“That was fifth grade, Ma.”
“Still, I haven’t seen you this excited about someone in a long time.”
“So, you’ll lay off the matchmaking for a bit?”
“I don’t think I’d ever agree to that,” she says with an infuriating twinkle in her eye.
I wish I could confide in her about Kennedy’s age, about how uncomfortable it makes me to know she’s still a child compared to me. But then I’d have to tell her about my brother, Sebastian, and the mess he made, and we don’t have that kind of relationship. Secrets never stay secrets with her. By noon tomorrow, half the senior citizens would be gossiping about Roman Palermo, Sylvia’s son, with the predilection for younger women.
“Do you have your grocery list ready for me?”
“Pinned to the fridge, just like every week.” She pats my arm, love warming my heart at the simple gesture.
“Where’s dad? Is he coming for lunch?”
“He’s tired. I told him to rest. Maybe you can sit with him for a bit after lunch?”
“Yeah,” I say, “I’d like that.”
✽✽✽
Kennedy
“Grab the castor sugar too.” Victoria gives me a gentle shove into the baking aisle. “The bride wants macaroons. You’re charging her extra, right? Those aren’t cupcakes, ya know? They take time.”
I shake myself free of my daydream, the one where Roman happens to stop by the ranch, and I’m dressed to the nines and don’t look so young anymore. In all truth, I’d rather go back to my imagination than help Vic with her supply list.
“Anything else?” I start down the aisle, walking backwards because if I know my sister, she has at least six other items on her mind.
“Look for some kind of coarse sugar too, and I think I’m low on baking powder. Thanks, you’re a peach.” She tosses the last bit at me as she moves for the meat aisle. The bride wants a mini-pizza bar. Of course, Vic can’t go simple and has to take it to the next level.
Sometimes I wonder if it’s all worth it. Sometimes I think about cutting her loose, letting her go her way and chase her dreams without the rest of us bogging her down. Sometimes I wonder if that’s a little bit of transference on my part. What would I do if my family did the same for me, took away the responsibilities that have been mine since my teenage years and turn me out to find my own path? Where would I go? Would I stay? Would I finally make a few of my own plans happen?
I stuff two boxes of castor sugar in my arms and scour the shelves for baking powder. I spot it, but a sweet old woman is taking her time considering her options between brands. I smother my impatience the best I can, but my schedule is tight. Hudson is getting all the paper products we need, Victoria is getting the cheeses and meats, and I’m in charge of baking supplies. We still need to go by the banner shop, the butcher, and Hudson’s dance class in less than an hour. I don’t have time to wait for Granny to pick the best brand.
I’m not alone in my frustrations either. Apparently, baking powder is in high demand in our area because I feel other people backing up behind me. When the oblivious white-haired woman finally moves, I push forward, reaching for the baking powder, knowing Vic will be back any second. My hand bumps someone else’s going for the same package. I retract, apologizing and scolding myself internally for my impatience.
“Kennedy?” Roman’s voice catches me off guard.
I stare up at him, my eyes wide with surprise. “Roman? What are you doing here?”
He glances around, more confused than ever. “I’m not allowed to shop?”
“Of course, you are,” I clear my throat, “I didn’t expect you to be here, that’s all. I didn’t know you lived nearby.”
“I don’t.” He moves out of the way to let someone else grab their supplies. “My parents needed a few things. Their community isn’t far from here.”
“That’s sweet of you to help out.” I can’t stop looking at him. Try as I may, I can’t think of anything smart to say.
“That’s a lot of sugar.” He motions for the boxes in my arms. “And I believe you need one of these.” Roman snags a canister of baking powder from the shelf for me but doesn’t hand it over.
“Brides,” I say. It sounded smarter before I said it. Wasn’t I just obsessing about my schedule? Don’t I have a million more things to do today? Why do I want to cancel all of it and hang out with Roman in the baking goods section for the rest of the day?
“Okay, Kenny. I think I’ve got everything.” Victoria comes up behind me, nearly ramming me with her grocery cart. “Are you ready to go?”
