as though she has no place here. I’ve done what I could to reassure them both, but frankly, I don’t know if anything got through to either of them.”

  “Perhaps you aren’t the one they need reassurance from,” Luca observed, helping himself to a cup of coffee from the large stainless pot simmering on the stove, then pouring a second at Alec’s affirmative nod in his direction.

  “Perhaps not,” Madge sighed, closing the magazine and pushing her cup away. “But, really Luca, I know Calli has you, but now Barachiel is gone, who does Contessa have? No one, that’s who.”

  “She has me,” Alec whispered to himself.

  “What’s that, dear?” His mother’s expression brightened considerably. He tossed back a slug of the steaming coffee Luca plunked down in front of him, scalding his tongue. He set the cup slowly and carefully on the table, cleared his throat, and tried again.

  “I said Tessa has me.”

  “Does she, dear?” Her eyes widened. “I didn’t realize. I thought you’d washed your hands of her after…” Madge lowered her voice and glanced at Luca, who hid a smirk behind his cup. “well, you know.”

  “There wasn’t another man,” Alec muttered, taking another sip without thinking. He swore and slammed the cup back on the table. �
��I was…wrong.”

  “Of course you were.” His mother patted his arm.

  “What do you mean, ‘of course you were’? Are you saying you knew I was wrong?”

  “That girl loved you, Alec. Completely. She could no more betray you, than cut out her own heart. And of course, she told her father everything. I made it a point to keep in touch with Barachiel over the years, even if you didn’t.”

  “Well, why in the hell didn’t you say something, Mother?” He exploded, jumping to his feet. The chair clattered backwards, skidding across the tile floor. “You didn’t think maybe that was need to know information?”

  “If you couldn’t recognize it on your own, you weren’t ready to know. You wouldn’t have believed me, and you certainly wouldn’t have welcomed my meddling.”

  “I wouldn’t have welcomed your meddling?” Alec repeated slowly, shaking his head. “Yet, you and Barachiel and Michael found it perfectly acceptable to scheme behind my back and concoct a plan to force us together under circumstances you knew neither of us could refuse? You manipulated me, all of you, plain and simple.”

  “Don’t go all self-righteous indignation on me, young man. Would you rather be right? Or would you rather be with your wife?” his mother protested, as color flooded her face. “You and Tessa were both too stubborn to make the first move, well…Barachiel and I decided it wouldn’t hurt to give you both a little push. Obviously, Barachiel wanted Tessa close these last months, but he sacrificed his own needs to ensure her future. With you. She loves you, Alec.”

  Alec jerked his head around at the sound of a strangled gasp. Pale and trembling, Tessa stood poised in the doorway.

  “Tess…” Alec started around the table, but she held up a hand to stop him.

  “I came down for a drink. I…didn’t mean to eavesdrop. But, since I couldn’t help overhearing, Madge is right. I do love you, Alec. And I understand now it was childish and unrealistic expecting one hundred percent of your attention one hundred percent of the time. But, I sure as hell deserved more than ten percent of it ninety-five percent of the time. I hoped you arrived at the same realization about why…” Tessa blinked rapidly, her throat muscles working visibly as she swallowed. Then she coughed and lifted her chin. “God knows I threw enough hints. Just for the record, picking up on subtlety is not your strong point. At any rate, I’m sorry you were tricked. Consider yourself absolved of any responsibility where I’m concerned. Loving you cost me everything. Even the final precious days I could have spent with my father. I’ll always love you, but one person can’t fight a battle for two. Maybe it really is time to cut our losses.”

  And then she disappeared.

  Chapter Twelve

  Tessa pressed a hand hard against her chest, as though she could hold together the fractured pieces of her heart. Every beat stabbed with the exquisite sting of a knife’s blade. When she pulled her palm away, she half expected to find it sliced bloody from the jagged shards. She wondered how something already shattered produced such intense pain. But, deep down she knew. She’d foolishly allowed hope, such an insidious and deceptive monster, to sneak in and begin mending the cracks. And now her heart broke all over again. She dared to believe in the ridiculous notion love could conquer all. Or conquer enough, anyway. Except love didn’t bring Alec barreling back into her life. Parental manipulation, heaped with a healthy sense of duty and obligation, sucked him in. She never heard him use that tone with his mother, so clearly he wasn’t happy about it. She waited too long, allowed the wounds to fester, forging a river of hurt too deep to cross. There didn’t seem to be a point in sticking around. So, after dropping her backpack and her mother’s wedding box at the flat, she found herself here.

  Shading her sensitive, tear-swollen eyes against the glare of the setting sun, Tessa tilted her head back and regarded the imposing façade of the Castel Sant’Angelo. The ticket office closed hours ago, but Tessa didn’t come for a tour. She came seeking Michael.

