The cozy living room, a study in floral chintz, was currently dominated by an enormous artificial Christmas tree, groaning under too many glittery ornaments, garlands and tinsel, and hundreds of colored blinking lights. Amanda and Nick settled on the chintz-covered love seat and were soon joined by Charli, Raven, Sunny and their husbands. The other guests were dispersed throughout the small house: the men in the den watching a football-highlights program on ESPN, the women in the kitchen washing dishes and gossiping, and the kids playing Ping-Pong and board games in the basement playroom.
Sunny snuggled on her husband's lap on the chintz sofa, now devoid of its usual protective plastic cover in honor of the holiday. Amanda asked them how their recent trip to California went.
"It was great," Kirk said. "I'm so glad we did it. Ian got to spend time with Linda's parents, and they got to meet Sunny."
It must have been an emotional visit. Kirk's first wife, Linda, had died in an auto accident a year earlier, leaving their son, Ian, now almost two years old, motherless. Afterward Kirk had moved from California back to Long Island and renewed his relationship with Sunny Bleecker, his high school sweetheart and now the second Mrs. Kirk Larsen.
Sunny said, "Linda's folks were so sweet to me, so warm and open. When we left they thanked me for being such a good mother to their grandson." Her eyes were misty and she wore a little smile. "We've asked them to come out here for Easter."
Ian ran into the living room then, a miniature version of Kirk with his pale blond hair and lively blue eyes. "Nonni gimme shokit ship I-keam!" he announced. Nonni, Italian for "Grandma," was what Charli and her seven siblings called Mrs. Rossi.
"I can see that." Sunny grinned. "You're wearing most of it."
Ian looked down at his red pullover, now liberally decorated with chocolate chip ice cream, the youngster's all-time favorite dessert. He sang, "Uh-oh!"
Kirk said, "That's okay, champ. Uh-ohs happen. That's why we have a washing machine." The sticky stuff was all over the boy's face and hands as well. Kirk picked up a poinsettia-decorated cocktail napkin from the stack left on the coffee table. Beckoning Ian to him, he gently scrubbed his face. "There. Why don't you go downstairs. I think Janine's waiting to play Candy Land with you."
He didn't have to say it twice. Ian was off like a shot, headed for the door to the basement.
Raven, seven months pregnant now and quite rotund under her maroon maternity jumper, was ensconced in one of a pair of wing chairs. Hunter stood behind her, massaging her shoulders. Amanda asked her how she was feeling.
"Not bad, except I think the baby's playing soccer with that second helping of risotto I had."
Just then Amanda noticed a sudden rolling movement under Raven's jumper. Amanda gasped as Raven patted her stomach and said, "I think he got it between the goalposts that time."
Grant's eyes were round. "Was that the baby?"
"That's our little soccer star," Hunter said, giving his wife's shoulders one last brisk rub before lowering himself into the other wing chair. "She's been practicing on Raven's innards for a couple of months now."
"You called the baby 'she,'" Charli said with a smile, "and Raven called it 'he.' I thought nowadays everyone knew what they were having."
"They did ultrasound," Hunter said, "but we wouldn't let them tell us. We don't want to know ahead of time."
"And sometimes they're wrong," Raven said, stroking her stomach. "Anyway, we like surprises."
"Surprise!" Charli said. "I'm pregnant."
The women squealed in unison and rushed to hug Charli and Grant. The men gave Charli congratulatory kisses on the cheek; they pumped Grant's hand and thumped him on the back.
"We just found out," Grant said. He appeared both dazed and proud behind his wide grin.
"When are you due?" Raven asked.
"The beginning of August," Charli said. "Hottest part of the summer."
Sunny said, "At least you won't be stuck in the house with the baby. You can get out and go places."
Amanda was acutely conscious of Nick sitting close to her on the love seat. Their legs touched; his arm was thrown over her shoulders. She flicked him a glance, as if to say Now's as good a time as any. She'd warned him it would happen tonight.
She took a sip of espresso to wet her dry mouth—as if she needed the caffeine with her nerves already so wound up! "Nick and I have an announcement, too."
All eyes turned to her.