I dump my boxes of castor sugar into the cart and turn back to introduce Roman, but Victoria has already started to leave.
“Vic.” My sharp tone catches her attention and she whirls back, annoyed. Hoping to avoid a scene, I smile and say, “I wanted to introduce you to Roman Palmero. He’s the new producer over at Santos Sound.”
She glances at Roman as though she’s seeing him for the first time. “Oh! You mean…” She smiles at me like she knows a secret. “Hi, Roman. I’ve heard so much about you.”
Before I have a chance to smooth things over, Hudson bursts through us to drop a pile of napkins and energy drinks in the cart. “I’m ready. Let’s get going. I don’t want to be late.”
While it’s likely a ploy to keep me from throwing half his energy drinks out of the cart, I still feel the burn from my obnoxious siblings.
“Roman, you remember Hudson, right?” I glare at my brother, so he’ll remember his manners.
Hudson glances at Roman for the first time. “The music guy, right? Cool to see you again.”
Roman extends the baking powder to me, looking like he’s planning his escape. “You look like you’re in a hurry. I’ll let you go. Great to meet you all.” To me he adds, “I’ll see you around, Kennedy.”
I want to stop him from leaving, but with him going one direction and my family leaving in the other, I feel torn.
“Rome, you forgot this.” The nickname feels too familiar for our relationship, but when he turns back, he’s smiling. I snag another canister of baking powder from the shelf and extend it toward him. “You’re still coming Friday night, right?” I struggle for the right words, “or have you changed your mind? Or made other plans?”
“No,” he shakes his head like I’d have to be crazy to believe it, “I haven’t changed my mind, not about anything.”
“Kenny!” Hudson calls from the end of the aisle. Dance class might as well be a life and death situation. “Come on, we’re gonna be late.”
Roman takes the baking powder, familiar sparks igniting between us just from proximity. “I’ll see you Friday?”
“Count on it.”
I turn on my heel, only glancing back once before chasing after my siblings. I catch them at the checkout line, both whispering like the gossipy old ladies they are.
“Okay, let me have it.” I brace myself for whatever faults they’ve found in him, not to mention the teasing I know I’ll endure for at least the next hour.
Vic never misses her chance to come after me. “I’ve heard of cradle robbing, Kenny, but are you a grave robber?” She winks before she starts laughing at her own joke.
I shoot her my best death glare, but I have to admit it was clever. Hudson picks up her thread before I have a chance to come back at her.
“Maybe it was the lighting, but I swore I saw some gray at his temples.”
“Oh, whatever.” I cross my arms over my chest, trying to look tough, but my laughter gives me away. “He’s handsome, and mature.”
“Seriously, he’s what? Forty?” Victoria shakes her head, laughing.
“He’s thirty-three,” I fire back, but immediately regret it when it gets Hudson going again.
“Thirty-three, Kenny? He’s thirty-three? That’s older than Vic, and she’s old.”
“Hey!” Victoria shoves him, but not hard enough to do anything. She wraps an arm around his neck yanking him back down to her height
to mess up his hair. “You’re just a baby, that’s the problem. Poor baby, Hudsie.”
Hudson pouts, but it’s the fake one he’s always used to get his way. As his sisters, I think we’re both immune to it after all these years. Victoria pays the cashier and starts for the car.
“Anything else?” I raise my eyebrows, daring Hudson’s worst. It’s like taking awful medicine. Better to get it over with. “Get it out of your system.”
His fake pout fades as quickly as it came, replaced by a devilish glint. “When you were in the fourth grade,” He has a hard time speaking around his laughter, “Roman was graduating high school.” He runs ahead of the cart, so he can see my expression. “When you got your braces off, Roman was graduating college.”
“Hey,” Victoria sets a hand to his arm, “cool it, kid. That’s enough. No one bought tickets to your standup show.”
“One more.” He pretends to beg us both. “It’s a good one.”
