When she reached the altar, Linda scooted to join her. The music shifted to a familiar bridal melody and an excited rustle ran through the chapel.
The bride floated into view, radiant in a cream-colored gown and a hat trimmed with roses. She held the arm of her brother-in-law, Zora’s husband, Lucky Mendez, who was grinning from ear to ear.
The lone sour note was the bride’s pinch-faced mother, seated in the front row. At last night’s rehearsal, she’d complained loudly about her last-minute invitation, while her husband glowered at everyone. Zady had explained earlier that her manipulative mother had lied to them for years, pitting her and Zora against each other so she could hold center stage. Today, Marshall hoped her grimace at the bridal party went unnoticed by the other guests.
When Lucky relinquished the bride to Nick, Marshall slipped the ring to Caleb. The three-year-old promptly handed it to his father.
“I helped pick it out for my new mom,” he announced loudly. Appreciative chuckles rippled through the chapel.
“It was the sparkliest one we could find,” Nick said.
“Yeah.” His son beamed.
As the ceremony flew by, Marshall’s chest squeezed. My kid brother’s getting married. Too bad he hadn’t known they were brothers while they were growing up. Their rivalry might have been less abrasive.
He still wasn’t sure how to frame his toast. Well, if all else failed, he’d simply wish the bride and groom a long and happy life together. Boring, but safe.
After the exchange of vows, the minister introduced them as the new Dr. and Mrs. Davis, to the crowd’s applause. With the children right behind, Zora and Nick strolled up the aisle, followed by Marshall with a limping Zady on his arm.
“Twist your ankle?” he asked.
“Damn shoes,” she muttered. “The men who design high heels must be sadists.”
“What about the women who buy them?”
“They’re airheads,” she responded cheerily. “Like me.”
When they passed Franca, Marshall shot her a concerned glance. Her sadness had vanished, however, and she met his gaze with a friendly nod.
After the ceremony, the guests didn’t have far to go: there was a ballroom connected to the wedding chapel. Decorated in rose and gold, the room was set up with round tables, a dance floor and long tables at the side for the food. Covered catering dishes indicated that dinner would soon be served.
The photographer had taken family and bridal party shots the previous evening, since Zady didn’t wish to keep her guests waiting. She’d also ruled out a receiving line, thus avoiding the thorny problem of whether to include her mother and stepfather in it, as well as the groom’s father. Uncle Quentin had attended, but kept a low profile befitting a man who’d abandoned Nick in childhood.
The waitstaff began to circulate with trays of hors d’oeuvres and wine, and Marshall helped himself. He still felt uncomfortable, and keeping his hands full eased his awkwardness. Rather than risk driving after drinking even a small amount, he’d walked to the chapel from his house, less than a mile from here along the bluffside road, and planned to either walk home or call a cab.
Around him, the guests mingled. Many said hello to him, but no one stopped to talk. As for Franca, she stuck close to the nurses.
How fortunate she was, to form attachments easily. Marshall hadn’t left any close pals behind when he moved back to California from Ohio, nor had he reconnected with friends from high school or college. His mother was far from the only Davis who lived in isolation, he realized.
Speaking of isolation, Marshall spotted Uncle Quentin lingering uncertainly on the fringes of the gathering. Tall and bony, he’d had his graying brown hair trimmed and held a water glass rather than wine.
It was still hard to think of the man as his father. Upton Davis might have been a workaholic, with rigid expectations for his son, but he’d stuck by his family and provided for them, in contrast to his younger brother. However, Quentin deserved credit for finally seeking treatment for his bipolar disorder and for joining Alcoholics Anonymous.
Marshall sought out his designated spot at the wedding party’s table. Zady had agonized over the seating chart, finally putting her mother and stepfather with Caleb’s grandparents and Linda’s parents. She’d taken care to position Marshall’s mother far away from Quentin.
“I just hope my mom doesn’t get drunk and act rowdy,” she’d said during a break at the office.
“Maybe you should hire an armed guard,” Marshall had joked.
