Never a Bride

by Caridad Piñeiro

  “Hola, Egecatl. How are you?” Carlo said to the short and stocky Peruvian. His burnished copper skin was a testament to his indigenous heritage.

  “Muy bien. Miguelito here has me working for El Jefe,” Egecatl replied and clapped the young contractor on the back. A second later, he and the rest of the group strolled into the restaurant, leaving Miguelito behind.

  “El Jefe, huh?” Carlo said and eyeballed Miguelito.

  “We can’t all be best buds with the rich guys,” Miguelito said and shrugged.

  Carlo chuckled and shook his head. “Jon and Owen are good guys,” he reminded his friend although wealthy, business types tended to be his customers and not his friends. But he’d felt immediately at ease around Jonathan and Owen Pierce, maybe because they had so many things in common. Much like the four very different women who were as good as sisters.

  “They are, but they’re not like us, mano,” Miguelito said and jerked his head down the block where there was still no sign of Emma. “Did she stand you up?”

  Carlo shot a quick look at his watch, but as he looked up, he noticed Emma rounding the corner. “And here she is, mano,” he said and jabbed the other man in the ribs.

  Miguelito snorted and said, “Another ten pounds and she’d be perfect, but you’re still a lucky man.”

  Carlo chuckled at the old joke. His father would probably say Emma needed another twenty pounds, but he loved every lean and elegant curve of her body.

  She walked up to them, a big smile on her face and bright color on her cheeks. Her green eyes glittered with excitement. “Have you been waiting long?” she said as she brushed a quick kiss on his cheek and then on Miguelito’s.

  “No,” he said at the same time his friend mumbled “Forever.” Which earned him another jab in the ribs from Carlo.

  “You ready to go in?” Carlo asked and gestured to the restaurant’s entrance with his head.

  “Ready as I’ll ever be,” she said. They left Miguelito waiting for another friend and entered together. Immediately inside the door, the owner of the restaurant was greeting guests and smiled as he noticed Carlo.

  “Mano, I wasn’t expecting you,” the man said and bro hugged Carlo.

  “You should have let me know,” Carlo chided and wrapped an arm around the shorter man’s shoulder.

  The owner seemed chagrined and dipped his head. “Wasn’t sure a big celebrity chef like you –”

  “Mano, stop that shit and let me introduce my . . . friend,” Carlo said, hoping Emma wouldn’t notice his hesitation.

  Friend, Emma thought and wanted to cringe, but then again, it seemed like neither of them knew what to call their relationship. If they even had something you could call a relationship.

  Recovering from the possible gaffe, Carlo laid a hand at the small of her back and urged her toward the young Chinese restaurant owner. “Emma, this is Eddie Lee. His family owns the best Cuban Chinese restaurant in all of Jersey. We’ve known each other since we were kids.”

  She shook the man’s hand and said, “So nice to meet you and congratulations on the new place.” Looking around, she noticed that the restaurant had a really Latin vibe with lots of dark woods, but brightly colored fabrics and paintings in a more Asian-style. In a far corner a trio of musicians in gleaming white shirts and panama hats were softly playing Cuban music.

  “Nice to meet you, too. I’ve heard you and Carlo put on some amazing weddings,” Eddie said and then held his arm wide in invitation. “Mi casa es su casa. Eat, drink, and enjoy.”

  “Thanks, Eddie, and all the best on the new place. I know we’ll be back,” she said and shot a quick look up at Carlo who nodded in agreement.

  “Good luck, Eddie,” Carlo said and hugged the man again before they threaded their way through the crowd inside the restaurant and over to the bar. A bartender was pouring samples of mojitos, caipirinhas, and sangria.

  “White sangria for me,” she said while Carlo went for one of the cachaça-based caipirinhas.

  She raised her glass for a toast and said, “To friends.”

  Carlo grimaced, possibly recalling his earlier hesitation, but then raised his glass and tapped it to hers. “To friends and to us, Emma.”