It’s a laugh or cry kinda moment. I might as well laugh. Mom taught me that. “Let me have it.”
His grin spreads wide as the sunrise and twice as bright. “When you entered preschool, Roman’s voice started changing.”
Victoria starts laughing so hard she snorts. I wish I could stay mad at him, but I have to admit he hit it out of the ballpark on that one. Home run.
“Are you good now?” I poke at his stomach like I used to when he was little. The same string of infectious giggles burst out until he’s begging me to stop. “All out of your system, both of you?”
“I promise, I’m done. Do whatever you want.” Hudson scurries away for the backseat to escape my tickle torture, leaving me alone with my older sister. I raise my eyebrows to ask the question again without words.
Victoria puts her hands up like she was never involved. “Who am I to tell you what to do?”
Still I can’t help asking her opinion.
“What do you think of him?” I scrunch my nose, bracing for the worst. “He’s cute, right?”
Victoria shrugs. “He seems nice. He looks reliable. Like a number two pencil or something.”
I pull a face at her analogy. “Seriously? A pencil?”
My sister shrugs. “He’s kinda nerdy, but I can see how you’d like it. He’s just not my type.”
It’s my turn to tease for once. “Yeah, not a single tattoo in sight.”
“Oh, come on, I’ve grown up.” She makes her way for the driver’s side. “All I’m saying is be careful. We love you and don’t want you to get hurt.”
I’m not that young. They act like I am. Laughable because I’ve been the grown up one since mom died. I’ve held the family together since I was fifteen. At some point, shouldn’t I be able to make my own decisions? Haven’t I proved over and over that I know what I’m doing? It might be time to start putting myself first at least a little bit.
Chapter 6
Kennedy
Weddings should always be romantic, a thoroughly heart stopping, love drenched affair. I swear there’s not a dry eye left on this hillside. Even stone-cold Victoria is teary, and she hates the bride. The setting is perfect. Timed with absolute mastery, if I do say so myself. The sun is melting into the horizon, pinks, oranges and purples paint the sky behind the bride and groom, standing under an arch of white lilies and gerbera daisies that match the watercolor sunset to perfection.
“I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”
Cheers erupt as Trevor takes his bride by the waist and kisses his wife for the first time. The sun vanishes completely. And I’m staring at my watch, starting the countdown for the next half of the event. I nudge Victoria with my elbow, hoping to pull her out of her lovesick trance. She glares at me like I’ve interrupted a great movie.
“Can’t you enjoy this for one second?”
“Not when the appetizers are going to be late if you don’t get a move on.”
She rolls her eyes and sticks out her tongue before she leaves for her kitchen. With her back on track, I start in with the help, aka, Hudson and his team of friends all clad in their Sunday best to act as wait staff. I have every second planned. Every minute is accounted for.
From the barn, the early strains of Booker’s band call to the guests. Without a word, they move across the grass, following the well-lit path I’ve marked for them. Can’t leave anything to chance. My only wild card is the bride and groom. They haven’t moved, still surrounded by stragglers and well-wishers. Does no one have respect for a tight schedule?
I used to carry a clipboard with a list of the night’s events attached and any notes I might need throughout the evening. But dad said it made me look like a wedding tyrant. Now, I memorize it. I glance at my watch again. The bride needs to get moving if she’s going to make her entry by seven-thirty.
Instead of berating the bride, something I’ve been scolded for in the past, I quick step my way to the barn to check on the progress there. Every light is gleaming and thank goodness I added the extras. Happy chatter fills the space, along with Booker’s band.
Ten minutes until the bride and groom make their entry.
Fifteen until appetizers are delivered.
Dinner served in twenty-five minutes.
First dance in fifty minutes.
Nothing can derail me now. I’ve made weddings a perfectly scheduled train on the tracks with no room for error or distraction.
I glance toward the entrance and my heart drops to my stomach.
An old warning from my mother pops into my head, “Never underestimate the power of a man in a well-tailored suit.”
