She took a deep breath. “Ready?” she asked.
“Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead.”
“War terms are so comforting,” she said with a sigh as she lifted the brass door knocker and let it fall.
Almost instantly, Flo Marchetti answered. Steve always noticed what a handsome woman she was. Taller than her daughter, Mrs. M. wore her dark hair in a short, sophisticated style. Her off-white pants and matching hip-length top suited her figure. She smiled at her daughter and opened her arms. Rosie went to her without hesitation.
“I missed you, Ma,” Rosie said, a catch in her voice.
“Not enough to call,” the older woman answered, and winked at Steve. “The least you could have done was tell us the good news.”
“Good news?” Rosie asked hesitantly. She
“That’s it. You have some explaining to do.” She looked at Steve. “But first, how about a hug from my new son?”
That surprised him, shocked him right down to his socks. A hug wasn’t even close to taking shots at him, with torpedoes or anything else. She was probably saving that for Mr. M. Steve moved forward and reluctantly accepted her show of affection. One down, five to go.
The older woman stood between them and linked her arms through theirs to walk the length of the entryway. “Rosemarie, this is so romantic. Just like one of those novels you love so much in your store. Come inside, you two, and tell us everything. The whole clan is here.”
“How come, Ma?” Rosie asked.
“Because I called them. I knew you would stop here. Now, go in the family room. I have things to do in the kitchen.” She looked sympathetically at Steve. “You need some ice on that eye, dear.”
Steve nodded as he took Rosie’s coat and hung it with his in the hall closet. Then they walked into the comfortable family room. There was a blaze in the brick fireplace on the far wall. A burgundy leather sofa and love seat rested perpendicular to it. Expensive oak furniture was tastefully arranged on plush champagne-colored carpet. The Marchetti men were also arranged, standing shoulder to shoulder, front and center, in descending order of age and rank. There were those military analogies again, he thought ruefully.
Mr. M., tall and gray-haired, Nick the image of his
Tom Marchetti smiled. “You two look like you’re facing a firing squad.”
Steve glanced at Rosie and saw her wince at the words. She took a deep breath. “Dad, I have something—”
“I’ll do this. Remember?” Steve gave her a reassuring grin as he took her hand and gently squeezed. Then he turned back to the five men and concentrated his attention on her father. “Sir, I have something to tell you.”
“Shoot. And make it quick,” the older man said. “You need some ice for that shiner.”
“I married Rosie two weeks ago.” That was as quick as he could make it.
Steve resisted the urge to duck. One by one, he looked her brothers straight in the eye. He could tell that Nick was still furious, but he had no clue as to what the rest were thinking. Rosie was. easy to read. When Steve met her gaze, he saw apprehension.
Tom Marchetti cleared his throat and finally spoke, breaking the tension. “Why didn’t you tell us? We would have liked to have been there for our only daughter’s wedding.”
Steve didn’t regret taking charge of the talking. Not much anyway. “It all happened so fast we didn’t have time.”
Flo Marchetti brought in a tray with fluted glasses
Steve braced himself, waiting for the explosion. It came, but not at all what he expected. Four out of five Marchetti men broke into smiles and hugged Rosie, then clapped him on the back, shaking his hand to congratulate him. Then Mrs. M. passed out the champagne. Everyone but Nick took a glass.
“I want to know what his angle is,” he said angrily.
Mrs. M. held out the remaining flute, until he finally curled his fingers around it. “I already know,” she said.
Steve looked at Rosie. Her eyes were wide and puzzled, with a dash of apprehension thrown in. She lifted her shoulders slightly as if to say she hadn’t a clue what her mother knew.
Flo looked at the men in her family. “It was just a matter of time until Rosie and Steve got together. These two have been sweet on each other since they were children.”
“Mother—” Rosie’s cheeks turned a becoming pink.
“Don’t ‘mother’ me. I was there. You hounded me for contacts and a makeover for your sixteenth birthday party because Steve agreed to be your date.”
Rosie moved beside her mother and put her arm around the taller woman. “Ma, no one wants to remember this. Especially me.”
Steve didn’t know whether to duck or run when Alex walked over to him. Then he noticed a twinkle in the other man’s eyes. “I want to hear more. What about you, bro?” he asked, looking at Steve.
Did he only imagine it, or did Alex’s affectionate “bro” have more significance than usual?
Rosie glared at her brother. “No one cares about it, Alex. That’s ancient history.”
“Yeah, that’s why you married the guy.” Her brother winked.
Hearing the confirmation of her crush pleased him—probably more than it should. He recalled that it was right around her sixteenth birthday when Nick had made it clear that his little sister was off limits. Because of that, Steve had stood her up, putting the kibosh on her crush. Just in time.
His first glimpse of her without glasses, wearing makeup and a new hairstyle was branded into his memory. She’d become a woman practically before his eyes; he’d found her irresistible. Spending time with her was out of the question if he had any hope of complying with the hands-off-Rosie-rule. Guilt stabbed him again as he remembered how good she’d felt in his arms. Which just confirmed that he didn’t belong. A guy good enough for her would have understood and obeyed the rule.
