Читать книгу Captive Dove - Judith Leon - Страница 13

T he priest was explaining to Joe’s brother, Manuelito, and his bride-to-be, Susa, exactly where to stand and what to say tomorrow during the actual wedding. Joe, along with the rest of the wedding party, stood in places lined up near the altar.

Joe’s youngest brother, Diego, and two other friends of Manuelito’s who would serve as ushers, stood on one side of Joe. On the other side of the bride-to-be, the bridesmaids were whispering among themselves, but the priest, Susa and Manuelito seemed not to notice. Joe stood facing the entry.

For a moment, as he looked down the rows of pews toward the door, he imagined the seats filled with people, the bride’s processional music playing and Nova dressed in a white gown and veil walking down the aisle toward him. He chuckled to himself. Actually, in his mother’s worldview, white would be entirely the wrong color for Nova. No virgin there. Light-years from being a virgin. Maybe Nova, the seductress, should be wearing red. Or maybe even black. Nova had eliminated bad guys, and more than once.

Then a different image replaced the wedding scene, a memory of sitting across the table from her in a funky little restaurant smelling of cinnamon. Their last weekend together. She’d picked a bed-and-breakfast in a tiny mountain hamlet called Julian, northeast of San Diego, a place famous for apple pie and the orchards that produced them. A place where the two of them could be assured of anonymity. He was holding her hand across the table.

He had presented her with an engagement ring, fully expecting her gorgeous green eyes to light up with joy. Instead they had dimmed as though a gray cloud had suddenly covered his sun. Nothing he’d said could change her mind. She’d quickly grown angry, saying he’d agreed they would be lovers. But no big commitment like marriage. He’d grown angry in response. They had locked in a test of wills. He’d finally said, “Either marry me, or I’m outta here.”

Her reply, as she’d pulled her hand out of his, her tone both sad and final had been, “Then, I guess it’s over.”

Now, clenching his fist, Joe swallowed down a golf-ball-sized lump and forced his attention to the priest. A dumb phrase popped into his head—“Real men don’t cry.”

He had actually found and loved a woman like no other. He would never love another woman because in his eyes, none would ever compare to Nova in beauty, intelligence or courage. So why the hell had he insisted on marriage? Why the hell had he let her push him away? And just when the hell was he going to swallow his pride and call her?