Sugared

by Gina LaManna

  Meg tried to be cheery, but I couldn’t reciprocate her enthusiasm. Seeing a dead body will do that to a person.

  “It’s not your fault about... the thing,” Meg said. “It’s like Anthony said. Beckett was involved with a tough crowd.”

  “What thing?” Nora snapped. “I want to know about the thing.”

  “Nothing,” Meg and I said together. We’d all agreed that mum would be the word over dinner. Nora’s stress levels were already boiling over, and the last thing she needed was to fret about our wedding venue turning into a crime scene.

  “If this dumb old noodle would just warm the hell up,” Nora said. “I wouldn’t be so gosh darn mad! It’s frozen solid.” Nora turned to us and held up an ice cube disguised as a ravioli. “Seriously, girls. What is wrong with it? I’ve been heating it for ten minutes.”

  Meg’s eyebrows shot up. “I need to take anti-swearing lessons from your grandmother,” she said to me. “Did you hear that colorful vocabulary?”

  “I have gelato for dessert,” Nora said. “We can have it for dinner instead of these stupid noodles. At least that is supposed to be frozen.”

  “Gelato?” My throat went dry.

  Meg turned to face me. “Oh, don’t get any ideas.”

  “It’s not technically ice cream,” I said.

  “You can’t count this as a loophole.”

  “Why would they give them different names if they didn’t mean for them to be two different foods?” I shot back. “I gave up ice cream, not gelato.”

  “They’re different,” Nora said over her shoulder, giving us a flippant glance. “Gelato is ice cream on steroids.”

  “Ice cream on steroids?” Meg raised her eyebrows. “That doesn’t sound like a loophole to me. That sounds like you’re super-sizing breaking the rules.”

  I wanted to argue further but ran out of steam. The day had been exhausting, though I hadn’t accomplished much of anything at all. After the crime scene, I’d poked around on the internet looking for mentions of The Violet Society or Beckett or anything in between. I’d even looked for signs of Robin Hood-style activities that might signal he’d been active lately. I’d been rewarded with nothing.

  Anthony had called to say he’d be late coming home, so I’d needed to occupy my time somehow. So, after my fruitless efforts at research, I’d dragged myself here for dinner. I’d been on ice cream and Anthony withdrawal all day, and I hadn’t decided which was more painful.

  “Lacey, does Marinello’s deliver?” Nora asked.

  “What makes you think I’d know that?”

  She frowned in my direction. “The stream of cars going to your house. I see little delivery men with all sorts of signs above their vehicle. I figured you were a connoisseur.”

  “Go on,” Meg urged. “No use pretending you don’t have it memorized.”

  I recited the number for Marinello’s delivery as Nora dialed. It didn’t exactly make me feel better about myself. I was married now, after all. I should probably be less reliant on Jim, Aaron, and Yong, the delivery men from my favorite eating establishments in no particular order.

  The sound of heavy, calculated footsteps pulled my head up from the glorified picnic table that served as the gathering place. The swinging door opened, the figure there darkly contrasted against the cheery yellow walls of the kitchen.

  “Hubba hubba,” Meg said. “Your man has arrived.”

  Anthony was everything this kitchen was not. The walls were bright while he was dark. The scent of bubbling pasta sauce was light and pleasant, while he smelled of familiar shower gel and expensive cologne.

  He had dressed up, and I wondered if it had anything to do with visiting a crime scene in a church. I wasn’t used to seeing him dressed so spiffy on a normal Sunday night, and I had to admit, Meg was right. He looked fabulous.

  “Can I speak with you a moment, Lace?” he asked, ignoring Meg’s purring noises and kitten fingers. “In private.”

  I let my hand find his, then trailed behind him out of the room. He wound me through the Grand Entrance, up a set of thickly carpeted red steps and into a guest bedroom on the second floor.

  The bed was made, the room decorated like a quaint English B&B. It was one of my favorite rooms in all the mansion.

  “Hi,” I murmured, as he sank onto the bed. It lurched beneath his weight, but it didn’t stop me from going to him.

