"If I can't have Leo, then I won't get married," was Francie's firm response. Her mother's acquiescence was immediate, though not without additional comment.
Josephine was a master at having the last word.
"What's wrong with green? I like green," Francie's mother asked, scowling deeply. "Many bridesmaids wear green. Rosa Bartolomo's daughter had green dresses at her wedding, and she's given Rosa three grandchildren already. Besides, I look good in green, everyone says so."
Leo shook his head. "No, you don't, Mrs. Morelli. You have very olive skin and green makes you look washed out."
Horrified that what Leo said could possibly be true, Josephine rushed to the closest mirror. Now that the man was passing himself off as an interior designer, she gave his opinion a teensy bit more respect.
Francie sighed. "You've already objected to pink, yellow, turquoise and now green, Leo. What's left?"
He grinned. "Well, I was thinking that a deep red would be nice, maybe a cranberry. Not everyone uses it, and it would really make a statement."
"Red!" Francie's mother turned back and crossed herself, then shook her finger at Leo. "Are you nuts? What kind of suggestion is that? Red is not a color for a wedding, or a bridesmaid. It's indecent."
"I like the idea," Lisa piped in. "Those pukey pastels make me gag. And with your coloring, France, I think red would be stunning, a nice compliment to your cream dress."
The wedding dress she'd finally chosen was ivory satin, not cream, but Francie wasn't going to go there now.
Actually, where she wanted to go was home. Take a nice hot bath and maybe drown herself in two dozen chocolates and a bottle of wine.
They'd been at this wedding planning thing since the night she'd accepted Mark's proposal. It was a familiar path and one Francie had hoped never to tread again.
First, there was the torturous ordeal of selecting her wedding gown. Everyone, except Mark, who hadn't been allowed to accompany them because of the superstition thing, had offered an opinion on what she should wear.
It had to be original, and totally different from the last three—no easy feat!—so it wouldn't bring bad luck to the proceedings, as her mother had patiently explained to anyone within earshot.
Next had come the selection of the caterer. She'd finally decided on Manny's Little Italy Deli, much to her mother's disgust and disappointment. But Manny was a friend, had been involved, so to speak, in the other three wedding escapes, and would do a wonderful job with the food. The reception was to be held in the fellowship hall of the church, and Manny had promised to handle all of the details, which would be a big load off of her.
"Maybe Mark and I should just elope." Francie spoke her thought out loud without even realizing it. Lisa's head shot up, an alarmed look on her face.
What are you doing? she mouthed silently.
Francie smiled apologetically and shrugged.
"Elope! Madre de Dios! What are you talking about? I would be brokenhearted if you did that, Francie. You know that. Don't talk such nonsense. We'll find the right color. There's no need to get upset."
"Isn't that right, Lisa?" Josephine asked her other daughter.
Lisa, who was staring daggers at her sister, nodded. "Right. We're all looking forward to you and Mark having a big wedding. It's so much nicer than having a big mouth, don't you think?"
Josephine shrugged in confusion. "What does she mean, Francie?"
Lisa forced a smile. "Nothing, Mom. It's a private joke between me and Francie."
"This is all such a bother and I don't believe for a minute that anyone, with the exception of Mom, is enjoying themselves," the bride-to-be said. "I know I'm not."
"You know what we all need right now?" Leo suggested, jumping up from his seat, his face wreathed in a huge smile.
"A psychiatrist?" Francie supplied.
"No, a trip to La Taverna. We will drink ouzo, eat stuffed grape leaves and baklava, and watch the belly dancer. No one can stay in a bad mood after doing that."
Josephine looked at Leo as if he'd lost his mind. Then she asked as much. "Has your friend lost his mind, Francie? I am not going to watch a belly dancer. It's indecent."
"Oh, lighten up, Josephine," Leo told Francie's mother, who gasped in shock. "Your daughter needs a break from all this wedding stuff. We all do, including you. And it'll be fun."