  “To us,” she added, hopeful for what that might mean for them.

  As they shifted away from the congested bar, she realized assorted waiters were working their way through the crowd, offering food samples. Carlo and she stopped and took the first offering which looked like an egg roll of some kind, but as she took a bite, she realized it was filled with a citrusy pork, rice, and black bean mixture. Almost like a burrito.

  “Delicious,” she said and finished off the tidbit. She leaned close to him to combat the noise in the place and said, “I’ve never had Chino Latino or Cuban Chinese food before.” As a different waiter came by, she took another sample. Bacon wrapped around a sweet plantain.

  Carlo grabbed a plantain as well and ate it in one bite. “You wouldn’t get this in a Cuban Chinese place. That’s either Cuban or Chinese food and not this fusion.”

  Emma nodded in understanding. “You said Eddie’s family has a restaurant?”

  With a dip of his head, Carlo snagged another sample from another waiter. A taco filled with a Korean style bulgogi and a daikon slaw. Dipping his head close to her ear, he explained. “Eddie’s grandparents fled Cuba in the Sixties. They opened the restaurant in Union City and became customers of my family’s bakery in the Ironbound.”

  “This is tasty,” she said and murmured her appreciation of the small fusion taco. “So your family was already in Newark?”

  Carlo nodded and sipped his drink. “We came here in the 1920s through Ellis Island. What about your family?” he asked and it occurred to her that in all the years they’d known each other, they’d never really gotten personal in this kind of way.

  “American-style mutt here. My mom is Irish and Italian. Explains the strawberry blonde,” she explained and sipped her sangria. The white wine was blended perfectly with citrus and sweet bits of strawberries and peaches.

  “And your dad?” he asked and exerted some gentle pressure on her back to guide her to some seats that had opened up at a nearby table.

  Her dad had been a dick and worse and she usually avoided talking about him if she could. Carlo must have sensed her hesitation since he expertly changed the subject. “So what do you think about the restaurant? Give you any ideas for Connie and Jon? Anglo Latino fusion stations during the cocktail hour?” he teased and grinned. His dark eyes were bright with humor.

  The grin and glimmer warmed her insides so she took a sip of wine to cool the heat and after a pause said, “Like Cuban-style roast pork cheesesteaks?”

  Carlo chuckled. “I like that idea. Baked potatoes with chorizo and manchego toppings?”

  Emma smiled. “Yummy! I love chorizo.”

  Carlo raised his glass. “This dynamic duo is going to rock Connie and Jon’s wedding.”

  With a slow deliberate motion, Emma lifted her almost empty glass and tapped it to his. “We are good together,” she said and knew in her heart that it wasn’t just about working with him no matter how much taking the next step scared her.

  Carlo clearly understood. “So maybe we can think about being better together in other ways?”

  “Maybe,” she said with a hesitant nod, surprising herself and obviously Carlos as well. He narrowed his eyes to examine her, as if to judge if she was really serious. But a second later the band launched into a fast salsa beat and the couple next to them jumped up to dance, knocking into Carlos and shattering the moment.

  Carlo slowly rose and held out his hand. “So how about we take that next step right now?”

  Emma gulped and felt heat rush up to her cheeks. “Now? As in –”

  “Dance with me,” he said and wiggled his fingers in invitation.

  Emma skipped her gaze from Carlo to the couples by the band. The trio had added a few more members who were playing a number of different percussion
instruments and a trumpet player. There were several couples dancing expertly to the catchy beats, but also some who were doing the equivalent of the drunk dad dance, giving her hope that she could avoid being completely embarrassed if she tried.

  She stood and grabbed hold of his hand but walked with a cautious pace until they reached the area where everyone was dancing. Carlo tugged on her hand to urge her near and placed his hand on her waist. “It’s not that hard,” he whispered in her ear.

  But it seemed impossible to her as she struggled to find the beat and match his movements as he began to dance, fluidly and expertly. Especially as his muscular body teased hers, bringing thoughts of having him move against her as they made love.