Under her white silk shantung blouse, her heart beat painfully. Why was it suddenly so hard to take this charade one step further? "Nick and I are getting married."
She sat there and let the wave of congratulations flow over her, the kisses, the heartfelt embraces, the I'm-so-happy-for-yous.
Amanda felt like a rat. Vaguely she was aware of Nick shaking hands, accepting the good wishes of her friends. Never had she found it so difficult to keep a smile on her face.
These were her dearest friends in the world, people she truly loved, and she was blatantly deceiving them, letting them think she'd found the kind of happily-ever-after they had. She hadn't thought about this when she'd devised her fake-boyfriend ruse to throw the Wedding Ring off the scent, hadn't thought about how low she'd feel doing this to them.
She reminded herself that if she hadn't taken drastic action, she wouldn't have had a moment's respite from their determined matchmaking. Not only that, she would have been prey to whatever devious scheme they'd cooked up. She was still convinced they'd been plotting something, and would have put it into action if she hadn't beaten them to the punch.
She told herself these things, but it did little to ease her conscience. She still felt like a rat.
Sunny said, "No ring?"
Amanda was ready for that. She was about to explain that she and Nick were going to go ring-hunting after the holidays when the shopping crowds died down, but he spoke up first.
"I thought Christmas Eve would be the appropriate time to present this," he said, reaching into the breast pocket of his sport coat.
Amanda's heartbeat went into double time, her smile pinned on like a mannequin's.
Damn it, I hate it when he does this!
What surprise did he have in store for her this time? If he'd bought her a ring…
But it wasn't a ring box he pulled out of his pocket. It was an ivory silk handkerchief, edged with lace. And decades old, by the looks of it. It was carefully wrapped around something.
Everyone was silent as he slowly peeled back the layers of silk. Amanda held her breath as he revealed a ring, obviously antique: a wide band of what appeared to be platinum in an open filigree design, set with diamonds. It was exquisite.
Amanda couldn't speak. She couldn't force sound from her throat as Nick lifted her left hand and slid the ring onto her finger.
She looked into his eyes and had the unnerving feeling that he was seeing straight through to her soul. His fingers tightened around hers, fractionally, before he released them.
Someone said, "I think she's speechless."
Everyone laughed. Amanda Coppersmith, at a loss for words?
"It belonged to my grandmother," Nick said. "When she died, my folks gave it to me for my future bride."
Amanda looked down at her hand. The ring looked as if it had been made for her finger. Lifting her gaze once more, she shook her head helplessly. "Nick … this is a family heirloom. You can't give it to me!"
"This is getting to be a habit," Sunny said. "I've never known Amanda to turn down presents like she does with you, Nick. Does that mean it's true love?"
"We can hope so," he said, still holding Amanda's gaze. Quietly he said, "Grandma would have wanted you to have it. You remind me a lot of her. She had an opinion about everything, too." The others laughed again.
What kind of game are you playing? she silently asked him. Why are you placing me in this impossible position?
Her mind raced. She'd have to take very good care of this ring for however long their "engagement" lasted—another three we
eks or so, the three-month mark, when she'd be officially free of her friends' romantic machinations. Then she could give him back the ring, along with a blistering piece of her mind, for putting her through all this.
His grandmother's ring! The man was certifiable!
During the past few weeks, since Nick had rescued her mother from that larcenous con man, he and Amanda had continued to go on "dates" at least twice a week, always with one or more Wedding Ring couple. But it was no longer the same. That incident with Liv had been a turning point of sorts, leaving Amanda jumpy and unsettled. How was she supposed to think of Nick simply as an employee, a beau-for-hire, after he'd performed such an incredibly personal service? He could have been hurt, for heaven's sake. He certainly would have been if that guy Connor had had his way.
The good news was that Mom and Dad had started talking. Amanda didn't know if anything would come of it, but it was a start. Meanwhile she'd taken Nick's advice and told Raven, Charli and Sunny about the separation. That hadn't been an easy conversation, but she was glad she'd finally had it. The strain of keeping everything hush-hush, hoping and praying for it all to blow over, had worn her down. And the secrecy was so unnecessary; as her friends had readily reminded her, they'd known her folks for as long as they'd known her. The unconditional love and support they'd shown Amanda and her parents had made her ashamed she'd waited so long to confide in them.
