Tasty Mango: A Billionaire and Single Mom Romantic Comedy

by JJ Knight

  She disappears, and I open the menu in my lap to get one of pretty much everything. I want to make sure that smile stays on her face.

  The train ride is smooth and uneventful. When we arrive in the country, Dell and Arianna have sent their car and driver because a wedding of this size means every motorized vehicle for a hundred miles has already been taken.

  Havannah can’t take her eyes off the charming scenery, rolling meadows and farms lined with low stone walls. Rebel snoozes easily in his car seat. I begin to wonder if we shouldn’t make our first tryst in a car to avoid interruption.

  She looks like something out of a Disney movie, her golden hair pinned in loose curls, the pale pink dress simple and wholesome. “Is that the castle?” she asks.

  I duck down to see what she’s looking at. “That’s a different one. I think we have a half-hour before we reach ours.”

  “This is so wild.” Her big blue eyes take it all in. “There’s so many flowers and fields! It’s so open!”

  She reaches across the car seat to squeeze my hand. I lift hers to my lips. I’ve never been so smitten with a woman in a relationship that has been so chaste. Although last night wouldn’t have been, had we been given another ten minutes.

  But tonight will be impossible. The castle has thirty suites in eight wings, sorted by family. I will be in a section with Dell, Arianna, and Grace. Havannah and Rebel will be off near the Pickles, since Havannah’s sister is engaged into the family.

  Dell arrived at the castle last night and warned me the place was a labyrinth. The Pickles were a million miles away on the other side of the château through a maze of hallways, stairwells, and twisty paths. He tried to find them last night to offer congratulations and failed to make it. An escort was required to navigate one end to the other.

  Dell’s last comment on the matter was “You might be better off sneaking into the garden to meet.”

  He’s killed my notion of winding my way through the castle at midnight to slip into Havannah’s bed. That plan was contingent on her sister slipping off to Anthony’s bed, since Havannah and her sister share a room.

  The garden might be the ticket. We’ll have the benefit of grandparents to watch over Rebel. And that’s a big, big plus, given the difficulty we’ve had so far in finding time alone.

  When the castle appears on the horizon, then the car turns down a bright white drive to head toward it, Havannah gasps. “It’s straight out of a fairytale! It can’t be real. It’s like a painted backdrop or something.”

  I see her point. The place is stunning. The walls are as white as clean sheets and the turrets and towers are a grayish-blue. With the bright sky as a backdrop, it indeed looks like a Cinderella story come to life.

  “I’m totally going to drop a shoe on a staircase,” Havannah says. “I mean, I’m literally compelled.”

  “I’ll be happy to scoop it up.”

  But she’s not even listening to me. She finds the controls for the sunroof and manages to get it open. In seconds, she’s kicked off her shoes and is standing on the leather seat to poke through, only the bottom half of her visible from inside the car.

  I hear a loud “whoop,” and the driver turns to look. He is not amused that Havannah is hanging out the top. I can’t help but laugh. Once she’s comfortable in a situation, it’s clear this woman does what she wants.

  As we crunch along the drive and enter the circle to the front entrance, she ducks back inside. The top immediately closes, the driver expressing his opinion.

  Havannah doesn’t even notice. “Look at these pictures I got!” She shows me her phone. She’s taken something like fifty of them. “I could start a whole fairytale Instagram from this visit.”

  “Make a matching dessert for your deli and light up the menu,” I say.

  “That’s brilliant. I’m totally going to do that. It can be in honor of the new in-laws.” She leans over and presses a kiss to my cheek. “This is the best day ever!”

  When we arrive, two men approach the car, wearing gray and white uniforms that are vaguely military, somewhat butler-esque, but match the venue in style and color.

  One opens the door. “Mademoiselle, please watch your step.”

  He takes her hand, and she stands up as if in a dream. “It’s so different from Paris,” she says.

  “The country air, milady,” the man says. “Shall I take your bit of baggage from the seat?”

  She laughs. “That bit of baggage is my son Rebel.”

  “Oh!” The man chortles. “Then I shall take extra precautions.”

