Читать книгу Staying Single - Millie Criswell - Страница 11

IT WAS A BAD DAY for a wedding.

Francie Morelli gazed down the red-carpeted aisle toward the altar, where her handsome husband-to-be, Matt Carson, all smiles and nervous perspiration in a black Armani tux, awaited her arrival, and knew this with a certainty.

Though unlike Matt, Francie wasn’t nervous, just panicked. The kind of panic you get when you can’t catch your breath or feel as though you might throw up.

Okay, so maybe she was a teensy bit nervous.

Even though she’d done the wedding thing twice before and knew what to expect. Not that she had ever actually made it all the way to the altar and said her “I dos.”

Not that she would get that far this time, either.

Swallowing with some difficulty at the dangerous thoughts going through her mind, she tried to ignore the “Run, Francie, run!” mantra currently playing to the tune of “Burn, Baby, Burn” from Disco Inferno, the song so popular in the 70s.

The choice of music was a bad omen. Burning in hell was a likely possibility if she didn’t go through with this wedding, which was probably the lesser of the two evils, because she knew Josephine Morelli’s punishment would be far worse. Traveling on her mother’s guilt trips was like taking a go-cart tour of hell.

Through her blush veil—flapping like a leaf in high wind due to her labored breathing—she could see her mother, dressed in a lovely, silk, teal-blue dress, hands locked in prayer and supplication, pleading with the Almighty to let her daughter have the courage to go through with the ceremony this time. The older woman’s tear-filled eyes—Francie knew there were tears because her mother liked to make a good showing at public events (funerals were her specialty)—were fixed on the massive gold crucifix hanging above the altar, as if by sheer will alone she could command God to do her bidding, as Josephine had commanded Francie so many times before.

Fortunately for the world at large, God seemed to have a stronger backbone than Francie.

A hushed silence surrounded her as those in attendance waited to see if she would actually go through with the ceremony. Aunt Flo was biting her nails to the quick, while Grandma Abrizzi had her rosary beads clacking at top speed. No one could recite the rosary faster than Loretta Abrizzi, who was a definite contender for the Guinness Book of World Records.

Francie’s sixteen-year-old brother, Jack, had taken perverse delight in explaining that several of the male guests, her uncles in particular, had placed bets on the outcome of today’s event. The odds were five-to-one that she would never see her wedding night.

Ha! A lot they knew!

She’d already had several wedding nights, though she hadn’t bothered with the wedding part. She likened it to eating dessert before dinner—the yum without the humdrum.

Not that Francie had anything in particular against matrimony. It just wasn’t right for her. She had no desire to become an extension of a man and to cater to his whims.

Though Josephine was a strong woman, who came across as an independent sort, the woman lived for her children and husband. And even though John Morelli was a great guy and a terrific father, he liked things just so—like dinner on the table promptly at five o’clock every evening, his boxers ironed without creases and no interruptions during his weekly poker game with the guys.

Of course, Francie had a theory about her mother’s catering to her family’s needs. It was Josephine’s way to control, to retain the upper hand with her husband and children, and she did it extremely well. Just as she had turned meddling into an art form.

Meddling, like marriage, was another one of those M-words that Francie hated: meddling, marriage, menstruation, menopause, milk of magnesia—Josephine’s remedy for every childhood ailment—and last but not least, Matt, the last in a long line of M fiancés.

No. M-words were definitely not good. She’d have to remember that the next time she dated, if there was a next time. At the moment that seemed remote…redundant…and oh, so ridiculous.

She would not allow her mother to bully her again.

Period.

Standing beside Francie, John Morelli clutched his daughter’s arm in a death grip, trying to keep her steady and on course. But Francie knew, just as he did, that it wouldn’t. She was in collision mode and there was no way to avoid it.

Still, he had to try. His wife would expect no less. And John, like most of the Morellis, wasn’t going to buck Josephine’s wedding obsession. Not if he wanted a moment’s peace.

Josephine was in no way, shape or form a passive-aggressive personality. The outspoken woman just came out and told you exactly what she thought and what she expected you to do about it. There was never a moment’s doubt where you stood with the overbearing woman, lovingly nicknamed “The Terminator” by her three children.

It wasn’t that the Morelli kids didn’t love their mother; they did. It was just that Josephine was not an easy woman to deal with. Forget about living with her!