“Too expensive,” she’d said. “I’ll keep a hypodermic handy in case she requires sedating.”
“Want a prescription?”
She’d laughed.
Smiling at the memory, Marshall slid into a chair alongside his brother.
Having the ring bearer and flower girl with them added to the wedding party’s high spirits. Once dinner was served, Zady and Zora helped the children fill their plates and tuck in their napkins.
Linda ate daintily, while Caleb stayed neat until, for no discernible reason, he poured orange juice down his front. At Franca’s table, Marshall saw Ines and Jeanine high-five each other, then enter into a joking dispute featuring the word “doughnuts.” Apparently there’d been a bet but neither could recall who won.
Franca settled it with a word and a grin. She seemed to have loosened up since her earlier distress, and she soon joined her companions’ giggling. Marshall wished he’d invited her as his plus-one; if she’d accepted, she’d be sitting beside him.
Nick leaned closer. “Do I detect an interest in a certain person?”
“We’re old friends,” Marshall responded.
“I’m surrounded by old friends. I somehow manage to tear my eyes off them,” the groom responded.
Marshall searched in vain for a clever retort. In truth, he wasn’t sure why every man in the room, aside from Nick, wasn’t staring at Franca, whose soft pink outfit enhanced her natural glow.
“No smart reply? Wow. You are besotted,” said his brother.
“Merely appreciative.”
“Smooth answer,” Nick said. “I wish I had your—what’s the word—suaveness?”
“Or savoir faire,” Marshall said.
“No normal person uses words like that.”
Marshall regarded his brother in surprise. “With your exceptional memory, I’d assume your vocabulary would outstrip mine.” His brother had indicated at family gatherings that he almost never had to study. In high school, Nick’s easy cruise to academic honors had made Marshall question his own abilities, considering how hard he struggled with some subjects.
Nick ducked his head. “I have a confession.”
“I’m all ears.”
His brother shrugged. “My memory’s pretty good, but I studied like a dog.”
“Seriously?” In retrospect, Marshall supposed Nick’s bragging had produced the desired effect—stemming his aunt and uncle’s criticisms of his sloppy grooming and goof-off reputation. “I don’t blame you for exaggerating, the way my parents put you down.”
“They were hard on you, too,” the groom said. “Damn hard.”
“Yes, they were.” Marshall had never been successful enough for them. Even though he’d become a National Merit Finalist, that had meant nothing when Nick had been named a scholarship winner. As for Marshall’s grades, they’d all been As except for Bs in calculus and Spanish. When his father learned that Nick had earned straight As, he’d tossed Marshall’s report card back without comment. His flared nostrils had spoken louder than words.
Did he wish they’d adopted the younger boy? It hurt like hell to think neither Upton nor Mildred had truly loved him because he wasn’t perfect.
But why keep fighting a battle he could never win? His tension dissipated.
And, on the plus side, he’d just figured out what to say in his toast.
* * *
WHEN FRANCA ACCEPTED the wedding invitation, her focus had been on supporting Zady on her happy day a
nd sharing the event with her colleagues. The sight of the adorable flower girl paralyzed in the middle of the aisle, however, had struck her with a rush of pain.
Where was Jazz right this minute? Was she suffering the same panic and fear, with far more reason than little Linda? Who would help her, when Franca was barred from intervening?
Marshall’s actions had stirred her admiration. Not only because he made a handsome knight, riding to the little girl’s rescue, but because he’d told Franca long ago of his anxiety at public events.
What a great father he’d be. For his ideal child, of course.
She snapped back to the present as a waiter handed her champagne for a toast. The tinkle of a spoon against a water glass drew everyone’s attention to the head table, where Marshall got to his feet. “Someone mentioned that the best man is supposed to say something,” he deadpanned.
Smiles greeted his comment. Not from Mildred Davis at the next table, however. Franca had met Marshall’s mother at campus events, and had found her cold. Tonight, the woman was subzero.
“Isn’t Dr. Davis handsome in a tux?” Jeanine said.
“If I weren’t married, I’d grab him,” Ines agreed.
