Page 16 of Vincenzo's Promise
I admired the picture-perfect green lawn and flowers that added a delicate touch to the single-family ranch style home as I walked up the paved walkway, flowers in hand. I made sure I picked up another bouquet since the one she’d received yesterday had been the first she’d gotten in a long time.
I never gave flowers to anyone—the gesture was way too personal. It promised way more than I was willing to give. Jewelry, cars, and homes were normal gifts I had no problem showering women with. I was sure Angelo would get a good laugh when he found out about it, although I didn’t care what he, or anyone else, thought. She needed to feel comfortable and respected by me. If giving her flowers every day did that, then that was what I’d do.
When I rang the doorbell, her voice called out through the thick wood-paneled door. Her footsteps approaching caused my heart to pound against my chest. It wasn’t like me to get nervous because of a woman, but nerves racked my body so much so, my palms began to sweat.
Get it together, Vincenzo. It’s just a fucking date.
But thiswasn’tjust any date, and when she opened the door, all the air escaped from my lungs, proving it. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t talk. All I could do was take in the magnificent woman standing before me. Never in my life had I seen such beauty.
Her thick, curly hair was pulled pack into a loose ponytail at the nape of her neck. She wore little to no makeup, which was something I wouldn’t complain about. Make up was one of the things I loathed, from the smell to it getting all over my clothes. And her dress covered her modestly but clung to every delicious curve, giving me the view of a body I couldn’t wait to indulge in.
“Hi, Zo,” she greeted. “Are those for me?”
I couldn’t pull my eyes away from her, and my tongue felt heavy in my mouth. I couldn’t speak.
“Vincenzo, is there something wrong? Is it my dress? Am I underdressed? I can change.” She nervously ran her hand through her tight curls, then over her clothing when I didn’t respond, which only brought more attention to how sexy she looked. There was nothing wrong with her dress. It was the exact opposite. The dress was perfect.
She was perfect.
“No, no.” I shook my head slightly. “I’m sorry. There’s nothing wrong with your dress. You’re just absolutely stunning. You just took my breath away for a minute.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh. Well, thank you. I was hoping I wasn’t underdressed since you didn’t say where we were going. Are the flowers for me?” She motioned to the flowers I had a tight grip on.
“Oh yes, I’m sorry.” I handed her the beautiful bouquet of mixed flowers. “You have to excuse me, Bella. I must say, I’m a little out of my element with all this.”
“Dating?”
“Well, to be quite honest, I don’t date. I don’t pick women up from their homes or really do any of the gentlemanly things.”
“I’m out of my element too.” She laughed. “I haven’t dated much. So, you must excuse me as well. Come in while I find a vase to put these in and maybe we can both calm our nerves some.”
I followed her in and took in the home of Isabella Lombardo...after pulling my eyes away from the backless dress that actuated her round ass and her long legs.
She definitely isn’t underdressed. Damn, I could watch her all fucking day.
Once again, the inside wasn’t what I’d expected, just like the outside. It wasn’t excessive and had a cozy, personal feel I liked, although vastly different from my mansion.
The hardwood floors complemented the light tan walls of the quaint living room. A single beige couch with a blue throw pillow on each end filled the space, along with an overstuffed chair with a blanket thrown across the back. I smiled when I saw the bouquet of roses I’d sent her yesterday sitting proudly on her coffee table.
While she continued to rummage through cabinets in the kitchen, I walked over to the mantle situated above the fireplace lined with photos and a few crystal angels. I gazed at the photos, amazed how close she looked to be with her father and brothers although she hadn’t grown up around them. Some of the photos were of her when she was younger with her and her brothers. There was another of Cyrus holding a young Isabella in his arms. She looked to be no more than two years old, and the smile on his face was indescribable. The look of a proud father.
My focus then landed on the photograph with Cyrus and a beautiful, very pregnant Black woman. His arm was draped over her shoulder, his other hand on her rounded stomach. She had her arms wrapped tightly around his waist. The young woman smiled at whoever had taken the picture, and Cyrus gazed at the young woman with love and admiration. It was surprising to see. But then it dawned on me that this was what Cyrus had wanted to remain hidden. He’d had another family separate from the one he’d presented to the world. A family he looked to care deeply about.
My attention gravitated and lingered on two other pictures. Shock rushed through my system. One was of my father holding me, standing beside Cyrus as he held who I assumed was Bella. The other one was of me and Bella together.
What in the hell is going on?
“That’s my mother, Stella Delaney,” she said when she walked up beside me, pulling me from my thoughts. “She only loved one man in her life.”
“They look happy together. In love.”
When I looked at Isabella, I couldn’t help but admire her beauty. She looked a lot like her mother—beautiful dark skin, striking brown eyes. But there wasn’t any doubt Cyrus was her father.
Her smile widened, and she nodded, grabbing the picture off the mantle and rubbing her finger across the glass covering the photo like she was remembering the times they’d had together.
“They were very much in love. It was something fierce, from what my mother and father both told me. There wasn’t a day that went by my father didn’t tell my mother he loved her. No matter where he was or the time of day, every single day, she received that call. It brought her joy and broke her heart all at the same time.” She placed the photo back on the mantle. “Their love couldn’t conquer all. And, after I was born, it wasn’t enough. He is who he is, and she was who she was.”
“What does that mean?” I asked.