  “Just trust me,” he said again and started to count out a beat, but when she stomped on his foot for the third time, she pulled away from his embrace. Self-conscious heat flooded her face.

  Wrapping her arms around herself defensively, she said, “I’m sorry. I’ve got two left feet.”

  Carlo smiled and stroked his big hand down her back, the gesture reassuring. “Don’t worry. Trust me, it’ll happen.”

  As they walked back and found they’d lost their seats, Emma shot a rueful look at him. “Seems like we need to find another spot.”

  But the restaurant had gotten even more congested and noisy as more and more people came in to sample the free drinks and food samples.

  “Maybe we should go,” Carlo said and Emma had to agree. The intimacy she had felt at first with their small talk and getting to know each other had been replaced with the unease from the noisy crowd and the awkwardness of their dance.

  On the sidewalk outside they weaved past the line of people waiting to enter and Carlo said, “I’ll walk you to your car.” She appreciated it since being on the fringes of gentrification also meant the area wasn’t necessarily the safest at later hours.

  She drifted close to him as he wrapped an arm around her waist and they walked, hips bumping occasionally. The pace comfortable and unrushed despite the chill of the November night and a breeze that swept up the avenues from the beachfront, forcing her ever closer to him for warmth until they reached her car.

  At her driver door, she jiggled her keys in her hand and vacillated about leaving him until she told herself not to push. It was still too soon and despite their earlier assertion to maybe be better together, it was hard to lose years of fear and uncertainty overnight. But she wanted to end the night on a positive note, disastrous salsa dance notwithstanding.

  “I had a nice time. Thanks for asking me to come tonight,” she said and laid a hand on his cheek. His beard was rough against her palm and his skin slightly chilled.

  He covered her hand with his and stroked it gently. “I had a nice time, too. Maybe we could do this again?”

  “Go to another restaurant opening?” she teased and grinned.

  “Or maybe a regular restaurant? When things settle down after all the weddings we’ve got scheduled?” he said and once again stroked her hand.

  “I’d like that,” she said, grateful for the slight reprieve that the few weeks until the weddings would give her time to adjust to a possible change in their relationship.

  “Great. Text me when you get home, okay?” he said.

  She nodded, unlocked her door and slipped in. He waited until she was settled before walking back to the curb and watching her drive away. As she glanced in the rear-view mirror and he got further and further away, his absence replaced the comfort she’d felt earlier in his presence.

  It brought back the earlier fear she’d managed to force away. The fear of what would happen if things went wrong in their relationship and it drove them apart. If she felt his absence now, at just the start of something different, how much worse would it be if they truly became close?

  She sucked in a breath and once again buried that concern. It would accomplish nothing and it was time she tried to be more positive about what could happen between them. It was the only way to heal what had been broken inside of her by her family’s dysfunctional past.

  It was only by healing that a man like Carlo could learn to love someone like her.

  Chapter 4

  Emma gritted her teeth and forced back a grimace as the bride lashed out at her husband-to-be as the couple sat across from her and Carlo in Emma’s office at the bridal salon.

  “William, we really need to be more conscious of what we’re eating,” the bridezilla said and glared at the finger sandwich in her fiancé’s hand. Carlo had prepared the snacks for their final meeting as a sample of the appetizers the bridezilla had requested for the cocktail hour at the rehearsal dinner.

  “I promise you that those sandwiches are about as healthy as you can get. It’s whole grain bread and minced watercress with oil and vinegar. I hope it’s just what you had in mind,” Carlo interjected in a calming tone, obviously trying to defuse the situation.

  “You had a wonderful idea having such light fare for your guests. So many people are health conscious now,” Emma added, trying to placate the woman as well.

  “Health is very important to me. To us,” Sidney belatedly tacked on. She glared at her fiancé who joined in with, “Sidney is the queen at her gym—”

  “Health and wellness center,” Sidney corrected.

  Blotches of red erupted across William’s face and he stammered his apology. “O-of course, Sidney. Health and wellness are your life.”