"But…what about my husband? I need to go home and fix John dinner."
"Your husband can order a pizza tonight. He's a grown man. He'll get along fine without you. Besides," Leo added wisely as an afterthought, "don't you want to be included in Francie's bachelorette party? All the females in the wedding party are supposed to be there."
For someone who liked to have her finger on the pulse of everything, Leo had made the one suggestion that was sure to tempt Francie's mother, and everyone knew it. "I guess it's my duty as mother of the bride to go and chaperone." She looked uncertain but determined to do what was expected of her.
"Exactly." Leo turned to Francie's sister. "Lisa, go out front and flag down a taxi," he ordered. "This shindig is on me."
"But what about the bridesmaid dresses?" Josephine wanted to know, staring at the salesclerk, who looked just as confused as she did.
"Order two bridesmaid gowns in deep red, and the one tuxedo. You have the sizes and measurements on file. If we need to come in and have fittings later on, we will."
Francie had made a quick decision and felt empowered. She needed to hang around Leo more often. The man was nothing short of a genius.
Mark's parents had just called. They were back from vacation. And now the shit was going to hit the fan, because Mark had the depressing chore of telling them and his brother just what he'd been up to these past few weeks.
By the way, I'm getting married, to Matt's ex-fiancée, Francesca Morelli.
Yeah, that should go over really well.
Before he could change his mind, Mark pulled his SUV out of the parking garage and headed in the direction of the Fairmount Park area, where his parents lived.
It was not going to take that long to get there, even though he was traveling at only twenty-five miles per hour to give himself more time to get his story straight.
He still hadn't told Francie what he'd done, who his brother was or why he'd decided to perpetrate such a ruse. Mark had no idea how she would react, though he knew it wasn't going to be pleasant.
The hell of it was, now that he knew he loved her, he didn't want to risk losing her.
Mark was going to go through with the wedding. He'd finally decided that, though he hadn't been one hundred percent certain until the day she'd lost her job.
Making love to Francie that day, while she was hurt and vulnerable, had cemented his feelings. If he'd had any doubts before, that day had erased them.
"Mark, we weren't expecting you so soon," his mother said when he arrived on her doorstep. "Dad's out in the backyard watering the plants, which are half dead, unfortunately. And Mart's on the phone with Naomi. I assume he's told you about the new love of his life."
Kissing Laura on the cheek, Mark followed her into the kitchen and accepted the iced tea she set in front of him.
"Now, tell me all about what you've been doing while we were gone. Your father said you hadn't been working much these past couple of weeks, just dabbling at home, for the most part. I'm glad you took some time off. I've worried that you've been working too hard."
"You shouldn't worry about me, Mom. I'm fine. And it might be better to wait until everyone comes in, so I don't have to explain things twice. What I have to tell you is going to come as quite a shock, I'm afraid."
Laura clutched her throat. "You've been fired?"
"Who's been fired?" Steve Fielding asked, entering the kitchen through the back door after wiping his muddy boots on the wooden mat first. "Hey, son. Good to see you. What's this about being fired?"
"No one's been fired." Mark noticed how tanned and healthy his parents looked. "You've got quite a tan, Dad. Looks like you and Mom hav
e turned into a couple of beach bunnies." There was a romantic light in his parents' eyes, so he knew they had enjoyed their island interlude, which made him happy.
Matt came in just then and sat at the table. "I was on the phone," he explained after greeting Mark with a hug. "I missed you, big guy."
"Sounds like you didn't have time to miss me."
"Things are great between Naomi and me. We're already talking about setting a date for a wedding."
"Oh, Matt, isn't it kind of sudden? After all, you haven't dated Naomi very long. I don't want you getting hurt again."
"I'm fine, Mom. I'm completely over Francie."
"So if she married some other guy, you wouldn't care?" Mark asked.
Matt shook his head. "No! That's over and done with. I explained that, remember?"
"I just wanted to make sure."
"Why, son?" Steve asked his eldest. "What's it to you?"
