Staying Single Page 13

  Francie dropped back down in the chair. Her nonconformist, live-life-to-the-fullest little sister was dating a banker? Something was terribly wrong. Lisa was a free spirit who said what she thought and did what she wanted, without giving a whit about convention. She was not the stuff of a staid banker's wife, and Francie worried about Lisa's motives.

  Pleasing your parents was one thing, but ruining your life was quite another. Francie was somewhat of an expert when it came to that.

  "I don't believe you. You've never dated anyone normal in your life. Shall I go down the list?"

  Lisa shrugged. "If you like."

  "Let's see…there was the female impersonator— the bisexual female impersonator, I might add—the Shakespearean actor with a lisp… And we shouldn't forget the auto mechanic from Brooklyn who called Mom his love kitten. Major gag." Francie rolled her eyes. "I could go on, but I'll spare you."

  Lisa began talking, as if Francie had never spoken. "Alex comes from a very good family."

  "Have you met them yet?"

  "Well, no. But I know they live in Florida and have oodles and oodles of money. They own a yacht and live on some waterway."

  "You can't swim, so the yacht shouldn't impress you that much. And how do you know you'll like them? After all, if you marry the guy, you'll be stuck with his family, too. They could be major snobs."

  "Like you considered that before almost jumping into three marriages. And I assume that the new love of your life, about whom you've been talking nonstop, is Mark Fielding, since you've done nothing but brag about how good he is in bed."

  "Quit exaggerating, Lisa. I haven't been talking about Mark nonstop." Have I? She may have mentioned Mark a time or two—okay, maybe ten or fifteen times, max—but nonstop? Her younger sister was prone to embellishment. And gossip. No doubt Lisa, Leo and Joyce had been discussing Francie's love life without pausing for breath.

  "And just what, Miss Hot Pants, do you know about his family?"

  Sipping her iced tea, Francie paused at Lisa's question, thoughtful for a moment. "Not much, actually. But we haven't known each other very long. I don't want to rush into anything this time, Lisa. I want to be sure before I take the next step, which is why you are not going to tell Mom or Dad about what I've just told you."

  Lisa's face fell. "Damn! That's not fair. You know Mom is going to try and get all of the details out of me." She placed the sandwiches on the table and sat next to Francie. "Mom warned me of that when she heard you were going out with Mark. She was so thrilled that she ran down to the church and lit a candle for you."

  Suitably horrified, Francie replied, "Nevertheless, you are not to say a word. Promise me. If Mom finds out that I'm interested in Mark she will drag me down to Jacob's Bridal again to buy another wedding dress, and I'm just not ready for that."

  "Too bad. She's working on a buy-three-get-one-free deal."

  Francie just stared back without saying a word.

  "All right. But you can't tell her what I told you about Alex, either. If we decide to get married, it'll be at the spur of the moment. I'm not going to have Josephine Morelli put me through what she's put you through. That would make me totally nuts."

  "But if you run off without saying a word, she'll be scared to death. You have to promise to leave Mom a note. It would be cruel not to."

  "Oh, all right. I'll send her a telegram from Las Vegas. I'm going to find the tackiest wedding chapel I can and have the wedding performed there. I may even go to that drive-up one that I saw on Entertainment Tonight."

  "Or the chapel with the Elvis impersonator. That would be a hoot."

  Lisa made a face of disgust before taking another bite of her sandwich. "No. Elvis was too much of a pervert. I don't want someone like that performing my ceremony, even if he can sing "The Hawaiian Wedding Song"."

  "I mean, did you see the way he made that poor Priscilla wear her hair? She should have divorced him right on the spot, after she looked at herself in the mirror. I won't even get into the eye makeup. Scary, stuff."

  "Dad was right—you have a peculiar way of looking at things."

  "And you don't? One day you're marrying Matt Carson and the next you're in bed with some hot guy with major pecs, who you now think you're in love with. How does he feel about you?"

  "Mark told me that he thought he was falling in love with me."

  "Was that before or after he nailed you?"