Francie’s toes began to tingle—a surefire indication that flight was imminent. She wiggled them, hoping and praying that the urge to flee would pass. If not, the white satin shoes she wore would, like Dorothy’s ruby slippers, whisk her away from the solemn occasion to her favorite place of refuge: Manny’s Little Italy Deli. There she knew the owner, former high school classmate, Manny Delisio, would be waiting for her with a pastrami on rye and a large diet Coke.

Okay, so stress made her hungry!

Her roommate, Leo Bergmann, suitably armed with a packed suitcase and a train ticket to an as-yet-unknown destination, would also be there to offer moral support and a stern lecture. He was almost as good as Josephine when it came to offering opinions and advice that no one wanted, only he did it with a bit more finesse.

Francie and Leo had agreed that if it looked as though she was going to bolt, Leo would leave the ceremony early, head down to Manny’s and proceed with the travel arrangements he’d previously put into motion.

The last time Francie had run, Leo had chosen New York City as her escape destination. A great choice, in her opinion, for she’d been able to lose herself among the throngs of people, become invisible, and get her head back on straight before returning to face the music—translation: Josephine’s ranting about what an ungrateful daughter she had.

Unfortunately the time before that—the first time, when Francie had fled the arms of the unfortunate Marty Ragusa, “Philadelphia’s only undertaker with panache,” as he called himself on those stupid TV commercials he appeared in—Leo had picked Pittsburgh. It hadn’t been far enough away from Philadelphia or her mother, who had tracked her down like a bloodhound with a nose bent on revenge.

Josephine’s anger had given new meaning to the term “pissed off.” Though Francie wasn’t entirely certain that her mother hadn’t been more upset about losing her discount on funerals and burial plots than losing Marty for a son-in-law.

Patting his daughter’s hand reassuringly, John leaned over and smiled lovingly. The scent of Old Spice washed over Francie, conjuring up many good childhood memories, including her dad pushing her on the backyard swing or helping with division and multiplication problems.

“Don’t be nervous, cara mia. Soon this will be over and you’ll be married and settled down. It’s the right thing to do, you’ll see. And it will make your mother very happy. You know how she’s waited for this day.”

The second coming paled by comparison!

Francie adored her father and wanted to agree with him; she wanted that more than anything. But words of reassurance stuck in her throat like oversize peanuts and all she could offer up was a gaseous smile and a deer-in-the-headlights look.

Behind her, red-haired Joyce Rialto, her best friend since first grade, muttered, “Uh-oh,” and then began cursing obscenities beneath her breath.

Joyce knew Francie a little too well, unfortunately.

“I’m sorry, Pop, but I don’t think I can go through with this. I’m just not ready to get married. I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready.”

John’s eyes widened momentarily, then he looked down the long aisle to where his wife was sitting in the first pew, the smile on her face suddenly melting as she noticed his resigned, worried expression.

“Your car’s out back. I gassed it up, just in case, and left some money in the glove box.”

Joyce wasn’t the only one who knew her well.

Warmed by the gesture, Francie kissed her father’s cheek. “I love you, Pop. Thanks! I hope Ma doesn’t give you too bad a time of it.”

John glanced quickly at his wife again and groaned inwardly, noting that her frown had deepened and she was staring daggers at him. “Don’t kiss me again! Your mother will think I’m in on this, and then there’ll be hell to pay. Now go, if you’re going. I’ll handle your mother. I’ve been doing it for thirty-five years, haven’t I?”

Francie knew her father spoke with more bravado than he felt. It wasn’t that her dad was a coward; it was just that…well, he was married to Josephine.

“Yes, and you’re still relatively sane. I love you!”

Despite his warning, she kissed him again, then turned and, with an apologetic smile at Joyce, her younger sister, Lisa, who was grinning widely at her, and the other two bridesmaids, who merely groaned before waving and wishing her good luck, hightailed it out of the church and into the warm September sunshine.

MARK FIELDING was late.

He should have been at St. Mary’s Catholic Church twenty-five minutes ago for his stepbrother’s wedding to perform his duties as best man. Matt was counting on him.