  “Our life,” the bride-to-be challenged again, earning another stumbling apology.

  Emma was convinced nothing the man could say would be right. As Emma’s gaze skipped across Carlo’s, it was obvious he also felt sorry for the other man. He leapt to William’s rescue in much the same way he came to her aid when things were going south.

  “Emma and I understand how important being fit is to you both. We will work hard to make sure what we serve your guests is both nutritious and tasty,” he said.

  The bride-to-be did a once over of her groom’s physique, but before she could utter another nasty word, Emma said, “Your fitness ethic is apparent in how wonderful you both look. You are going to be the most lovely couple we’ve ever had.”

  Sidney preened with the compliment, fluffing her hair with one hand. “Thank you, Emma. I’m so glad you understand how important it is for you to deal with all my requests.”

  “We totally understand, Sidney. We assure you this will be the wedding that everyone will be talking about for years,” Emma said, although not for the reasons the bridezilla thought. If Sidney kept up her bullying routine through the ceremony and reception, there would be talk for sure.

  “Let’s just do a last review of all the details to make sure we’re all on the same page,” Emma said and Carlo seconded her request.

  The discussion continued, but it was laced with barely laced barbs toward the prospective groom and Emma wondered why he would take it. But then again, hadn’t her own life and her mother’s been similar? Before he’d left for good, her father had hardly ever had a kind word for either of them. Even his praise had been nothing more than backhanded compliments and yet they’d suffered through them for years. Too many years.

  Because of that, as Sidney’s list of demands grew and grew together with her putdowns, Emma’s temper rose until it was all she could do to hold back her anger. And then Sidney pushed her right over the edge.

  “I have my own hairdresser and make-up people coming to assist me the morning of the wedding. I’m hoping you can get William some assistance so he looks properly groomed.”

  A BRIGHT PINK FLUSH was riding high on Emma’s face and there was no mistaking she was about to lose it, Carlo thought. It was something Emma never did and he wondered at the reason for her upset. He laid a hand over Emma’s as it rested on the table. She trembled with anger and he squeezed gently, attempting to calm her as he said, “We can assist William that morning although it’s much easier for us gentleman to prepare.”

  Emma’s color flushed a deeper rose and he squee
zed her hand again to keep her grounded. “Both Emma and I,” he began, with emphasis to reiterate their partnership and more, “will make sure all is in order for your wedding.”

  “I’m sure you will,” Sidney said and cast a dismissive look at Emma. She slowly rose and William shot up out of his chair and followed the bridezilla from the room.

  Once the door had closed, what sounded suspiciously like a low growl erupted from Emma before she said, “I despise that woman.”

  He understood. “Just think—in a few days it will all be over and we won’t have to deal with her again.”

  “But he will,” she said with surprising vehemence. “He will have to take that abuse day in and day out until it whittles him away to a big fat zero.”

  Carlo couldn’t miss that there was something more going on that had nothing to do with the bitchy bride. “This is really bothering you, isn’t it?”

  She shrugged and looked away, but he cupped her chin gently and urged her back to face him. Her distress was apparent, both from the traces of color on her cheeks to the threat of tears shimmering in her gaze.

  “Please tell me, Emma. Tell me why you’re so upset.”

  EXPLAINING TO HIM WOULD open a crack in the walls she had erected to hide her pain and to keep her secrets. The wall had also served to keep him away but maintaining that façade had done nothing to erase the memories and bring her relief, so maybe it was time to share her past with him. Maybe by doing so she could let go of it and build a future free of that hurt.

  “She reminds me of my father. Before he left us, he was always picking on my mom and me about one thing or another. If something broke, it was because we hadn’t handled it properly. If I brought home an A minus, he was disappointed because it wasn’t an A plus. We couldn’t dress right, speak right, or do anything right. What few compliments he gave were bundled together with criticism,” she said, the words rushing from her mouth as a torrent of tears slipped down her face, hot against her skin.