  Francie grinned and blushed at the same time. "After. It was very romantic, as I recall." And she recalled every exquisite detail.

  Who knew she was a screamer?

  "Well, sexual compatibility is very important, that's for sure. And from what you've said, you've got no complaints in that department. So maybe it'll work out this time. After all, practice makes perfect. And three times is a lot of practice."

  Francie mulled over what she was going to say next, silently debating whether or not she should confide in her sister. After a few moments she blurted, "Have you ever had oral sex, Lisa?"

  Lisa's mouth opened and closed, like a floundering fish out of water, and then she replied, somewhat incredulously, "What kind of a question is that? Of course, I have. Why? Are you one of those prudes who doesn't believe in—"

  "I just had it for the first time," Francie interrupted, feeling her cheeks redden.

  "What?" Her sister's eyes rounded in surprise. "What the hell have you been doing with all those bozos you've been engaged to? I can't believe you were actually going to marry someone who wouldn't give you the big tongue." Lisa shook her head, a look of disgust on her face. "Not good, France. Sometimes I wonder which one of us is really the older sister."

  "So I haven't slept around much. Sue me. And you needn't sound so imperious just because you go to bed with every Tom, Dick and Harry that you meet."

  Lisa grinned. "So I take it you were pleased with Mark's performance in the cunnilingus area." She flicked her tongue in and out of her mouth rapidly, like a lizard on speed. "Did you do him, too?"

  "You are totally disgusting. I don't know why I tell you anything."

  "Because your friend Joyce has a bigger mouth than I do. Well, did you?"

  "I'm not telling you. It's none of your business." As a matter of fact, Francie had reciprocated and enjoyed the experience very much, but she sure as heck wasn't going into detail with her sister.

  And Lisa thought Elvis was a pervert!

  Ha! That was rich.

  13

  "I think we should get married!"

  Staring at Mark in disbelief, Francie set down the large aluminum pot she'd just filled with water with such force that she nearly dropped it on her foot.

  She was making spaghetti and meatballs—her mom's recipe, so she knew it would be good—cooking dinner for Mark for the first time, in the hope of making a good impression. But apparently he was already impressed.

  And all she had done was—

  Man, she must have been better at it than she thought!

  They'd spent every waking moment together since the night when they'd made love over a week ago. And when they weren't having lunch, dinner or making love, they were on the phone, talking about everything and nothing.

  It was wonderful and very romantic. But still, she had never expected a proposal.

  "You're kidding, right? We don't know each other all that well. I mean, I know you said that you were hoping to find a wife someday, but I never thought you meant me." Not that she hadn't been obsessed with the idea, but only in her less rational moments, such as when she was in his arms.

  He came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her middle and kissing the nape of her neck, which sent goose bumps up and down her spine. She inhaled the spicy scent of his aftershave and sighed deeply. The man had the power to heat her blood to boiling.

  "I've compromised your reputation, so I think we should get married."

  She turned in his arms and the first thing she saw was his smile. "Now I know you're kidding." Relief washed through her, as well as
disappointment.

  "I love you, which is the real reason I think we should get married. I've thought long and hard about this, Francie, and it feels right. We're good together, and you know it. Why wait? Neither one of us is getting any younger."

  "As my mother is fond of pointing out," Francie said, shutting off the stove. Taking Mark by the hand, she led him into the empty living room.

  Leo, the world's biggest romantic, had graciously bowed out of the apartment this evening when he'd heard who she was entertaining. "Fingers crossed," he'd said with a rakish wink.

  Well, it was obvious she didn't need luck in landing Mark. It seemed she had him hook, line and sinker.

  If she wanted Mark, and that was a very big if.

  "Before this conversation goes any further, Mark, there are a few things you should be made aware of."

  "What's that?" he said, sitting next to her on the sofa and reaching for her hand. "I already know everything there is to know about you. You can't scare me off, so don't even try."