But his flight from the Philippines, where he’d been on assignment as a photojournalist with the Associated Press for the past six months, had been delayed, and the traffic on Interstate 95 from the airport into the city had been horrific. And to complicate matters, his cell phone wasn’t working. Mark cursed his stupidity in not remembering to recharge the battery, though lack of sleep had played a significant role in rendering him temporarily stupid.

Spotting the brick church up ahead, he looked for a place large enough to park his SUV and shook his head at the impossibility of the situation. As he did, the heavy walnut doors to the church flew open and a woman dressed in full bridal regalia, veil blowing back to reveal dark hair and a very pretty face, ran out and down the steps.

This had to be his new sister-in-law.

What was her name? Frances? Fiona? Florence?

Applying the brake, he reached out to grab the camera on the seat next to him, rolled down the window and began snapping photos, while he recited all the F names he knew.

For the life of him, Mark couldn’t remember her name. He’d never met his little brother’s fiancée and hadn’t been enamored of the idea that Matt was getting married so quickly after meeting the woman just three short months ago.

Hell, he knew dogs who’d had longer courtships!

And what was that saying? Marry in haste…

“Shit! I’m too late. I missed the wedding. They’re already married.”

A thousand apologies raced through his mind until the realization hit him that his brother hadn’t followed his bride out of the church, nor had any of the relatives, including his dad and stepmother. They should have been waiting on the church steps to greet the happy couple with rice or birdseed or whatever the hell it was that folks used these days to pelt happy couples all in the name of good luck.

Setting the camera aside, he double-parked his green Ford Explorer and watched his brother’s new bride lift her wedding dress off the ground, displaying a pair of rather nice legs, then disappear around the side of the church, looking over her shoulder a few times as if to make sure no one was following.

Why was the bride so anxious to leave?

And where the hell was his brother?

Suddenly, Mark got a really bad feeling in the pit of his stomach that had nothing to do with the dry turkey sandwich he’d eaten on the plane a few hours before. He made it a point to always heed his gut instincts; they’d never steered him wrong in the past.

And Mark knew his brother to be the sensitive sort, who wore his heart on his sleeve and romanticized every little thing about his relationships. Hadn’t he warned Matt that wearing rose-colored glasses would get him into trouble one day?

Marry in haste…repent at leisure.

He’d been the romantic once, before he’d woken up to the fact that women of today weren’t interested in commitment or long-term relationships, and that they didn’t know their own minds.

It was slam, bam, thank you, mister!

Mark’s recent relationships had left him unfulfilled. The sex had been great. But sex without commitment was just…well, sex.

He wanted more than that. He wanted what his parents had—love, trust, someone to share a life with.

But all he’d gotten so far was a swift kick in the butt and feeble explanations of the “I’m not ready to commit yet” sort. Mark was all kinds of a fool to even think he’d meet anyone interested in making a life with him.

Women, he’d discovered the hard way, were duplicitous, selfish and self-serving. And he was damn sick and tired of it. So much so that if he found out that his brother’s new bride was of a similar ilk, there was going to be hell to pay. He’d make damn sure of that.

“YOU NAUGHTY GIRL! I had a sick feeling that something would go wrong today. Of course, I base that on three years of living with you. Cold feet again, huh?”

Leo’s familiar face warmed Francie’s heart as she ripped off her veil, pulled aside the voluminous folds of white organza and lace that made up the skirt of her wedding gown and sat next to him at the small round table, waving and smiling at Manny, who was across the deli preparing a customer’s order.

“Hey, Francie!” Manny called. “What’s this one make? Number three, right? And you call your mother The Terminator.” He threw back his head and laughed, then added, “I’m just glad I got over my crush on you when I was seventeen, or I’d have ended up a ruined man.”

Francie smiled weakly. “You got my pastrami on rye ready? I can’t stick around here long. My mother will be on my trail in no time.”

“Leo’s got everything. I’m just finishing up his take-out order. It’ll be just a few more minutes.”

Francie’s roommate reached out and clasped her hand, his touch as comforting as always. Next to Joyce, Leo was her best friend. Not only did they share an apartment, they shared confidences, relationship problems and Leo’s obsession with dining out.

“Tell me what happened, sweetie. I really thought Matt had a chance. He’s just so adorable. But I digress. Apparently you don’t find him as attractive as I do.” He grinned and the cleft in his chin dimpled.

