Pete’s worked years to make sure he will be worthy of Brooke, and he’s not going to wait any longer. He’s going to show her what they have is very real, and that forbidden fruit is the sweetest and most satisfying.
Chapter One
BROOKE DE LORENZO WAITED, sitting at a kitchen table made of pale wood, while her older sister Sandy put her sleeping toddler in bed. Wisps of steam rose from the hot green tea in two white mugs. Both of them sported the family business name Custom Flooring in red block letters edged with double gold lines. When their father couldn’t do the work any longer, Sandy and her husband had taken over the business.
Though the kitchen table was cheap and worn, the tiles were top-notch. Not ostentatiously expensive, but appropriate for their modest home and so well laid, a photo of them could have been used for the company website.
Sandy made her way back to the kitchen, walking briskly, her bare feet sidestepping the Lego blocks and toys littering the hallway. She was dressed in a black T-shirt that said “I Heart NYC” and patches of intriguing colors—faded orange, peach and pea green—stained her white Capri pants. She sat down in her chair hard enough to make it creak.
“Ah, finally,” Brooke said.
“Finally,” Sandy agreed. “She’s cute, but way too willful.”
“Wonder where she got that from?”
“Probably her aunt.” Sandy looked at Brooke meaningfully.
“Hey! That’s slander.”
“So sue me.” Sandy rolled her dark eyes. Her features were more Asian, taking after their mother, who had been half-Korean, while Brooke’s were more Caucasian. Sandy also inherited their Italian father’s tall, sturdy frame: almost six feet tall and muscled from the work she did at the company.
“Anyway, about the flooring,” Sandy said, “If Amandine wants to do it, that’s fine, though I think it’s a shame to cover the current floor up. Hardwood, right?”
“Yup. Oak.”
“And not even five years old.”
“I know. But she’s pregnant and determined to turn one of the guest rooms into a proper nursery before the due date. Oak apparently isn’t appropriate.”
Sandy sipped her tea. “It’s just funny to hear somebody complain about top-quality oak.”
“She says it’s too hard and slippery.” Though Brooke saw her best friend’s point, she sort of agreed with Sandy. Oak as good as the stuff in Amandine’s mansion was perfect for any room.
“Well, it’s her money.”
“Her husband’s really. And he’s loaded, and he doesn’t care how much she spends as long as she’s happy.” Amandine’s husband Gavin had given her a private jet on their third anniversary. New flooring was nothing.
“I can get her an estimate by next week.”
“Thanks, sis.”
“Hope she has her baby soon, so you can stop babysitting her twenty-four seven.”
“Oh, it’s not that bad. And the housekeeper, Luna, started staying over three days a week, so that frees up my time. Besides, I don’t have to be there when Gavin’s home, and he’s home more often now. I was actually able to move out.”
“Oh good. So that means you’re coming to church three weeks from now?”
Three weeks? Something was going on, and Brooke gave Sandy’s question due consideration: one second. “No.”
“We have a new member. A really nice older lady.”
“Okay…”
“She owns a laundromat.”
“Uh huh. And?”
“Oh.” Sandy cleared her throat delicately. “Well, there’s a son. Mid-thirties. Single. And a doctor.”