Mark loved his father, but the man had a mighty uncomfortable way of cutting right to the chase. "I know this is going to come as a shock to all of you, and I fully intend to explain the details of how I got here, but I'm going to be getting married in a few weeks."
"But that's wonderful!" Laura exclaimed, rising out of her chair.
"To Francesca Morelli."
There was dead silence. Laura dropped back down in her seat. Steve's eyes widened, even as his jaw dropped. And Matt, who Mark had expected to punch him in the nose, burst out laughing.
"You're kidding! You and Francie?"
"It didn't start out in the way you'd expect." Mark went on to explain his indignation at the way Francie had treated Matt on their wedding day, and his subsequent plan to take his revenge on her.
"So you're marrying this woman out of spite?" his father wanted to know, shaking his head, his eyes filled with concern. "I don't like that, son."
"No, not anymore. That was the original idea, but I fell in love with her. Don't ask me how."
"And Francie is fine with this?" Matt asked. "I find that hard to believe."
"Francie doesn't know anything about why I sought her out. I passed myself off as a potential client for her company."
"Oh, Mark, you didn't?" Laura reached out and clasped her son's hand, worry and sadness filling her eyes. "Francie is going to be devastated when she finds out. You must tell her, give her the chance to decide whether or not marrying you is truly what she wants. You can't marry that girl and then tell her after the fact. That wouldn't be fair."
"Why not? I was thinking that we'd just get married, and then, in about five or ten years, I can tell Francie the truth." Mark had it all figured out, or so he thought.
"You really love this woman, don't you?" his father asked.
Mark clasped his head in his hands. "More than anything. And I've messed it all up."
Matt grinned. "Well, they say God works in mysterious ways, and I guess this is your punishment for being a lying, conniving bastard, bro."
"Matt, such language!" Laura chastised.
"I learned it from Dad."
Steve shot his son a deadly look. Matt grinned in return. "That's not true, dear. The boy is just trying to cover his butt."
Laura pushed herself up from the table, said, "There are times when I wish I'd had daughters," then walked out of the kitchen, a disappointed look on her face that filled Mark with sadness and disgust, at himself.
"Mom's pissed. I've never seen her like that," Matt said, patting his brother's shoulder. "You have my blessing, Mark, if that's any help."
"Thanks. It is."
"I'm not sure how you're going to fix this mess, son, but I know you'll do the right thing. Your mother is right—you can't have a marriage that's been perpetrated on a lie."
That night, alone in his apartment, Mark thought about what his parents had said, and knew they were right. He had to tell Francie the truth and suffer the consequences.
And probably a few broken bones.
At least he'd be spared confessing his sins tonight. Francie had gone to an all girls' party. With Leo.
Go figure!
Tomorrow would be soon enough to tell all. He just wasn't sure how the hell he was going to do that, and what he was going to say.
15
Mark had spent the past few weeks waiting for just the right moment to tell Francie about his deception.
Not that there would ever be a good time to tell her.
And not that he'd found that perfect moment yet.
Their respective schedules had not been conducive to private discussions of such an important nature, which had added to the problem—and his limitless list of excuses.
Francie had been busy assisting Leo with plans for the new interior design business, looking for just the right location to set up shop, picking out suppliers, arranging for advertising and the dozens of other things involved with beginning a new enterprise. Mark had been sent on assignment to Oregon for almost a week to cover a major oil spill. And they'd both been consumed with dining invitations from various members of the extended Morelli family who wanted to get better acquainted with Mark.
Which had brought up the inevitable question from Francie, "When am I going to meet your family?"
The time had come. There was no putting it off any longer, and Mark knew it.
In fifteen minutes he was due over at Francie's apartment for dinner, and to help pick out the menu for their wedding reception, which was just a few short weeks away.
Mark had never considered himself a coward. But he felt real fear now.
His future happiness rested in Francie's hands. He couldn't imagine a life without her in it and he had to convince her not to break their engagement.