  “Hello,” he said, his eyes flicking up toward me for the longest moment, drinking me in as he pulled me close.

  He perched on the edge of the bed, his legs falling open wide enough for me to stand between them. I stepped close and cupped one of his cheeks in my palm. My thumb ran across his face, his forehead, his cheek, until Anthony’s eyes closed, and he made a sound almost like the purr of a cat, leaning into my touch.

  My throat closed up ever-so-slightly as I leaned in to press a kiss to his forehead. Then I dusted one more over each of his closed eyes before finally landing on his mouth.

  His lips were familiar, soft, and utter perfection. The warmth spread from our connection, blossoming in my stomach before radiating to the tips of my toes.

  Anthony’s hands came around and locked behind my waist, exploring the curve of my hips. I shivered as his fingertips brushed down over the back of my legs to my knees. Then our kiss halted as he took the moment to readjust.

  Rolling onto the bed, he took me with him, situating me on top. There we languished for a long while, lost in the dizzying swirl of the other. Our breath mixed, and we fitted together like LEGO blocks.

  “For the record, I only wanted to say hello,” Anthony said, his hands running lines down my back, pressing me warmly to him. “That’s why I pulled you away from the others...but this works for me.”

  “This is how I say hello these days. To you.”

  “You won’t find me complaining.”

  I rested my head against his chest, the sound of his heartbeat carrying us through the next moments of silence.

  “If we don’t get down to dinner soon,” he warned. “People will ask questions.”

  “Let them ask.”

  Anthony ran a hand through my hair, his expression softer. I knew that in this moment, he was remembering. Like a switch had flipped, and the subject had changed.

  “Why?” I asked, my fingers gripping at his shirt. “An overdose? I thought he’d had everything going for him.”

  “We don’t know what he was thinking,” Anthony corrected gently. “He was a complicated man.”

  “I suppose,” I said. “But—”

  “We just don’t know.”

  “Okay,” I said, a little surprised at his tone. “All I wanted to suggest was that maybe foul play is involved. There’s got to be a way someone could cover up a murder and make it look like an accident or suicide.”

  “It doesn’t change the fact that he’s dead. It’s not our job to uncover the reason why.”

  “Anthony,” I sat up, circling his wrist with my hand. “But he was our friend. How can you say that?”

  He grasped onto me, holding me on his lap as he inched up to rest his back against the headboard. Springs sagged beneath his weight, and the comforter bunched around his figure.

  “Sugar, men like Beckett are complex, and we—”

  “No.” I pulled back and stood up, shaky as I found the strength to stand. “Don’t mince your words. Say what you mean, Anthony. Men like you. You’re talking like I don’t understand.”

  “That’s not what I was trying to say!”

  “My whole life isn’t sprinkles and rainbows and sugar, contrary to popular belief.”

  “Of course not. Lacey—”

  “I understand what it’s like to be complex. I’m a woman, for crying out loud—we’re complex by our very definition!”

  I turned a little hysterical in there, sounding a bit like a hyena as I snorted a laugh. The emotions were too much, and I was starting to crack.

  “I didn’t want to lose my mom, but I did anyway,” I con
tinued despite the warble in my voice. “Yes, I was heartbroken. I know what it’s like to have a hole inside, something that eats at a person until it consumes them and turns everything that should be bright and sunny into a black virus.”

  I huffed and puffed at the end of my speech. I wasn’t even sure the situation required a speech, but I’d made one anyway. It was frustrating and scary to see everything taken away from a person who I’d liked very much as a friend. Everything he could’ve been—gone, destroyed, lost forever.

  “I’m sorry,” Anthony said simply.

  “No.” I hung my head and shuffled toward the bed. “I should be sorry. You were trying to help, and...it’s been a busy day.”

  “Come here.”

  I curled onto the bed next to him, and we wrapped around one another. My leg over his, my arms around his waist, his lips pressed to my head. We fit so well together.