Kirk wore a devilish grin. "Aren't you forgetting something, Nick?"
"I haven't forgotten anything."
Amanda was trying to decipher the strange light in Nick's eye when he curled his hand around her neck and drew her to him. His mouth touched hers and immediately she knew this was not going to be like those other kisses, the chaste, dry pecks they'd shared for the benefit of their audience these past two and a half months.
His lips were warm and supple, and surprisingly soft as they caressed hers. He tasted of sweet zabaglione and bitter espresso. And, as the kiss deepened, he tasted of the man himself, mysterious and beguiling. Amanda knew they had to make it a good show, but that wasn't why she angled her head for greater contact; it wasn't why she leaned into him, just a little.
The fingers at her nape spread over her scalp, holding her. A little shudder ripped through her and she pressed fractionally closer, without meaning to. Had she ever been kissed like this?
When the tip of his tongue teased her lips, she opened for him without hesitation, felt the sleek, sensual probing in every part of her, from her sensitive mouth to her tingling breasts to the empty, aching depths of her belly.
At last he pulled away, slowly. The sense of loss was palpable, startling Amanda back to her senses. She blinked at Nick and saw a gentle smile tug at his mouth.
"Thank you for saying yes," he murmured.
She looked at the roomful of grinning people—and at Grandma Rossi, standing over her with a stern expression on her lined face.
"You marrying her?" Mrs. Rossi asked Nick.
"Yes, ma'am, I am," he proudly stated, holding Amanda's beringed left hand aloft as proof.
"Is okay, then." Mrs. Rossi shambled toward the wing chair occupied by Hunter. He sprang out of it and offered it to her.
Raven spoke up. "Have you set a date?"
Amanda sucked in a deep breath, struggling to organize her thoughts. "Um, no, we—"
"We were thinking mid-March," Nick said.
We were?
Charli, the Mistress of Organization, grabbed her purse from the floor and extracted her fat day planner. Flipping ahead in it, she said, "So we're talking the weekend of Saturday, March seventeenth. No, wait a minute. That's Saint Patrick's Day. How about the tenth?"
"Sounds good." Nick turned to Amanda. "Is the tenth all right with you?"
"Well, I … I'll have to check my calendar. We don't have to decide right this—"
"Is the tenth," Mrs. Rossi declared.
"Settled." Charli flipped to a pad of blank memo paper. "Who do you want to officiate?"
Amanda opened her mouth, but Nick cut her off. "I'd say my family priest, but I know Amanda isn't religious. I don't mind a justice of the peace."
Mrs. Rossi emitted a disparaging grunt.
"J.P. it is." Charli made a notation.
"I know someone," Grant offered. "I'll call him right after Christmas."
"Great," Nick said. "Thanks."
"Listen, uh…" Amanda felt like she was on some demented amusement-park ride that was stuck in high gear. "This is all premature."
"Are you kidding?" Sunny slid off Kirk's lap to sit on the floor between his knees. "With the wedding only two months off? You'll really have to hustle. That is, unless you just want to stroll into the county courthouse and get married there."
"Well, uh, that's an idea," Amanda ventured. "No muss, no fuss."
"Yeah, right." Nick crossed his ankle over his knee. He gave Amanda's shoulder an affectionate pat. "I only intend to get married once, and I'm going to do it right. Sorry, honey, we're having a real wedding."
All of a sudden she was "honey"?
"Where do you want to have it?" Raven asked. "It might be difficult booking a place on such short notice."
"You can have Stitches," Hunter offered. He and Raven had gotten married in his comedy club last April. "I'll reserve the date."
Nick turned to Amanda. "What do you think?"
She shook her head. "I don't even want to discuss—"
"You're right," Nick said. "Your house is the perfect location."
Did she say that?
"I agree." Charli tapped her chin with her mechanical pencil. "It'll be too cold for a tent wedding, but there's that enormous living room. And the kitchen's state of the art, so food prep will be no problem."