Hell, he had to convince her not to kill him!
All day, Francie had been looking forward to having dinner with Mark and then afterward maybe some deliciously sinful dessert. They'd hardly spent any time alone in the past few weeks, and she missed that. And him.
In just a short time he'd become as necessary as air to her. She'd fallen hard this time and could finally admit to herself, without any doubts, recriminations or misconceptions, that she was hopelessly in love.
Mark was the one she'd been waiting for all her life. The others had been placeholders, stand-ins, while she'd waited for the one true love of her life to show up.
"Mrs. Mark Fielding. Francesca Fielding." She liked the sound of that, she thought, smiling happily.
When the knock sounded at the door, Francie got a strange fluttering in her stomach. "It must be true love," she said, feeling happier in that moment than she'd ever felt before.
Licking the chocolate frosting off her fingers, Francie untied her apron. She'd gone all out tonight with the dinner she'd prepared for Mark, hoping to show off her domestic side—roasted leg of lamb, new potatoes in butter with parsley, and the most decadent chocolate cake ever created by human hands.
Chocolate, sex and Mark were definitely a dynamite combination!
Opening the door, she found the object of her erotic thoughts standing there, but he didn't look at all happy to see her. In fact, Mark looked downright nervous and sick to his stomach, if his ashen complexion was any indication.
"What's wrong? Are you sick? Did something horrible happen?"
Mark handed her a bottle of wine—cabernet sauvignon, her favorite—and shook his head. "No, not yet."
Confused by his cryptic remark, she took his hand and led him into the living room where she had two glasses of champagne and a hot wedge of Brie with crackers waiting. "Help yourself. Dinner's going to be a few minutes. I miscalculated the time on the roast."
"That's just as well. We have to talk."
Francie didn't like the ominous sound of Mark's statement, or the gloomy note to his voice. Was he going to break their engagement? Had he changed his mind about loving her? After all, theirs had been a whirlwind courtship. Regrets were known to happen.
Didn't she know that in spades?
"Tell me what's wrong. Have you changed y
our mind about getting married? Do you have cold feet?"
"Christ, no!" He shook his head. "Quite the opposite, in fact. I'm just afraid you're going to, after I confess what I've done."
"You're married, is that it? You have a wife and three small children?" Though she meant it as a joke, she crossed shaky fingers behind her back, praying it wasn't so.
"No, I'm not married. It's nothing like that. It's something I've done, something I'm not very proud of, and something you're likely to hate me for."
"You've had an affair with one of your old girlfriends?"
He sighed. "I wish it were that simple." Reaching for her hand, he pulled her down next to him on the sofa. "Francie, I've done something terrible. I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I didn't tell you before the wedding. I'm praying you won't change your mind about marrying me. I love you, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you."
She caressed his cheek. "Why would I change my mind? Nothing can be that awful. I love you. Just tell me what it is and get it over with. I'm sure it's not as bad as you think."
Mark plowed agitated fingers through his hair. "I haven't been honest with you. I—" He swallowed. "I don't know how to say this. I'm such an idiot, an ass."
"Let me be the judge of that, okay? You're starting to scare me."
"I'm Matt Carson's stepbrother. My parents are Steve and Laura Fielding."
It took a moment for his words to sink in, and when they did, Francie's brows creased in confusion. "Mart's stepbrother? I don't understand. What am I missing?" But she was getting a very bad, throw-up kind of feeling in the pit of her stomach.
Taking a deep breath, Mark did his best to explain. "I was going to be best man at your and Mart's wedding—the surprise he didn't tell you about. When I got to the reception and found out how distraught my brother was because you'd dumped him, I decided to get revenge."
Francie's face paled. "And that's why you showed up at Baxter Promotions, to get revenge? But how?"
This had to be a sick joke, a nightmare she hadn't yet woken up from.
"My plan was to woo, bed and then almost wed you. I was going to dump you at the altar, just as you had dumped my brother and those other men."
Staying Single Page 15