  She squeezed his hand, wondering if she was being totally stupid and irrational. Mark was a great guy, and she loved him. If she married him, it would solve a lot of problems; mainly, getting her mother off her back. Not that that was a great reason to get married, but it was certainly a viable consideration.

  Sanity was too good a commodity to waste!

  But her past was something she found difficult to overcome, if she ever could. She loved Mark and would not be unfair to him. "I'm not good at getting married, Mark. I've tried it three different times, with three different grooms, and with the same three disastrous results."

  "I've yet to make it stick. I chicken out at the last minute, get cold feet, whatever you want to call it. I'm just not a good marital risk. And I don't think—"

  "You think too much, if you ask me. You told me you loved me. Well, I love you, too, and that seems like a good enough reason to get married. And you've already admitted that you weren't in love with those other men you were engaged to. So why not try marrying someone you love? I'm a firm believer in fate, and if fate has sent you to me, then I don't think I can ignore that."

  "But you're a romantic, Mark. You're not thinking clearly about this."

  "You're wrong, Francie. I've thought a lot about it. I've been dumped in the past, so I'm as leery as the next guy about getting hurt. But I'm willing to take the chance. Remember the Abba song, 'Take A Chance on Me'? Well, that's what I'm doing, only I'm taking a chance on us."

  Reaching into his pocket, he brought forth a small blue-velvet box and handed it to her. "I'm thinking with my heart, not my head, and you should be, too. Will you marry me, Francie?"

  Francie's hands were shaking as she forced open the lid and stared at a large, round, brilliant cut diamond set in a gold band. "It's beautiful." But she'd had lovely engagement rings before. Well, maybe not this lovely and large, but lovely nonetheless.

  "Marry me."

  She snapped the case shut, blocking out his plea and the significance of what the ring meant, and handed it back to him, hoping she was doing the right thing. "I need more time to think about your proposal. I'm honored you want to marry me, and I do love you, that's true. But I can't give you an answer right now. It wouldn't be fair to either one of us. I refuse to make another commitment and run away like a frightened child again. I promised myself that I wouldn't. And if I can't keep a promise to myself, then how can I keep one to you?"

  "I understand, and I'm willing to give you some time."

  Her eyes widened. "You do? You will?"

  He nodded. "There are things I need to explain to you, as well, Francie, but I won't get into them right now. When you're sure of what you want to do, and if you say yes to my proposal, then we'll discuss them. I want to be honest about everything that concerns us."

  "Do you have a sordid past that you haven't told me about?"

  He smiled softly, caressing her cheek. "Not exactly, but there are things, important matters, that we need to get out in the open."

  Francie was consumed with curiosity, but she wouldn't press Mark for answers now. That would hardly be fair, since he was allowing her time to make a decision.

  "Even though I'm letting you off the hook for now," Mark said, as if reading her mind, "that doesn't mean I'm not going to pull out all the stops to get you to change your mind. I want you to know that."

  Thinking that what he'd said was terribly sweet, and very committed, Francie smiled, asking, "What kind of stops?"

  "You'll see. It wouldn't be good to reveal my strategy. I'd rather take you by surprise."

  Wrapping her arms around his neck, she kissed him passionately. "I like the sound of that. It conjures up all sorts of sexual fantasies. Oh, dear," she said, gazing down at his lap with a wicked smile, "I see you have some, too."

  He smiled back with intensity in his eyes that she hadn't seen before. "Paybacks will be hell, Ms. Morelli. I promise you that."

  "I'm ready and waiting, Mr. Fielding."

  But Francie had no idea of what she was letting herself in for, and she wasn't prepared for the onslaught that began early the following morning with a visit from her mother.

  "I just heard the wonderful news and I had to come right over," Josephine said as she came barreling through the front door, eyeing her daughter, who was still garbed in her robe and slippers. Which made sense, when you considered it was still seven in the morning and Francie didn't have to be at work for two more hours.

  "Why didn't you tell me that Mark had proposed, you naughty girl? When do you want to go to the bridal store and pick out your wedding dress? They're going to give me a wonderful discount because I've bought so many there. Mrs. Jacob told me I was one of their best customers."

