Читать книгу The Husband She Never Knew - Cynthia Thomason, Cynthia Thomason - Страница 7

Orlando, Florida, 1990

VICKI SORENSON parked her ancient Ford Pinto a half block from the Orlando courthouse and stepped into the sweltering humidity. She plucked her blouse away from her damp back and pressed her lips together to blend the two quick swipes of Watermelon Ice she’d just applied in the rearview mirror. To make sure no lipstick had stuck on her teeth, she ran her tongue over them. A girl shouldn’t have lipstick on her teeth on her wedding day.

She walked toward the courthouse, her shoulder bag thumping against her hip with each step. Kenny Corcoran, the short-order cook from the Orange Blossom Diner where she worked waved from the top of the stairs. At least there was some measure of comfort in seeing the friend who’d masterminded this plan today.

And then she had her first glimpse of the man she’d come to meet. The man she would marry just as soon as they could sign their names to the license and get an appointment with a justice of the peace. Her heart slammed against her ribs as she reached the first step. This man, this Jamie Malone, seemed to fill the courthouse entrance. Energy fairly radiated from him, and kept him in perpetual motion, arching his spine, rubbing the back of his neck, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

Kenny twirled his hand in a hurry-up gesture. “Come on, Vicki. We’ve got a few minutes. You two can get acquainted.”

Get acquainted. What a ridiculous thing to suggest to a bride and groom, but that was exactly what Vicki and Jamie needed to do if they were to have any hope of convincing immigration officials that this marriage was legitimate. She stopped two steps shy of Jamie Malone and resisted the urge to run. She had to remember why she was doing this, why she couldn’t back out now.

Kenny, a shadowy figure himself with connections to a secret society of Irish brethren, introduced her. Jamie Malone smiled and extended his hand. She grasped it as she climbed the two steps, whereupon she noticed that he topped her five foot six by several inches. His fingers were long and lean, like the rest of him. Grease stains darkened his nails, though he appeared clean and freshly shaven. He was a workingman, this Irish immigrant, who needed a green card to stay in the United States.

“Hello, miss,” he said. “It’s a fine thing you’re doin’ today. You’re probably savin’ my sorry ass from a Belfast jail, you know.”

She stared at Jamie a long moment and realized her ears were appraising him as much as her eyes were. His accented English, lilting and lyrical, flowed like the thick, damp waves of hair he’d tried to tame in a strip of leather at his nape.

“Don’t thank me, Mr. Malone,” she said. “I have my reasons for agreeing to this, and you know what they are.”

His smile stayed in place, despite her curt response. “Indeed I do, miss.” He patted the pocket of his plaid shirt. “I have the cash right here. But you’ll not begrudge me the chance to express my gratitude. I can’t imagine a thing like this would be easy for a girl.”

“No, it’s not,” she admitted. But at twenty-one Vicki found it hard to imagine that this one impulsive decision could affect the rest of her life. People got out of marriages all the time. Her biggest concern was seeing that wad of bills transferred from Jamie’s shirt to her pocketbook and not getting caught by the immigration officials. The rest would work itself out in time.

“Well, then, let’s go,” Kenny urged. “Jamie, hold her hand. And smile, both of you. It’s your wedding day.” He opened the courthouse door and let the soon-to-be newlyweds precede him inside.