all. I think it’s someone who has a crush on you.”
Rita frowned. “Maria, grown men don’t have crushes.”
“Sure they do,” she objected. “And sometimes it’s the big, strong, tough guys who are the most susceptible.”
Oh, spoken like an idealistic, virginal twenty-three-year-old, Rita thought wryly. Not that Rita should throw stones, seeing as how she was a somewhat idealistic, though definitely virginal twenty-five-year-old. Still, she had seen more of the world than her younger sister had, mostly thanks to that time in the E.R. And she hadn’t seen any big, strong, tough guys who would qualify for secret admirer status. Stalker status, surely, but—
Oh, dammit. She’d let that word out again. Somehow, though, deep down, she wasn’t any more convinced of that possibility than Maria was. Her instincts were good, and although she couldn’t rule out the sinister entirely, Rita still felt more strongly that whoever was leaving the gifts had no intention of hurting her.
But she couldn’t be sure.
Of course, she’d been known to be wrong before.
“I don’t know what to do,” Rita said. “Whether this person is a crazy psycho or not, I don’t like getting anonymous gifts. But I don’t know how to out the person, either.”
Maria nestled the crystal heart back into its tissue bed and replaced the top on the box. “I don’t think it’s anything to worry about,” she said. “But if it makes you feel that uncomfortable, then maybe you should stop wearing the pin and the bracelet. Maybe if you did, your secret admirer would notice, and then maybe he’d say something about it and reveal his identity.”
“I suppose it’s worth a shot,” Rita said absently.
“And if you want to find a new home for this heart…” her sister added with a smile, holding up the box meaningfully.
Rita smiled back as she retrieved the box from Maria’s grasp. She wasn’t sure why she wanted to keep it, but she did. She wasn’t sure why she wore the pin and heart to work everyday, either. Maybe, deep down, she did know whoever was leaving the gifts was doing it because he admired her secretly.
And maybe, deep down, something about that made Rita feel nice. She’d never had anyone admire her before. Not for herself, anyway. She’d had the occasional date in high school and college, of course, but she’d always wondered if the guys in question had only asked her out because she was one of the wealthy Barones. Especially after her twenty-first birthday, when, like all her siblings, she’d come into a trust fund worth a million dollars.
Rita had yet to touch her own million, however, and had instead left it invested, thinking someday she’d need it for something. She didn’t know what. She did know, however, that she wasn’t suited to the social butterfly life, and she loved working as a nurse. Maybe someday, she thought, she’d have children, and she could use the money for them. But her secret admirer obviously didn’t know or care about her wealth, otherwise, he would have revealed himself to her right off the bat, and would have tried to insinuate himself into her life. So maybe it was Rita herself, and not her money, that attracted him. In that respect, she couldn’t help but like him.
“No, the heart is fine where it is,” she said as she took the box from her sister and cradled it in her hand.
She just wished she could say the same for herself. Because in spite of Rita’s instincts saying the contrary, Maria was right in that stalkers tended to target women at their homes, eventually. Rita wondered if her mystery man knew where she lived. If it was indeed someone she worked with, he’d certainly have no trouble locating her. Even if it wasn’t a co-worker, if he’d found her at the hospital, all he would have to do was follow her home one day to find out where she lived. Of course, if he’d done that, he’d also know she walked home alone. And he’d probably know Gina had moved out. And he’d probably know Maria was often not at home these days, something Rita was going to have to ask her younger sister about soon. Which meant he also probably knew that left Rita home alone much of the time.
She exhaled a slow, unsteady breath and told herself she was overreacting. Maria was probably right, too, in that whoever was doing this was harmless. Rita reminded herself that her instincts were good, and that her instincts told her she probably had nothing to fear. But in reminding herself of that, she inescapably reminded herself of something else, too.
That she’d been known to be wrong before.
“Do you have a date for the party next weekend?” Maria asked as she rose to leave. “You did remember the party next weekend, didn’t you, Rita?” she added, probably because she thought Rita didn’t remember.
And she was right. Rita didn’t. Until now.
“The one at the Baronessa business headquarters?” Maria went on. “The one to launch the family’s new PR contest to counter all the bad press from the passionfruit disaster? The contest that was Gina’s brilliant brainchild? The contest where the winner gets to name a new flavor of gelato? Remember that?”
“Oh, no,” Rita groaned. “I forgot all about it. There’s been so much going on at work lately.”
Her sister frowned at her. “Rita,” she said in the scolding tone of voice impatient mothers used with recalcitrant toddlers. “You are going, aren’t you? All the Barones are expected to be there, to show our support for the family and the business. You have to go. You know you’ll never hear the end of it if you don’t.”
“Yes, yes, I’m going,” Rita assured her sister.
“And you do have a date for the party, don’t you?” Maria asked further. “Because you know you’ll never hear the end of it if you don’t,” she repeated with a smile.
Rita closed her eyes and bit back another groan. What Maria said was certainly true. The older generation of Barones was crazy for grandchildren and grand-nieces and grand-nephews, and they weren’t afraid to let anyone—especially the potential bearers of said grandchildren and grand-nieces and grand-nephews—know it. Whenever a Barone of marriageable age showed up at a family gathering without a date, they were set upon by the older generation, wanting to know how they expected to get married and have children if they remained alone.
With Rita, though, who never brought dates to such events, it was becoming a problem of epic proportions. Naturally, it wouldn’t have been a problem had she entered the Sisters of Charity as her sister Colleen had. Religious conviction was the only acceptable excuse for such longstanding abstinence from a social life. And even trying to use Colleen as an excuse these days didn’t wash, seeing as how she had left the Sisters of Charity not long ago and was now engaged to her college love.
“Um, actually…” Rita began. But she couldn’t quite make herself finish the revelation.
“Rita,” Maria said again in that same motherish tone, “you haven’t even invited a date yet?”
“I forgot, all right?” Rita said.
“And you probably don’t have anything to wear, either, do you?”
“Well…”
“Fine,” Maria said in a voice of put-upon patience. “I’ll take off early Monday and we can go shopping. I wouldn’t mind picking up something new myself. The date, though…” she added, letting her voice trail off meaningfully.