  It was a wonder Mrs. Jacob wasn't giving her mother the entire store, or at least the dress for free. And it wouldn't have hurt the woman to toss in a few bridesmaid's dresses, as well. After all, Josephine had purchased three wedding gowns from the store-owner. It was the least Mrs. Jacob could do to show her appreciation.

  Josephine clutched her daughter's face between her hands and squeezed, then kissed her on the lips. "You've made me so happy, Francesca. A mother's prayer has been answered." She crossed herself, giving thanks to the Almighty, who she was sure was in her corner this time.

  Francie felt sick to her stomach. "Ma, wait! You're getting ahead of yourself. Who, may I ask, have you been talking to?" As if she didn't know.

  I'd rather take you by surprise. Well, Mark sure as hell had. Josephine was quite a surprise at seven o'clock in the morning, or any time of day, really.

  Her mother beamed. "Why, my future son-in-law, Mark, of course. Who else? That wonderful boy called me this morning to tell me that he had proposed and that you wanted some more time to decide. So I came over to help you make the right decision."

  "Of course, there is only one decision you can make, Francie. You will marry him. Mark is a wonderful man, a piece of bread. You don't find many like him, and such a hard worker. And your children!" She kissed her fingertips. "Bellisimo! They will be so beautiful. At last I will have grandchildren. I am so very happy."

  Francie headed for the kitchen and the coffeepot, her mother close on her heels. She filled two ceramic mugs, handing one to her mother, who promptly doctored hers with cream and sugar.

  "It's too risky," Francie said. "I don't think I can do it. What if I mess up again? What if I can't get through the ceremony, like the last three times? I don't think I could live with myself, if that happened. This time it's different. I love Mark. I couldn't bear to disappoint or hurt him."

  "Mark loves you, too, Francie. He told me so. And I already know you love him. I can see it in your eyes whenever you speak about him. What else do you need? It's what was missing those other times. I shouldn't have pushed you so hard before into making a decision. I can see now it was a mistake. But I thought I was doing the right thing, that you were just being stubborn."

  "But you're doing that very same thing n
ow, .Ma. Don't you see? I'm not ready to make a decision about something so important that will affect the rest of my life. I need more time. Mark understands that. And you need to understand it, too."

  Her mother dismissed her words with a wave of her hand. "Sure, sure. Take some time. By tomorrow you will have it all sorted out. I prayed for you, Francie, and so has Father Scaletti."

  Of that, Francie had no doubt. The priest announced last week that they were putting a new roof on the church, and she was fairly positive that the Morellis were the ones who had paid for it, three times over. Soon they would be changing the name of the church from St. Mary's to St. Josephine's, in honor of her mother.

  Still beaming, as if Francie hadn't spoken a word, Josephine stood and walked to the door. "I've got to go now. I'm meeting with four caterers this afternoon. One is a little more expensive than we wanted to pay, but so what? A wedding isn't the time to be cheap. I explained that to your father."

  "And tomorrow there's the florist. And I need to order the invitations. So much to be done, and we still need to set a date. Mark said it was up to you. I'll call you later. Maybe you'll know something by then." With that, she was gone, leaving Francie with a throbbing headache and murderous thoughts.

  Mark was going to be killed, that was her first order of business right after she got dressed and went to work.

  Ted had been leaving frantic messages on her voice mail for the past two days, wondering why she had been working at home so much, and on the Fielding account exclusively, neglecting her other duties. He needed to talk to her, he'd said.

  Francie hadn't had the courage to tell her boss that she'd been working under Mr. Fielding, so to speak, not on his account. So she wasn't looking forward to this morning's encounter, which would probably be grim.

  When she entered her office, it was to find her desktop littered with messages and paperwork that the receptionist hadn't bothered to take care of, as she'd previously been instructed. The incompetent woman would have never considered calling back the clients and trying to work out the problems, or to let Ted handle them. That would have been too much to ask of Gloria Sanchez.