  I tug the car seat from the base and scoot it toward the door. “I can carry him,” I say.

  “I’ve got it,” Havannah says, ducking down to pull him out. “I think we’re about to go separate ways. Magnolia said she’s in the wing with the wedding party.”

  I jump out. “How about I come with you? I’d like to say hello to the Pickles anyway before I settle in.” I turn to the porters. “Can you make sure my luggage ends up with the Brants? I’ll escort Havannah.”

  I shoulder the diaper bag, and we start up the steps. “Here’s my StairMaster workout,” Havannah says.

  I think she’s nervous. She watches her feet.

  “Sure you don’t want me to carry him?”

  She passes the bucket seat over. “Maybe I do. I’m not making a very elegant entrance.”

  “You look beautiful. Like you belong.”

  She touches her hair self-consciously. “I’m not so sure about that. Regardless, I’m here.”

  Two more uniformed men open the immense doors, towering over us at least twenty feet high. You could drive a truck through the entrance.

  “Ooh,” Havannah breathes.

  We enter the great hall, and the mere size of it is mind-blowing. I’ve been all over the world, and I’ve never seen anything like it.

  The ceiling soars two, maybe three stories high. Chandeliers dip down on long chains, their fixtures made quite convincingly to look like candles.

  Everything is white, gold, or blue. The fireplace takes up a huge wall on the far side. Sprinkled in front of it, almost as if they are doll furniture in comparison, are clusters of stuffed chairs, sofas, and side tables.

  Ornate archways lead off in six directions, and a set of stairs wide enough for a car curves up to a landing on either side.

  We pause, not sure where to go next.

  A white-haired woman in a vivid green suit hustles forward. “Hello, and welcome to the wedding weekend for Max Pickle and Camryn Schultz. Let’s get you situated.”

  Behind us, two of the uniformed men wait with our baggage, easily sorted between my brown leather set and Havannah’s eclectic mix of hot-pink suitcases and colored duffels.

  “This is Havannah Boudreaux,” I say. “I’m going to walk her to her suite before settling in mine with Dell Brant.”

  “Very good,” the woman says, flicking on an iPad tucked into an embroidered pouch. “You must be Donovan McDonald.”

  “The one and only,” Havannah says, then bites her lip.

  I hate that she feels outclassed. I can sense her anxiety. I shift both the diaper bag and Rebel’s bucket to one side, so I can wrap an arm around her waist.

  The woman smiles at us. “Sienna?” she calls.

  A young woman in simple gray pants and a white shirt emerges from one of the halls.

  “Please take Mademoiselle Boudreaux and Monsieur McDonald to the Diamond wing, and then you may show Monsieur McDonald to his suite in the Rose wing.”

  “This way,” Sienna says. “Would you like someone to carry the baby?”

  “We’ve got him,” Havannah says.

  We follow her through one of the arches. The long hallway is made of stone and lined with painted portraits of aristocrats from many eras. Every few feet is a narrow table filled with fresh flowers between tall wooden doors.

  “I’m dead,” Havannah says. “That’s the only explanation. I’m dead and I’m walking the halls of heaven.”


  Sienna smiles back at her. “It feels that way sometimes.”

  “What’s it like to work here?” Havannah asks. “Do you pinch yourself every day?”

  “It is a beautiful place to call your office,” Sienna says.

  “Are you in hospitality? Hotel management? How do you end up working someplace like this?”

  “Many of us are tourism students,” Sienna says.

  “Ooh. I haven’t heard of that. I don’t think we have that in the States.” Havannah glances at me. “Do we?”

  “There are a few,” I say. “I met someone doing recreation and tourism at A&M in Texas. I think it tends to roll into hotel management for us.”

  We come to a fork, and Sienna takes us down another long hall, this one with portraits of fruit.

  “I feel like I should be leaving a trail of breadcrumbs,” Havannah says. “Did it take you a long time to learn your way around?”

  “The halls are arranged around themes,” Sienna says. “You learn to navigate the fruit hall, the hall of old men, the flower hall, etc.”

  Rebel lets out a cry, and I rock the bucket seat back and forth. “Almost there, little man,” I say, although I have no idea if it’s true. We have passed a hundred doors already, it seems.