  “It might not be as simple as it seems,” Anthony murmured against my ear. “I know that. I’m considering it. But while I’m considering that, you have to consider that it might have been. Maybe there was something going on in Beckett’s life we weren’t aware of. Maybe he wanted out, and this was the only way he thought would work. Or, maybe, he was murdered.”

  I nodded. “But the police are calling it suicide. They won’t look into it; they don’t have any reason to suspect things are off. I wouldn’t if I hadn’t known him personally.”

  “Sugar, we’re getting married in a week.” Anthony’s voice was pleading. “Let me take care of it. I’ll have my men look into it. They’ll have everything nailed down once we get back from our honeymoon.”

  “He was our friend, Anthony. Found in the very same place where we’re to be married in a week.”

  “It’s not a sign, Lacey. There’s an explanation for it, and my men will find it.”

  “I’m going to find out.”

  “Lace—”

  “He was our friend.”

  “And now he’s dead.” Anthony’s chocolate eyes caressed me with a gentle gaze. “He’s not coming back, so there is no rush.”

  That did it. My chest hitched, my breath a whoosh of pent up emotions as I let my tears scatter across his shirt. He had on dress slacks and a button-down shirt slightly open at the collar, and my fingers played across his chest, gripped his shirt, held on for dear life as I finally, finally let the emotions of the day seep out.

  “I didn’t even know him that well, and I feel like I’ll miss him.”

  “It’s okay,” Anthony said. “That’s natural. If you didn’t care about people so much, you wouldn’t be crying. But...” he tilted my chin up toward his face. “...I don’t want you to change. This is exactly who I married.”

  The sweetest kiss dried my tears, easing a bit of the sadness back into my chest. I’d deal with it more later when I had the time and space to process.

  “Do you want to skip dinner?” Anthony asked, snuggling deeper into the bed. “I can let Nora know, and we can stay here.”

  “It’s okay.” I sniffed. “I think I’m ready for some frozen ravioli.”

  “I thought she ordered Marinello’s?”

  “Oh.” I sat up in bed. “Yes, yes, she did. There’s gelato for dessert.”

  “I thought you gave up ice cream for Lent.”

  “Gelato is different.”

  “Gelato is ice cream on steroids.”

  “Oh, you Italians,” I said to him. “Stop ruining my game plan.”

  Anthony pulled himself up from the bed and adjusted his clothes so, once again, he looked like the billionaire CEO of some hot new tech company. My mouth went dry, and miraculously, all thoughts of gelato flew out the window.

  “I changed my mind,” I coughed. “I don’t need dinner anymore.”

  Anthony blinked, once, so slowly I had to wonder if he registered what I was saying. His eyes turned to glittering pools of chestnut, dragging a view over my body so piercing it felt like I was standing there naked.

  He gave one more longing glance at the door, then the bed, and sighed. “Don’t test me.”

  “I’m not testing you.”

  In the background, the faint sound of a bell rang, and it startled both of us back to the present.

  “Come on, sugar,” he said, pulling me with him. “Let’s eat, and then I have plans for later.”

  Chapter 6

  I’ll bet a million bucks that Anthony’s plans didn’t include slaving over a seating chart for the next several hours. Then again, neither had mine.

  “Why did we need these charts, anyway?” I asked, some three hours later. “We had the arrangements all sorted out just fine before.”

  It was nearly midnight, and we’d been putzing with little name cards on miniature table diagrams all night. A task made even more difficult by the hulking container of gelato just across the kitchen in the freezer. It’d been whispering to me all night long, and I may or may not have been going insane.

  “We need to have a backup plan,” Nora argued. “Vivian and Joey are on rocky terms right now. He painted her Jeep black without her permission.”

  “That bubblegum Barbie car?” I asked. “Why would he do that?”

  Nora nodded solemnly. “We can’t have them throwing plates at one another. And with Nicky here”— she pointed at the card on the table— “we can’t sit anyone from the Marcucci clan within ten feet of him. I’m still not sure of the details, but they haven’t talked for years, so best to avoid confrontation.”

  “How about this?” I shuffled a few around. “That looks fine to me.”