  Working her way through the crowds meandering in the darkening square in front of the Castel, Tessa maneuvered around the side nearest the Parco Adriano, hoping to find a spot to fade inside the walls unobserved. According to legend, in the sixth century, Michael the Archangel appeared atop the mausoleum, sheathing his sword as a sign the plague ravaging the city had ended. She couldn’t help thinking it would be damned convenient if the elusive Archangel had a sudden urge to make an appearance on the roof right about now. Though Michael and her father had been close friends, she’d never been to the Castel. She didn’t have the faintest idea where to begin looking for him once she gained entry to the massive, maze-like structure.

  Keeping to the shadows cast by the massive stone wall, Tessa looked around, saw no one watching, then allowed her body to dissolve. She reformed inside the front entrance, near a set of metal stairs descending to the lower level where the ramp winding to the top began. To her left was the ticket office, its slick, glass front looking incongruous amidst the ancient walls. Assuming Michael wouldn’t be lounging inside counting the day’s receipts, she clambered down the stairs, and started up the long, curving Roman ramp. She tread carefully, nearly turning her ankle more than once on the uneven surface, the passage dimly lit only by small, regularly spaced lights set high above the floor.

  She didn’t spare a glance at the second floor storerooms once containing oil and wheat, or the dark, eerie cells that were remnants of a time when the castle served as a prison. She blindly bypassed the myriad of antiquities set into niches in the damp stone walls. Climbing with speed and determination, Tessa’s heart pounded and her legs shook by the time she reached the Courtyard of the Angel designed by Michelangelo for Pope Julius II. Artfully arranged pyramids of round, reproduction stone ammunition lined the walls. Believing she must surely have reached the top, Tessa’s shoulders sagged when she noticed staircases on either side leading to yet another level. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so bone weary. Stopping to catch her breath, she closed her eyes and opened her mind, sending Michael a message on the mental frequency used by Earthbound. Though not Earthbound herself, she enjoyed the same telepathic abilities by virtue of her paternal Principalitie heritage. While waiting to see if he would respond, she paused to admire the marble statue of the Archangel with its great, bronze wings, now green with age, which stood in the center of the courtyard surveying all who passed with a permanently imperious expression.

  “Uncanny likeness, wouldn’t you say?”

  Tessa jumped in surprise, then spun to face the imposing figure of Michael. The nearly seven foot tall Archangel, with an equally impressive wingspan, approached from the foot of the staircase to her left, illuminating the darkening courtyard with a fantastic, golden light.

  “I could probably make a more accurate assessment if I hadn’t just been permanently blinded. Maybe you could tone it down a bit?” Tessa smiled as he continued to approach, his massive wings bending and folding with dizzying speed until they disappeared completely, his glow fading away as quickly. Yes, da Montelupo captured Michael’s youthful attractiveness well, but upon closer inspection, the resemblance ended. Though immortally beautiful, there was nothing boyish or carefree in the haunted shadows reflected in the living Archangel’s eyes.

  “Better?” He opened his arms, and she stepped into them, the top of her head barely reaching his massive chest.

  “Much. It’s been too long. How are you?”

  Michael grasped her shoulders and pulled her away slightly, gazing intently into her face.

  “Better than you, I expect. You’re too thin, and you look like hell.”

  “And you’re as charmingly unfiltered as ever. Give me a break, it’s been a rough few days.”

  “Undoubtedly. Would a nice glass of Chianti make you feel better?”

  “Unlikely,” Tessa sighed. “On the other hand, I doubt it will make me feel worse.”

  “My thoughts exactly,” Michael chuckled, then wrapped his arms around her and faded them both to
his hidden quarters deep within the Castel.

  Releasing her, Michael moved away to a side table, and as he poured, Tessa’s eyes roamed over the sumptuous room decorated in the Renaissance style. She recognized Raphael’s hand in the gloriously colorful frescoes decorating the plastered walls and coffered ceiling. As Michael returned to her side and held out a goblet of the deep, red wine, she shook her head at the incongruity of the seventy-inch flat screen television occupying the space between two enormous paintings—one depicting the beheading of John the Baptist and the other, the martyrdom of San Sebastiano—and the oversized leather sectional dominating the center of the room.

  “I see you’re really roughing it here in this enormous pile of stone. Does it occur to you these works of genius should be shared with the public?”

  “The public has quite enough to see. There are over fifty museums in the vicinity of Rome, alone. They’ll hardy suffer for lack of my few treasured things. So what brings you to my humble abode?” He yanked his phone from the inside pocket of his jacket, glanced at the display, and smiled. Then he waved an arm in the direction of the sofa, indicating she should have a seat. He perched on the arm as she settled into the center.

  “There is nothing humble about your abode, and we both know humility has never been a virtue of its solitary resident, either.”

  “True, but the heavy burden of leadership should come with some perks. And you didn’t answer my question.” He brought the wine to his lips and regarded her steadily over the rim of the glass.

  “I suspect you already know. You knew he was dying, Michael. Why didn’t you contact me?”