Nick asked, "What caterer would you suggest?"
Charli spread her hands. "Here I am."
"Oh, Charli, I can't let you do all that work. I'll hire someone," he protested.
"You don't know Charli like we do, Nick," Raven said with a smile. "She loves to cook for a crowd. And she's very good at it."
"Carlotta, she made me such a birthday party," Mrs. Rossi said in rhapsodic tones. "Favoloso! Eighty people, she cooked for."
"That was three years ago, when Nonni turned ninety," Charli said, and winked at her grandmother. "Wait till you see what I do when you turn a hundred."
"A hundred. Hah! I just want to live long enough to see this one married." She jerked her head toward Amanda, followed by a sharply wagging finger. "And no more divorzi for you!"
"Don't worry about that," Nick said. "Once this lady says 'I do,' I'll never let her go. I'm not like those other fools."
Charli was still fixated on the details. "Flowers."
Raven raised her hand. "I'll take care of it."
"Great." Charli made another mark in her book.
Amanda cried, "Don't order them yet!"
"Oh, I won't," Raven said, and Amanda breathed a sigh of relief, until Raven added, "I'll get a florist's book and bring it to you Tuesday evening. You can show me what you like and I'll order them Wednesday."
"And we'll settle on the menu then, too," Charli said. "No sense waiting till the last minute. We'll be at your place Tuesday at—" she glanced at Raven "—eight?"
"Eight's fine with me," Raven said.
"I won't be home then," Amanda lied. "I have an appointment."
"Cancel it." Charli turned to a clean page in her book. "Now we need to talk about music, invitations and the guest list."
Nearly two hours later, Amanda was perilously close to confessing all—the phony-baloney boyfriend, the phony-baloney engagement—just to put the brakes on this runaway wedding train. Talk about things spinning out of control!
Charli closed her book with a snap. "I think that covers it for now. We all know what we have to do. Nick, don't forget to get those guest addresses."
He gave her a little salute. "I'll ask my mom for them tomorrow."
A voice from the living room entranceway said, "You know
, I think we met before." It was Paul Rossi, one of Charli's five brothers, gesturing toward Nick with his beer bottle. Only Paul would be able to pack away a meal like that and drain a six-pack for dessert.
Nick said, "If you say so, but I don't recall it."
"Yeah, I know you," Paul said. "I thought I recognized you before, but I wasn't sure. You picked me up on Forty-fourth and Broadway a week or so ago. I was going to Penn."
Amanda's heart stopped beating for long, agonizing moments.
Paul sauntered into the room. "I remember you 'cause it was colder than a witch's tit—"
"Paulo!"
"Sorry, Nonni. Anyway, it was bitchin' cold that day—"
Mrs. Rossi threw up her hands, muttering something in Italian.
"—and I'd been pounding the pavement forever, trying to hail a cab," Paul continued, "and by the time I got in yours, my mouth wasn't working so good."
It's working just fine now, Amanda grumbled to herself, as the facade she'd so carefully constructed began to crumble around her.
Strangely, she felt something akin to relief, thinking that this whole disturbing business was about to come to an end. What had started out as an efficient solution to a specific problem has gotten so complicated that half the time she had to remind herself her relationship with Nick was a sham!
"My lips were frozen stiff," Paul said, "so when I told you 'Penn Station' it came out like—" He produced three unintelligible syllables, much to the amusement of his audience. "You can't understand me, you know? So I say it again, but it comes out even worse." He demonstrated, uttering the incomprehensible sounds more slowly and carefully.
Amanda felt Nick's body, pressed so close to her, shake with mirth. How could he laugh with everything falling apart like this?
"But you still don't get it," Paul said, "and now you're looking at me a little funny, so I'm getting a little desperate, you see. Last thing I need is to get booted out onto the street. So I make one last stab at it." Slower still, with painstaking care, he enunciated the garbled sounds. "That's when you turn to me with this real pitying look on your face and you say, 'Is there someone I can call to take care of you?'"
"That's some story," Nick chuckled, "but it wasn't me. Sorry."
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