  But Nora shook her head. “Sorry, no can do. Rumor is that Donny Malone locked up Angelo Marcucci’s brother—cops and criminals, can’t mix the two.”

  I blew out a breath of frustration. “How about we have a legal half of the room and an illegal half?”

  “Oh, honey,” Nora said, shaking her head. “Of course not. It would be completely off balance, and all of the legal folks would feel incredibly left out.”

  Anthony was busy drumming his fingers on the table, as he had been for hours. He’d tried to leave on three different occasions, but Nora had dragged him back by the ear and demanded he ‘be present’ for his own wedding.

  Fine by me, I thought. At least I had something nice to look at while Nora shuffled cards to different tables. Something nice, like his face.

  “Why are you staring at me?” Anthony asked finally. “I don’t care where everyone sits.”

  “Because you’re pretty.” Meg leaned on her arm and looked across the table at him. “And you’re more interesting than this mess of cards on the table. So long as I’m sitting next to Lacey, all is well in my book.”

  “I’m sitting next to Lacey,” Anthony said. “It’s our wedding.”

  “Yeah, but you’re already marr—”

  Nora looked up at Meg, curiosity in her gaze, while I jumped in to save the day. “Marbles,” I said, standing and pulling Anthony with me. “Anthony’s losing his marbles sitting here. Let’s get going before my husband collapses.”

  “Husband-to-be,” Nora corrected. “It doesn’t count until it’s official.”

  “Yes,” I said, grateful this whole ruse would be over shortly. I wasn’t cut out for keeping secrets. “I’m just excited.”

  “Me too!” Nora agreed. “But you have to promise to swing by tomorrow morning. I have a few more details to finalize.”

  I would have sold my biggest wedding cake just to get out of there, so stopping by in the morning was an easy promise to make. We gathered up ourselves, our things, and pushed out the swinging kitchen door before Nora could change her mind.

  “In a hurry?” Harold asked as he spotted us coming down the Hall of Infamy. “Because there’s something I have—”

  “Sorry, Harold,” I said to the family butler. I shot him an apologetic grin. “Can we chat tomorrow? I have—”

  “—to tell you,” Harold finished. “You have company.”

  “Alessandra!” I stopped dead in t
he hallway, staring down to where Harold guarded the front door. “What are you doing here?”

  Anthony’s sister pulled her head up. “Lacey! I didn’t think you’d be here tonight. What a great surprise!”

  “Unfortunately, I’m still here,” I said with a confused shake of my head. “But what about you? I thought you weren’t coming until the rehearsal dinner on Friday.”

  “I got an earlier flight.” She gestured to a baby blue suitcase rolling behind her, and a tiny little purse that probably counted as a carry on. “I gave Nora a call, and she said Harold would let me in since it would be so late when I landed. Hope you don’t mind me barging into your party.”

  “Of course not!” I threw my arms wide and pulled her in for an embrace, wishing I looked half as good as she did. She’d been traveling for hours, while I’d merely been shuffling cards on the table. I stepped back, running a self-conscious hand through my hair, and gestured behind her. “You traveled so lightly.”

  “I’m used to traveling these days.” She smiled, perfect teeth complimenting a near-flawless face. Deep brown hair shimmered in a ponytail, the light glinting off it. “For my job.”

  “Come on back to the kitchen,” I said, gesturing behind me. “Everyone’s in here.”

  “There he is...” Alessandra stepped past me. “How are you, Anthony?”

  I watched the siblings embrace and, if nothing else, felt a sudden burst of gratitude for the seating charts. Without them, we would’ve missed Alessandra’s arrival. For the first time all day, Anthony smiled.

  Alessandra and Anthony were so clearly related it was ridiculous I hadn’t noticed it the second we’d met. With her gorgeous features, she stood tall and slender while he was tall and sturdy. They had the same eyes, filled with difficult to read expressions, and they both kept all emotions buried well beneath the surface.

  We’d kept in touch regularly since she’d gone back to California, and I’d insisted she be a bridesmaid in my wedding. I surveyed her closely, wondering what could possibly be different. It was something subtle, something barely changed, but it was there.