Franca stared straight ahead, wishing the crowd and her companions would settle down so Marshall could get this over with. Yet he didn’t appear nervous, she was pleased to note.
“Not everyone here is aware that Nicholas and I were raised as cousins.” Marshall spoke steadily. “We were rivals in high school, and frankly, we didn’t much care for each other.”
Somewhere, a piece of cutlery fell to the floor with a clink. In the silence, it sounded loud as a gunshot.
“Recently, we learned that we are actually brothers,” Marshall continued. From the corner of her eye, Franca saw Mildred Davis’s mouth open in a gasp.
“It’s been said that you can pick your office nurse but you can’t pick your relatives,” Marshall joked. “Well, I picked Zady as my nurse and I’d do it again in a heartbeat.” The bride beamed at him. “As for Nicholas, I’m glad he’s my brother, and he’s now my friend, too. I wish I’d learned the truth sooner. Here’s to Zady and Nicholas and their future as a family.”
He raised his glass to cries of “Hear, hear!” Amid the stir as everyone drank, Mildred hurried from the room.
Although most guests probably assumed Mrs. Davis was obeying an urgent call of nature, Marshall’s jaw clenched. He stood, glass in hand, for a long moment.
The matron of honor started to rise for her toast, but Marshall signaled Zora with a “wait” gesture. “One more thing,” he said.
Everyone quieted.
“It’s come to my attention that the couple’s ideal honeymoon trip would involve traveling to...what was it?” Marshall pretended to search his memory. “Death Valley? Antarctica? Chernobyl?”
Judging by the confusion on Nick’s and Zady’s faces, they had no idea what came next. Neither did Franca.
“Oh, yes, Italy.” Marshall regarded his brother and sister-in-law. “I realize you have something planned for the next few days, but my gift to you guys is a trip to Italy whenever you have time to enjoy it at your leisure.”
“You already gave us a houseful of towels,” Zady blurted.
“That was to throw you off the scent,” Marshall replied.
“Incredible,” Nick said. “That’s fantastic, bro.”
“Double for me,” Zady said. “Thank you!”
Zora sprang to her feet. “Lucky and I can’t afford to send you to Italy, but we’ll take care of our wonderful new nephew while you’re gone. Here’s to Nick, Zady and Caleb!”
She raised her glass, and everyone sipped. The bubbly tasted so delicious that Franca accepted a refill.
Her companions did the same. “Our husbands are picking us up,” Jeanine announced. “Keep the champagne flowing.”
“What’s that Dorothy Parker quote?” Ines giggled. ‘“Three drinks and I’m under the table. Four drinks and I’m under the host.”’
“Someone ought to be under Dr. Davis,” Jeanine said. “Not the married Dr. Davis. Our Dr. Davis.”
“Considering how he keeps peeking at someone at our table, I know who it should be,” Ines murmured.
Franca’s cheeks felt hot. “I’m not sure why. He had his chance years ago, but he bypassed me to date my college roommate.”
Jeanine seized on the comment. “Who dumped who?”
“He dumped her,” Franca said.
“Why?”
“Not brilliant enough to meet his high standards. She struggled with her grades and had to drop a class.” Belle had never claimed to be the best student around, especially with the intense academic competition at UC Berkeley, and her goal of graduating early had been for his benefit.
“That was it? She couldn’t match his level of genius?”
Franca tried to recall exactly what Belle had told her. “He was leaving for medical school at Harvard and she’d planned to graduate early so they wouldn’t be separated too long. When she couldn’t keep up, he broke it off.”
“Maybe he had her best interests at heart.”
“That wasn’t her impression,” Franca said. “And speaking of hearts, it shattered hers. They were practically engaged.”
Mercifully, Ines changed the subject. “That was quite a gift he gave Zady and Nick.”
“I heard his father left him a bundle,” Jeanine said.
“It was still very generous.”
“Excuse me. I need to walk around.” Her friends were growing tipsy and their remarks becoming more and more personal.
Franca rose too quickly, and had to wait for her champagne-infused body to steady itself. If she stopped drinking now, she hoped to be sober enough to drive in a few hours.