Heaving a sigh, Francie replied, “Matt’s wonderful. I like him a lot. He’s handsome, successful—a great guy. But I don’t love him, and that’s the problem. I’m just not ready to take that final step. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life with someone I don’t love.”

If she ever decided to get married—and that was a big if, and not at all likely, especially after today—she wanted to find a man who would knock her socks off, sweep her off her feet and make her fall madly in love. Since no such man existed, on this planet anyway, Francie felt relatively safe from the strangulation…um, bonds of matrimony.

“I take it there was no spark between you two.”

“His kisses were nice, but…” She shook her head, wondering if her expectations were too high. Maybe those tingles, that quickening of the heartbeat and sweaty palms she’d been reading about didn’t really exist.

“Bells and whistles didn’t go off?”

“Exactly. I’m just glad Matt was willing to wait to consummate our relationship. I sort of insisted we delay until the honeymoon and…”

Leo’s grin was lascivious. “Hey, maybe he’s gay.”

“You’re incorrigible, Leo. Matt seems very straight to me. He’s just a nice guy, who made the mistake of falling in love with the wrong woman…namely me. And now I’ve hurt him terribly, and I hate myself for it.

“I should have never let my mother browbeat me into marriage. This obsession she has about me getting married is unhealthy…for both of us.”

Josephine’s greatest aspiration in life was to see her two daughters married and settled down, preferably with five or six children that she could dote on, but she’d take two if push came to shove.

Her mother had spent years saving for Francie’s wedding—now weddings—making elaborate plans, buying not one, but three fabulous dresses, finding not one, but three perfect, in her estimation, grooms. And knowing how much all this meant to her mother, Francie had a difficult time bursting her bubble.

Did she say Josephine had turned meddling into an art form? Try manipulation. She was even better at that.

“So, just say no.”

Francie rolled her eyes at the absurdity of Leo’s suggestion. “Have you ever tried saying no to my mother? Josephine is like a steamroller, leveling everything in her path. She never gives up, just keeps at me until all I want her to do is shut up and leave me alone. In the end I always relent, and she knows it. I’ve done it all my life. I’m programmed for it. Twenty-nine years old, and I’m pathetic.”

Nodding in understanding, Leo squeezed her hand gently. “I know, sweetie. But there’s going to come a day when you’ll have to stand up to Josephine. I think if you do, she’ll back down.”

“Really?” A tiny kernel of hope blossomed in Francie’s chest, reflecting in her voice. “Do you think so, Leo?”

Apology filling his dark eyes, he shook his head. “No. But it sounds like good advice. You can’t keep allowing your mother to control your life, Francie. These trips to the altar are not only emotionally taxing, they’re expensive.”

She sighed at the truth of his words, knowing her job with Ted Baxter Promotions didn’t pay that well. Not enough to keep up with recent expenditures, anyway. “Where am I going this time?”

“Niagara Falls. I thought there was a nice irony to it.”

Her eyes widened in disbelief. “Niagara F…You’re kidding, right? I’ll be hanging out with honeymooners, couples making cooing noises at each other. I may have to throw up.”

“It was the cheapest destination I could find. Your Visa is about maxed out, thanks to all that junk you purchased for your honeymoon.”

“It was expensive lingerie, not junk. And that just goes to show you that I had every intention of going through with the wedding. I never set out to hurt Matt and ruin his life, not to mention my own.”

“He’ll get over it. They all do. Marty Ragusa is marrying a former Victoria’s Secret model, so I think his heart has mended.”

“That’s good. I’m happy to hear it.” And relieved. It lessened the guilt she felt a wee bit. “I’m not sure Michael Maxwell has fared as well. Last I heard the poor man was wandering the Australian Outback, trying to find himself.”

“He’ll probably find a kangaroo instead, which will match his personality to a T. What you saw in that bozo is beyond me. The man was dull, dull, dull.”

Francie shook her head and sighed. “I’m a terrible person, Leo. I’ve hurt so many people.”

“Not terrible, sweetie, just spineless. You’ll do better the next time.”

She shook her head adamantly, and with a mutinous expression plastered on her face, said, “I’m not doing this again! I will never let my mother push me into another marriage. I have almost married for the last time. I’ve decided to remain a bachelorette. I’ll date, have sex, just enjoy the hell out of my life, but I’m never going to walk down the aisle again.”

No more engagements. No more weddings. No way!