Staying Single. Millie Criswell

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СКАЧАТЬ before returning to face the music—translation: Josephine’s ranting about what an ungrateful daughter she had.

      Unfortunately the time before that—the first time, when Francie had fled the arms of the unfortunate Marty Ragusa, “Philadelphia’s only undertaker with panache,” as he called himself on those stupid TV commercials he appeared in—Leo had picked Pittsburgh. It hadn’t been far enough away from Philadelphia or her mother, who had tracked her down like a bloodhound with a nose bent on revenge.

      Josephine’s anger had given new meaning to the term “pissed off.” Though Francie wasn’t entirely certain that her mother hadn’t been more upset about losing her discount on funerals and burial plots than losing Marty for a son-in-law.

      Patting his daughter’s hand reassuringly, John leaned over and smiled lovingly. The scent of Old Spice washed over Francie, conjuring up many good childhood memories, including her dad pushing her on the backyard swing or helping with division and multiplication problems.

      “Don’t be nervous, cara mia. Soon this will be over and you’ll be married and settled down. It’s the right thing to do, you’ll see. And it will make your mother very happy. You know how she’s waited for this day.”

      The second coming paled by comparison!

      Francie adored her father and wanted to agree with him; she wanted that more than anything. But words of reassurance stuck in her throat like oversize peanuts and all she could offer up was a gaseous smile and a deer-in-the-headlights look.

      Behind her, red-haired Joyce Rialto, her best friend since first grade, muttered, “Uh-oh,” and then began cursing obscenities beneath her breath.

      Joyce knew Francie a little too well, unfortunately.

      “I’m sorry, Pop, but I don’t think I can go through with this. I’m just not ready to get married. I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready.”

      John’s eyes widened momentarily, then he looked down the long aisle to where his wife was sitting in the first pew, the smile on her face suddenly melting as she noticed his resigned, worried expression.

      “Your car’s out back. I gassed it up, just in case, and left some money in the glove box.”

      Joyce wasn’t the only one who knew her well.

      Warmed by the gesture, Francie kissed her father’s cheek. “I love you, Pop. Thanks! I hope Ma doesn’t give you too bad a time of it.”

      John glanced quickly at his wife again and groaned inwardly, noting that her frown had deepened and she was staring daggers at him. “Don’t kiss me again! Your mother will think I’m in on this, and then there’ll be hell to pay. Now go, if you’re going. I’ll handle your mother. I’ve been doing it for thirty-five years, haven’t I?”

      Francie knew her father spoke with more bravado than he felt. It wasn’t that her dad was a coward; it was just that…well, he was married to Josephine.

      “Yes, and you’re still relatively sane. I love you!”

      Despite his warning, she kissed him again, then turned and, with an apologetic smile at Joyce, her younger sister, Lisa, who was grinning widely at her, and the other two bridesmaids, who merely groaned before waving and wishing her good luck, hightailed it out of the church and into the warm September sunshine.

      MARK FIELDING was late.

      He should have been at St. Mary’s Catholic Church twenty-five minutes ago for his stepbrother’s wedding to perform his duties as best man. Matt was counting on him.

      But his flight from the Philippines, where he’d been on assignment as a photojournalist with the Associated Press for the past six months, had been delayed, and the traffic on Interstate 95 from the airport into the city had been horrific. And to complicate matters, his cell phone wasn’t working. Mark cursed his stupidity in not remembering to recharge the battery, though lack of sleep had played a significant role in rendering him temporarily stupid.

      Spotting the brick church up ahead, he looked for a place large enough to park his SUV and shook his head at the impossibility of the situation. As he did, the heavy walnut doors to the church flew open and a woman dressed in full bridal regalia, veil blowing back to reveal dark hair and a very pretty face, ran out and down the steps.

      This had to be his new sister-in-law.

      What was her name? Frances? Fiona? Florence?

      Applying the brake, he reached out to grab the camera on the seat next to him, rolled down the window and began snapping photos, while he recited all the F names he knew.

      For the life of him, Mark couldn’t remember her name. He’d never met his little brother’s fiancée and hadn’t been enamored of the idea that Matt was getting married so quickly after meeting the woman just three short months ago.

      Hell, he knew dogs who’d had longer courtships!

      And what was that saying? Marry in haste…

      “Shit! I’m too late. I missed the wedding. They’re already married.”

      A thousand apologies raced through his mind until the realization hit him that his brother hadn’t followed his bride out of the church, nor had any of the relatives, including his dad and stepmother. They should have been waiting on the church steps to greet the happy couple with rice or birdseed or whatever the hell it was that folks used these days to pelt happy couples all in the name of good luck.

      Setting the camera aside, he double-parked his green Ford Explorer and watched his brother’s new bride lift her wedding dress off the ground, displaying a pair of rather nice legs, then disappear around the side of the church, looking over her shoulder a few times as if to make sure no one was following.

      Why was the bride so anxious to leave?

      And where the hell was his brother?

      Suddenly, Mark got a really bad feeling in the pit of his stomach that had nothing to do with the dry turkey sandwich he’d eaten on the plane a few hours before. He made it a point to always heed his gut instincts; they’d never steered him wrong in the past.

      And Mark knew his brother to be the sensitive sort, who wore his heart on his sleeve and romanticized every little thing about his relationships. Hadn’t he warned Matt that wearing rose-colored glasses would get him into trouble one day?

      Marry in haste…repent at leisure.

      He’d been the romantic once, before he’d woken up to the fact that women of today weren’t interested in commitment or long-term relationships, and that they didn’t know their own minds.

      It was slam, bam, thank you, mister!

      Mark’s recent relationships had left him unfulfilled. The sex had been great. But sex without commitment was just…well, sex.

      He wanted more than that. He wanted what his parents had—love, trust, someone to share a life with.

      But all he’d gotten so far was a swift kick in the butt and feeble explanations of the “I’m not ready to commit yet” sort. Mark was all kinds of a fool to even think he’d meet anyone interested in making a life with him.

      Women, СКАЧАТЬ