Steve felt less like a brother-in-law and more like an outlaw. But he said to Alex, “I think we should let Rosie off the hook.”
Mr. M. nodded once, emphatically. “My little girl is in good hands.” Then he held up his champagne glass. “I propose a toast to my daughter and the man I always considered my son. It’s official now. Welcome to the family, Steve. Let’s drink to Mr. and Mrs. Steve Schafer.”
A chorus of cheers went up before all but one of the group clinked glasses and sipped. Steve watched Rosie put the glass to her lips. He glanced around,
He was having serious second thoughts about his sweeping declaration to do the talking. He knew Rosie wanted to tell her family about the baby. It was a mystery to him why, but the majority of Marchettis seemed to be genuinely happy about the marriage. He was reluctant to tell them the rest and put a damper on this celebration.
Nick forcefully set his untouched champagne on the oak table beside him. He put the fingers of one hand to the palm of the other, forming a T. “Time out. Just like that, you all accept this marriage? Doesn’t anyone else want to know why it happened so fast?” Nick looked around. “He went to stop Rosie from marrying the creep, then she comes home his bride. Am I the only one who thinks, that’s weird?”
Again Rosie started to say something, but Steve jumped in before she could respond. “It was fast. We’re sorry about that. But we were there with the justice of the peace and we knew that’s what we wanted to do. It’s as simple as that.”
Nick furiously shook his head. “I don’t buy it. He’s the only guy I know as set against marriage as me.”
“What about me?” Alex asked.
“Better Steve than me,” Joe chimed in. “It’ll be a cold day in hell before a woman gets me to the altar. What about you, Luke?”
The youngest Marchetti shrugged noncommittally. “It’s not tops on my list of Must Do’s.”
“Spoken like an accountant,” Joe said. “Come on, Luke—”
“Leave him alone,” Flo interrupted. Then she
“Marriage sucks you dry and leaves nothing.”
Mrs. M. looked like she’d gotten more than she bargained
for, although she covered it well. “That’s certainly cynical. And exactly how would you know that? You’ve never been married.”
He stuck his hands in his pockets. “I’ve seen it happen,” he said.
“What have you seen, Nick?” Tom asked, sounding concerned.
“It’s all about what a woman can get from a man.”
Rosie made a small noise and Steve glanced at her. The blood had drained from her face. She took Nick’s words personally, as a judgment of her. Steve moved to her side and casually slipped his arm around her waist. He had no idea why Nick felt this way, but his and Rosie’s situation wasn’t like that. She didn’t want anything from him. In fact, he’d had to do some fast talking to convince her to marry him. Getting her through this with minimal battle damage was important to him.
Mrs. M. sipped her drink. “I don’t know what couples you’ve seen who are so dysfunctional, Nick, but not every marriage is like that. This is your sister’s celebration. Don’t spoil it.” She shot him a warning look, then said, “I’m going to get Steve some ice for his eye. Would you like some for your hand?”
Together Steve and Nick said, “I don’t need any.”
Instead of laughing at their habit of saying the same thing simultaneously, Nick glared. Then he met his mother’s gaze. “All right, Mom. I won’t spoil Rosie’s night.”
He turned on his heel and walked out. That was the second time in one day he’d done that.
“Nick—” Rosie ran after him, but the front door slammed before she could get there. She’d always had a special bond with Nick. He was the oldest, she was the baby. Steve hated this split between them. For the time being, there wasn’t anything he could do to repair it. The success of their plan depended on everyone believing they were a couple.
After several seconds Tom Marchetti walked over to his daughter and pulled her into a hug. “Nick never did like surprises. And he got used to bossing you around. Don’t worry, honey. He’ll get over it. A day or two and he’ll be happier for you than we are.”
“Your father’s right,” Flo said. “We need to arrange a church ceremony and reception. After all, a justice of the peace—” She stopped and shook her head disapprovingly.
“No, Ma,” Rosie interrupted. “There’s something—” She hesitated.
“What is it, honey?” her father asked. “This is a happy occasion. Why shouldn’t we gather our friends and family for a public celebration of your marriage? Give me one good reason.”
Steve looked at Rosie, her hands intertwined and resting protectively over her abdomen. That was why.
This was his chance to tell them about the baby. Steve wondered if that news and the real reason for the wedding would repair the damage to his relationship with Nick. He looked around. To his surprise, everyone else was not only approving, but excited for them. He didn’t understand it; he couldn’t trust it. But he found his protective instincts for Rosie spilling over to include her family. Could he spoil their elation
Beside him, Steve felt Rosie bracing herself to announce her pregnancy. Something told him to stop her. He couldn’t take this happy moment away from her and her family.
Steve cleared his throat. “We appreciate the offer. But we want a chance to be alone before we share this news with anyone else.”
Chapter Eight
It was nearly midnight when they managed to pull themselves away from her family’s celebration. After all the nudging and winking and earthy comments about newly married couples needing time alone, Steve drove her home. He carried her suitcases through her bookstore and up the stairs to the apartment above. Rosie unlocked the door and he followed her inside. After some difficulty maneuvering the luggage in the small hallway, she turned on the lights and he looked around.
