ignored her question and mumbled, “The hair is a surprise. But the eyes, that deep green…”
Venus watched as he looked her over again, knowing what he saw—a tall redhead with a big mouth and the kind of figure that could turn horny men into drooling idiots and jealous women into shrews. Venus had long since stopped feeling self-conscious about her height or her very curvy figure. But she began to fidget as the man continued to study her.
“Your parents weren’t married.”
It wasn’t a question, but she answered anyway. “Nope. Shocking, huh? My mother used to joke about how awful her name would have been, Trina Messina.”
He ignored her sarcasm. “You never knew your father, and lost your mother to cancer when you were eight.”
Venus clenched her back teeth, fighting the impulse to stand up and walk out of here. “What do you want?” she bit out.
He seemed to sense her patience was nearing its end. “Ms. Messina, I believe your father, who called himself Matt Messina, may actually have been my cousin, Maxwell Longotti, Jr.”
Her heart beat a little faster, but Venus took a deep breath, ignoring it. “Why?”
“My cousin left my uncle’s estate in Atlanta thirty years ago, determined to make it as a stand-up comedian. He stayed in New York for a while, using a stage name—Matt Messina.”
Her heart quickened even more. “My mother met my father in New York, but she never mentioned a stage name.” However, she did say he’d made her laugh like no one else she ever knew.
“She might not have even been aware of it. I don’t believe they could have known each other very long. He was in New York City for only a few weeks, and then he went out to California.”
Unable to help it, she asked, “Where is he now?”
“He was killed in a car accident less than a year later.”
Venus closed her eyes, angry with herself for allowing a tiny spark of hope to burn for the briefest moment. “Oh.”
“He planned to return to New York, but was going to stop in Atlanta first to try to make amends with Uncle Max. They’d parted rather bitterly, you see. He phoned, said he wanted to mend fences. Something amazing had happened, he said. Something that made him reevaluate the importance of family.”
Like finding out he had a baby with a woman he’d had a fling with back in New York? She thrust the thought away.
“The next day we heard Max had been killed. When his father went out west to settle things, he found a card in Max’s apartment. It simply said, ‘Congratulations, Daddy.’ Inside was a photo of a baby with the name Violet written on the back.”
“My name’s Venus,” she immediately countered.
The man shrugged, as if unconcerned. “Possibly a nickname? Perhaps your mother changed her mind?”
“No way would my mother name me Violet. Besides, I think I would know my own name.”
Leo glanced away, not meeting her eye. “Are you certain of the name on your birth certificate?”
“I’ve never seen it. There was a robbery at my foster mother’s place back when I was in high school and a bunch of papers got stolen.”
He raised a brow.
“But,” she insisted, “my driver’s license, social security card and school records all say Venus. I think by now somebody woulda figured it out if I’d been using an illegal name.”
“Perhaps. But no matter.” The man—who thought he could be her what…uncle? Second cousin?—smiled thinly. “The point is, there is enough circumstantial evidence to think it is possible you are my cousin’s illegitimate daughter.”
She remained silent, absorbing his claim. Her heart no longer raced, and she didn’t tremble with excitement. If she hadn’t just been told Max Longotti Jr. had died nearly thirty years ago, perhaps she could have allowed herself a moment of hope…a moment of that familiar longing to find out who her people were. Now, she felt only anguish. Whether the man spoke the truth or not, she was no closer to having a real father now than she’d ever been.
Deep down, she prayed he was wrong, this so-called relative. She’d long imagined her real father living a great life, being the great guy she liked to think he was. She’d pictured his happiness when he’d learned about the existence of his daughter, who he must never have known about since he hadn’t come for her when her mother died. Her mother told her she’d tried to contact him about Venus’s birth, and she’d never stopped believing he’d return to them.
But what if he hadn’t gotten the news? Messages got lost. Phone numbers changed. Postmen went postal and didn’t deliver the mail. Her father could very well be out there somewhere, living his life, as wonderful as her mother had said he was.
No. Venus didn’t want to imagine him dead. Not now. Not ever.
“Okay, Mr. Gallagher,” she said as she stood and squared her shoulders. “You’ve said what you wanted to say. It’s a nice fairy tale, but I don’t believe it. My name is not Violet. Matt Messina is not exactly an unusual name. New York’s a big city. And I think it’s time for you to leave.”
His jaw dropped and his eyes widened. Obviously he’d expected her to fall at his feet in gratitude. Right now she wished she’d never laid eyes on him.
“B-but, you have to admit it’s possible,” he sputtered.
“Why? What difference does it make if the man is dead?”
“Well,” he said, “because I want you to come to Atlanta to meet your grandfather.”
She began to shake her head. Accepting this Longotti character as her grandfather would mean accepting that her real father had died decades ago. It would mean accepting she really had no parents and the father she’d fantasized about all her life had been in his grave before she took her first steps.
No thank you.
“And I will pay you a great deal of money to do so.”
Venus paused. Then she slowly lowered herself to her chair.
TROY LANGTREE sat in his new office at Longotti Lines, nodding with satisfaction at the tasteful decor and the magnificent view of downtown Atlanta off the balcony. His office at his family-owned department store in south Florida had been just as nicely appointed, but its view had been of swaying palm trees and bikini-clad beach goers.
“Well, that had its benefits, too,” he murmured with a wry smile. Still, he found himself appreciating the look of Atlanta. The skyline spoke of big-city energy and excitement. In the week he’d lived here, he’d found himself growing energetic and excited, too.
He still couldn’t quite believe he was here. His move to Atlanta had been rather a shock, even to him. If someone had asked Troy a year ago where he saw himself on the day of his retirement, he would have firmly replied that he’d still be heading up the Langtree store chain in Florida. He’d never pictured himself doing anything else.
After
