“Which ones?”
She glanced at him and skated a little faster, though she couldn’t get away from him, joined at the hip as they were. “It’s no secret that he owns an abundance of liquor.”
No kidding.
“And he probably comes by it illegally.”
“He probably does.” Joe couldn’t help the sarcasm. “What else?”
“I understand he owns a lot of businesses. He’s successful enough to have an income that can afford both his Manhattan brownstone and the Long Island mansion. I’ve heard he hasn’t paid all the taxes he owes. But that could just be the old money–new money rivalry.”
“Looks like he has paid his taxes, actually.”
“You looked him up?”
“I did my job. I wanted to check for ties to organized crime,” Joe told her.
Snow fell in little feathers, landing on the apples of her cheeks and the dent in her chin. They melted there, leaving tiny droplets on her skin. He felt like they were in a Norman Rockwell painting. Except for the topic of conversation.
“Did you find any proof?” Lauren asked.
If Joe had proof, Ray Moretti would be in jail. “These guys are hard to pin down. Their strict culture of secrecy and family loyalty goes a long way in protecting them from charges that would otherwise stick.”
“The Morettis have been valued patrons of the Met for years. His wife personally gives to several charities around the city.”
“Do you ever wonder where that money comes from?”
“Hotels and pharmacies. Real estate—that’s a big one—especially on the north shore of Long Island.”
Joe wondered what it was like to be so naïve. To accept what people said, to believe the best in them, to refuse to give credence to hearsay. “I forgot how easy it is for you to give folks the benefit of the doubt,” he said. Not that he had any right to complain. Lauren had extended the same grace to him when they’d been teenagers, against her aunt’s advice.
She narrowed a sidelong glance at him through the swirling snow. “Somehow I get the feeling you don’t approve.”
“I approve ofyou,” he said. He approved of everything about her, except her cavalier attitude toward the Morettis. Releasing her waist, he spun around to face her and held her hands instead. He skated backward, and she forward. “But sometimes you can be so focused on ancient dynasties that you don’t clearly see the world you live in now.”
Lauren dug her toe into the ice, stopping them short. “Are you going to tell me I’m too privileged? That I don’t live in reality and have no idea how the world works?” She inched backward, changing their direction.
He didn’t let her go. Other skaters faded in his periphery as he focused on the only one who mattered. “We know each other better than that,” he insisted. “I care about you.”
Her blue eyes softened as she squeezed his hands. “I care about you, too. I’m so glad you’re back in my life. I keep wondering why we didn’t do this sooner.”
“I know why.”
She locked her gaze with his, waiting.
“Do you remember when you said good-bye to me at Belvedere Castle, before you left for college?” Joe asked.
“Of course.”
“I’d set up that picnic with a much different plan for that night. I was going to tell you how deeply I cared about you. Then you started talking about your plans for the future, and I wised up quick that I didn’t fit in. I would only be in your way, and the last thing on earth I wanted to do was hold you back from your dreams.”
Joe realized that he was still holding her hands, keeping her near. He released her, letting her skate backward at her own pace.
“I asked if we could write to each other, and you never did,” she said. “I wrote you a couple of times, and you didn’t respond.”
How could she still not get it? He’d needed to get over her, and the only way to do that was to forget her. Writing letters only remindedhim that she was out there, and that she’d never be his. “That’s because I didn’t want to be your friend anymore. I couldn’t.” He swallowed, and the rest of his confession stuck in his throat.
Her eyes widened. Hurt splayed across her face, and she skated faster.