“This is nice,” he said.
Surprised, Rosie glanced up from the stack of mail in her hand. “You’ve seen it before,” she said.
“Nope. Never.”
She thought back over the last couple years since she’d moved in and opened the store. She couldn’t remember him ever stopping by. Looking at him now, his large, very attractive frame filling her small apartment, she knew that if he had been here, she would
She shrugged. “Sorry. I didn’t realize.”
She looked around, feeling as though she’d been gone for a couple of years instead of only a few weeks. So much had happened. They were married, if you could call it that. Her family had taken the news better than she had dared hope, which was bittersweet. She couldn’t help wishing that Steve did have romantic feelings for her as they thought. And though it didn’t matter because Mr. and Mrs. Schafer wouldn’t be sharing living quarters, she couldn’t help wondering how “her husband” would like the rest of her place.
He punched the switch beside him and illuminated the dining area. The chandelier’s gold and crystal sparkled, highlighting his face and the grooves beside his nose and mouth that always deepened when he was tired. The swelling from his shiner had gone down; now it was just a vivid shade of purple. Her hero. He tugged at her heart. Although she was his wife, she didn’t feel she had the right to fuss over him. The situation stunk like the fine kettle of fish it was.
He glanced up at the delicate lamp hanging over the antique dining table Grandma Marchetti had given her. “Nice light,” he said.
“‘Nice light’?” she repeated, incredulous. “It’s my pride and joy. That’s like calling the Mona Lisa a nice wall hanging. Do you have any idea how long it took me to pay off that ‘nice light’?”
“Sorry. Interior decorating isn’t my area of expertise.”
“Yeah, I guess if you knew Limoges from plastic it wouldn’t do your image a whole lot of good.” He was going to hate the rest of the place. But she offered anyway. “Would you like the tour? I know you’re tired, but it’ll only take about a second and a half.”
“Sure.”
“This is the living room,” she said, lifting her arm in a sweeping gesture toward the small space. “The white love seats are my token insurrection.”
“Against?”
“The meddling Marchettis. My mother told me the fabric would show every spot, so I bought them.”
“And?” he prompted.
“She was right.”
Rosie lead the way down the narrow hall toward the other half of her place. She pointed out the bathroom and continued on to her bedroom, the largest room. After flipping on the light she said, “Well? Take your best shot.”
Her king-size four poster, matching oak dresser and armoire were big pieces of furniture, but she knew that’s not what snagged his attention. He stared at the walls. “They’re very pink.”
“I grew up in a male-dominated household. It was my first chance to have the color I wanted without fear of being ridiculed. It’s a girly color and I’m a girl.”
“I’ve noticed.”
As surely as an uneven sidewalk made her stumble, the two simple words tripped up her heart. It would be so easy to fall on her face. Covertly, she studied him. His expression gave no clue to what he was
“I like this particular shade,” she said defensively. “It’s serene.”
“Did I say anything?”
She pointed at him. “You were thinking it. Just as well. There’s nothing you could say that my brothers haven’t already.” She turned off the light and he followed her out.
Passing the bathroom, Steve flipped on the light and caught her arm. “Whoa, Ro. Can we talk about this wallpaper?”
His shoulders seemed to span the doorway and she stood on tiptoe to see past him. He was still wearing his battered brown jacket and the faint smell of leather drifted to her along with the scent of his cologne. It was a heady combination with enough one-two punch to stagger her senses.
“You hate it, don’t you?” she asked a little breathlessly as she met his gaze. “It’s another mutiny moment. Ma said it was too bold.”
Squinting, he held up his hand, pretending to shield his eyes from the glare. �
�Gold foil and paisley? I’d call it defiant and daring.”
“You hate it,” she said again.
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
“If anyone puts me on the spot, I’ll deny this, but I think I might actually like it. The whole place. Somehow it all comes together. It’s you—rebellious, independent, courageous and impertinent.”
“If you say perky, I swear I’ll black your other
“Sure.”
“After tonight I don’t feel especially courageous.”
“Why not?” he asked, leaning a shoulder against the dining room wall while she bustled around.
“The folks still don’t know about the baby. Every time I was going to jump in and say something, you changed the subject. Why?’.’
“It just didn’t feel like the right time to tell them.”
“I thought maybe you were afraid that I would let them think you were the baby’s father.”
He straightened abruptly and looked so startled it was almost funny. “That never crossed my mind,” he said.
She believed him. “After the way they took the news about the wedding, if you were—junior’s father, I mean—telling them would be a snap.”
“Yeah, they seemed happy.” His words were low key, but his eyes told her he was bewildered by the reaction.
“Happy? Lottery winners aren’t that happy. It would have been a good time to drop the bombshell.”
“I was more concerned about not spoiling their evening. They’ll have to know soon, though.” He glanced at her abdomen.
“It was very sweet of you to be so concerned about their feelings. But you’re right. Soon everyone will see for themselves. Right now I just look like I’m putting on weight.” She placed her hands over her abdomen.
A Vow, a Ring, a Baby Swing Page 9