  “One more turn. The largest wing is Diamond and Lace,” Sienna says. “It helps to remember it, since you associate it with weddings.”

  Here the walls are bright white, and lacy curtains adorned with sparkling rhinestones soften the rough stone. The hallway suddenly opens into a circle. “We’re in a turret,” she says. “The bride and groom will be at the top. Havannah, you’re this way.”

  We climb a short set of stairs until we come to a landing. A large oak door stands partially open.

  A woman inside cries, “Havannah! Magnolia told us you were coming! I can’t believe it!” It’s Malina, Havannah’s mother.

  She hurries to the door, well dressed for early afternoon in an ivory silk dress and pearls. Everyone must be preparing for the rehearsal dinner tonight. “Where’s that grandbaby?”

  I lift the bucket seat, and Malina peers in, her eyes bright beneath a swirl of dark gold hair. “There’s my sweet Rebel!”

  John Paul appears behind her. “We’re grateful you could bring Havannah along. It will be a great family getaway.” He reaches out and takes the baby bucket from me. “Havannah, you’re bunking with your sister.” His eyes meet mine as if to add, And you’re not coming.

  I pass the diaper bag to Havannah. “I was seeing Havannah here before heading to my wing.” I lean in. “I’ll text you later.”

  She nods, and I can’t miss the glance that passes between her parents. No telling what they’re thinking.

  The hall feels quiet when they’ve gone inside their suite. Sienna turns to me. “Would you like to check to see if the Pickles are upstairs before we head to your wing?”

  “Sure,” I say. Since Magnolia didn’t turn up, she’s probably upstairs with the brothers.

  We head up the stairs, this stretch a bit longer, before coming to the next landing. This door is also open.

  “Knock, knock!” Sienna calls.

  I glance inside. My brother is there, seated in a chair opposite a striped satin sofa that holds Alma, the great matriarch of the Pickle family and grandmother to the three brothers, as well as the two girl cousins, Greta and Sunny. Greta hangs on to Caden, who keeps trying to wiggle out of her grasp.

  “I thought you’d end up over here,” Dell says, standing to shake my hand. “Sherman and the brothers are about to come down. There’s a last-minute fitting of the tuxes, and Magnolia, Nova, and the bride are having their hair done for the rehearsal.”

  “Good bonding time for the three of them,” Alma says, her silvery hair a perfect puff atop her tiny frame. “Three Pickle brothers and three Pickle brides.” She claps her hands together. “Now just Sunny here left.”

  Sunny frowns. She hates to be reminded that she’s the last single of the Pickle clan.

  “How was the train?” Dell asks.

  “Good.” I turn back to Sienna. “Dell can get me to our wing later. Thank you.”

  She nods. “Have a lovely stay.”

  “She’s cute,” Sunny says. “She had her eye on you.”

  Dell laughs. “Donovan has his hands full, I think.”

  “Oh, really?” She glances at her sister. I’m sure I’ll be the big topic of conversation later.

  “I hear you brought Havannah Boudreaux in your private jet,” Alma says, her tiny gray eyes twinkling. “And you learned to change a diaper.”

  I turn a beady glare to my brother. “Someone’s been speaking out of turn.”

  Dell laughs. “You’re the one who called me in the middle of the night worried about—”

  “Nope. That’s enough.” I hold up a hand. “So what’s the plan for the rest of the day?”

  We run through the schedule and chat until footsteps on the stairs alert us to the new arrivals. Jason, Max, and Anthony all arrive at the same time, decked out in custom suits and coordinating ties.

  Max tugs on his. “I had no idea Camryn was going to go full Disney princess on me,” he says. “For someone who never wears anything but spandex, she sure did turn on a dime for the wedding.”

  Jason claps him on the back. “Get ready for all the changes that are about to be afoot.”

  Anthony leans forward. He’s only been engaged to Magnolia for a couple of months. “Like what?”

  The men laugh, including Dell, and I wonder what the hell is so funny. Anthony and I exchange a look, then shrug. We’re both the youngest brothers, so we know all about getting punked by the elders.