Since there hadn’t been a receiving line, this seemed the right moment to offer her best wishes to the bride and groom before they started dancing.
A lanky man with thinning gray-brown hair reached them first. “Sorry about Mildred,” he said. “I’d have pinned her to her seat, but I doubt she’d have appreciated it. Especially from me.”
“It’s okay, Dad.” Nick clapped the man’s arm.
So this was Marshall’s birth father. Despite a similarity of height and bone structure, he was strikingly different from his older brother, Marshall’s adoptive father, whom Franca had met in college. Upton Sinclair had held himself with pride, his shoulders straight, his thick hair a distinguished shade of silver.
“I feel responsible for the disruption.” The newcomer addressed his sons. “Can you forgive me for shooting my mouth off?”
The mixed emotions on Marshall’s face resolved into a smile. “If not for you, Uncle Quentin, I wouldn’t know Zora was my sister-in-law and Caleb was my nephew. I wouldn’t be best man at Nicholas’s wedding, either.”
“You can stop calling me Nicholas,” his brother put in. “It sounds too formal.”
“Okay, Nicky.”
“On second thought, Nicholas is fine.”
“Done.”
She registered the exact moment when Marshall spotted her. The light in the room brightened, and warmth flowed over her skin.
“Quentin, there’s someone I’d like you to meet.” Moving to her, Marshall slipped his arm around her waist. “This is Dr. Brightman, our staff psychologist and an old friend of mine. Franca, this my birth father.”
“My pleasure.” The glint in Quentin’s eyes as they shook hands indicated he guessed there was more to this relationship. But then, the arm encircling her waist told everyone the same.
Franca wondered at Marshall’s show of intimacy. Was this a couple of glasses of champagne speaking, or something more? And did she want it to be?
The pounding in her chest might mean almost anything. Oh, stop kidding yourself. No matter where this led, for tonight she and Marshall belonged in each other’s company.
Beside the dance floor, the DJ took the microphone. “Dr. and Mrs. Nick Davis, how about you lead off the dancing
?”
Zady gave a happy little hop. “This is my Cinderella moment! I’ve been dreaming about this.”
Her new husband sketched a bow. “Milady, may I have the honor?”
“Let’s go, my prince.” Taking his elbow, she tugged him forward.
People gathered to watch the couple swooping around the floor to a romantic waltz. At a gesture from Zady, her sister and Lucky joined them.
Marshall removed his arm from Franca’s waist. “May I have this dance?”
Her breath caught. She responded with a low, “I’d be delighted.”
Taking her hand, he escorted her into the thickening crowd of dancers. It might be simply a waltz, but there was nothing ordinary about her reaction as Marshall held her close. They’d never had this much physical contact. Their bodies touched, their hands clasped, and an electric current coursed between them as they moved in sync.
Judging by his cheek brushing her hair and his grip tightening around her, Marshall shared her reaction. If this was a mistake, Franca longed to keep right on making it.
And tonight, she suspected she would.
Chapter Eight
Even though Marshall was aware he’d provoked his mother, her fury as she’d stalked from the room troubled him. But it also freed him to be generous with his inherited money in a manner she’d have resented.
What a pleasure to bring joy to Nick and Zady. As for his reservations about Quentin, they’d vanished. Without his birth father’s revelation, as Marshall had stated earlier, he’d have missed being best man at this event.
His newfound sense of liberation extended to dancing with Franca, who seemed to have overcome whatever had been keeping her at bay, too. As he held her in his arms, the fresh scent of her hair filled him, and the music wrapped them in a private world. They melted together, and an unfamiliar happiness swelled within Marshall.
Their basic differences hadn’t changed. Yet he prized this rare chance to have fun with the only person he could truly be himself with.
The music shifted to a Latin beat. He flowed with its seductive rhythm, and Franca moved with him as if they’d practiced it.
“I had no idea you were such a skillful dancer,” she murmured. “Belle said you had two left feet.”
The Would-Be Daddy Page 7