She wasn’t wrong. If I’m a train, then Roman Palermo just sent me screeching from the tracks, barreling through the woods, until I landed in the neighbor’s pond. He waves and I smile, but I fear only half my mouth tipped up. He’s going to think I had a stroke again.
✽✽✽
Roman
I should have asked her what I should wear to this. A quick glance around the barn tells me I’m overdressed. The only other suits I can see are in the wedding party. Last thing I need is someone asking me how I know the bride or groom. The best answer I’ve got is that I’m scouting local musical talent, and even that’s a lie. I certainly can’t tell them I’m an undercover FBI agent.
But lying is what I’ll have to do tonight if I plan to reach my objective. I need to get in the main house and sneak a peek at Ace Cartwright’s financial records, if possible. Kennedy spots me and every thought in my head evaporates. Like a bunny staring down a semi-truck, I’m transfixed by my own doom. Her dainty hands slip over the length of her black lace dress, as if to smooth the fabric, but how can it wrinkle when it’s molded to her like a second skin? Where the body of the dress is lined with black fabric, the arms are sheer. A delicate weave of roses and vines twist and curl where the lace covers her arms. The neckline cuts wide on her shoulders, displaying two perfectly formed collarbones that are begging me to grace them with affection. How can one woman be this perfect? Charlotte was beautiful, age-appropriate, and obviously accomplished. But Kennedy, Kennedy is a different level of distraction. I can’t take my eyes off her. I haven’t thought of Charlotte for hours, but I doubt I’ll ever forget staring at Kennedy across this crowded barn.
I manage a wave, kick myself for being informal, but revel in the smirk she shoots me. Every covert thought blows away in the breeze as it dances from one side of the barn to the other. Night is coming on, the chill is sneaking in, but she’s got me all kinds of warm.
“I’m happy to announce, for the first time ever, Mr. and Mrs. Trevor Ramsey!”
The young man’s voice tears me away from Kennedy. Applause rises up around me as the bride and groom make their entrance. I join in before someone sees that I don’t belong here. The bride takes her spot at the front table, and I swear within seconds teenage boys appear in suits carrying trays of food. The timing is such that I wouldn’t be surprised to see them all break out in song and dance like my mother’s musicals she likes t
o watch. The entire event is choreographed to perfection.
“What do you think?”
Her voice catches me off guard, but her presence nearly knocks me to my knees. Kennedy impressed me on our business outing, and then again at the club, but this, tonight, she’s under my skin. Her eyes are dark, not the shade, but the makeup she wears. Her pouty lips, pale and pink the last time I saw her, pucker a deep crimson. The sultry appearance makes her seem older than I know she is, and it weakens my resolve by the second. I’m not my brother. We’re nothing alike. Maybe I’m making something out of nothing.
Not that it matters. I’m here to investigate Ace Cartwright, not date his youngest daughter.
“It’s a beautiful wedding. I’m impressed by the organization.”
Pride rises up in her expression. She must be the one calling the shots. If so, she’s talented beyond her years.
“Are you hungry?” she asks.
Every seat is accounted for. If she’s inviting me to sit, I have to admit I’m at a loss. Kennedy takes my silence for an answer and tilts her head to the open barn doors. I follow on her heel, like a puppy seeking an owner.
She follows an unmarked path, unlike the others streaming with white ribbon and colorful flowers, until she stops at a cottage and pushes the door open. I trail after her, surprised by the bustle and noise emanating from within.
“Hey! Make sure that plate is sparkling!” A woman yells from behind the kitchen island. “Jeremy, if you wipe your nose one more time and then touch one of these plates, I might cut off your hand, understand me?”
I catch Kennedy’s eye to see if she’s alarmed, but her bemused expression doesn’t betray any fear. Apparently, threats are commonplace.
“How’s it going, Vic?” she asks the violent chef behind the counter.
“One day, can we hire competent workers instead of Hudson’s sports buddies? Someone with a resume? Someone who can spell resume?”
The Unforgettable Queen of Diamonds Page 5