  The women come down next, packing the room. They smell of gardenias and hair spray, and all of them look like magazine models. Magnolia sidles up to me. “So, how was the plane ride with my sister?” The smile in her voice tells me she knows about the diaper predicament too.

  “Just fine, thank you.” I shake my head and turn to Camryn. “You’re already glowing. Thank you for inviting me.”

  Dell moves beside me. We both sense it’s time to let the family have their moment. He kisses Camryn’s hand. “Stunning, Cam. Sure you want to shackle yourself to that piece of meat?” He tilts his head toward Max.

  “Quite sure,” she says, moving to stand beside him. “He’s put up with this whole wedding ordeal.”

  “It is a production,” Max says, kissing her head, then making a face when he realizes he’s gotten a mouthful of hair products. “It’s really something, though. No one’s going to forget it.”

  Dell and I shake everyone’s hands and head back to the stairwell. It continues up, where the other Pickles must be staying. We go down instead, and pass Havannah’s door, but it’s closed this time.

  “Prepare for the hike back,” Dell says. “At least we don’t have to do it in three-inch heels.”

  “There should be golf carts or something,” I say.

  We pass through the lacy hall, then arrive at a fork of fruit and forest.

  “This way,” Dell says, turning to the forest.

  “Fruit is the way to the great hall,” I say. “Lace, fruit, old men.”

  “I didn’t go through the main room,” he says.

  We walk for fifteen minutes solid, pausing at forks several times, before admitting defeat. Dell calls Arianna, who uses the room phone to call the castle staff, who sends Sienna to find us.

  She has an admirably straight face as she arrives in the hall full of paintings of dogs. “You almost made it,” she says. “You should have done lace, forest, meadow, roses. You made a wrong turn at meadow into dog.”

  Dell shakes his head. “You need a GPS for this place.”

  Sienna nods. “We hear that a lot.”

  “So how do you get outside?” I ask. “Like to the gardens?”

  Dell shoots me a knowing smirk.

  “When you get to the junction of roses and meadow, choose the tulips. All flower halls lead outdoors.�
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  “Good tip.”

  We arrive at a long hall. “This is your wing,” Sienna says. “Dell and Arianna are first. Donovan, your door is second.”

  “Who else is on this wing?” I ask.

  “I’d have to check for names,” she says. “But this hall houses close friends of the family.”

  “Makes sense,” Dell says. “Thank you.”

  She nods and heads back through the rose hall.

  I take a moment to say hello to Arianna and swing Grace in a circle, then I move onto my room. It’s smaller than I’m used to, but beautifully appointed with a tall canopy bed in dark wood, gilt chairs, and a towering window that looks out on the gardens. It’s the ground floor, and I wonder if it might be simpler to crawl outside through the window.

  But I text Havannah the names of the hallways between our wings, and we agree to meet in the gardens after the dinner.

  I can’t wait.

  17

  Havannah

  Magnolia and Anthony pop in a couple of hours after I settle Rebel with my parents.

  “It’s almost time, then?” Dad asks.

  “Half an hour,” Anthony says. He smiles at Magnolia.

  My sister is transformed. Her hair is spun into an intricate arrangement of curls. She’s wearing a pale blue silk dress I bought in undergrad. It slides along her body like an ocean wave.

  I press my hand to my belly. Time for some control-top action.

  Mom leaves her seat, Rebel on her shoulder. “Magnolia, what a beauty you are. Your big day will be next!” She cups Magnolia’s chin.

  “It’s the stylists. This team is amazing,” Magnolia says. “Even with all the talk shows, I didn’t have someone like this!”

  Including me. I did her hair and makeup for much of her tour. I arrange my skirt around my calves, feeling very much the wallflower. This is not my usual mode whatsoever. Having Rebel has changed me in every way possible. I’m not sure how to get my mojo back, although it occasionally makes brief appearances, like last night.

  I need to change clothes, fix my face, and up my hair game before the rehearsal dinner. But Mom passes Rebel back to me. “Anthony, sit,” she says. “I’d love a little time with you before the festivities take you away.”