Staying Single Page 2

  Women, he'd discovered the hard way, were duplicitous, selfish and self-serving. And he was damn sick and tired of it. So much so that if he found out that his brother's new bride was of a similar ilk, there was going to be hell to pay. He'd make damn sure of that.

  "You naughty girl! I had a sick feeling that something would go wrong today. Of course, I base that on three years of living with you. Cold feet again, huh?"

  Leo's familiar face warmed Francie's heart as she ripped off her veil, pulled aside the voluminous folds of white organza and lace that made up the skirt of her wedding gown and sat next to him at the small round table, waving and smiling at Manny, who was across the deli preparing a customer's order.

  "Hey, Francie!" Manny called. "What's this one make? Number three, right? And you call your mother The Terminator." He threw back his head and laughed, then added, "I'm just glad I got over my crush on you when I was seventeen, or I'd have ended up a ruined man."

  Francie smiled weakly. "You got my pastrami on rye ready? I can't stick around here long. My mother will be on my trail in no time."

  "Leo's got everything. I'm just finishing up his take-out order. It'll be just a few more minutes."

  Francie's roommate reached out and clasped her hand, his touch as comforting as always. Next to Joyce, Leo was her best friend. Not only did they share an apartment, they shared confidences, relationship problems and Leo's obsession with dining out.

  "Tell me what happened, sweetie. I really thought Matt had a chance. He's just so adorable. But I digress. Apparently you don't find him as attractive as I do." He grinned and the cleft in his chin dimpled.

  Heaving a sigh, Francie replied, "Matt's wonderful. I like him a lot. He's handsome, successful—a great guy. But I don't love him, and that's the problem. I'm just not ready to take that final step. I don't want to spend the rest of my life with someone I don't love."

  If she ever decided to get married—and that was a big if, and not at all likely, especially after today—she wanted to find a man who would knock her socks off, sweep her off her feet and make her fall madly in love. Since no such man existed, on this planet anyway, Francie felt relatively safe from the strangulation…um, bonds of matrimony.

  "I take it there was no spark between you two."

  "His kisses were nice, but…" She shook her head, wondering if her expectations were too high. Maybe those tingles, that quickening of the heartbeat and sweaty palms she'd been reading about didn't really exist.

  "Bells and whistles didn't go off?"

  "Exactly. I'm just glad Matt was willing to wait to consummate our relationship. I sort of insisted we delay until the honeymoon and…"

  Leo's grin was lascivious. "Hey, maybe he's gay."

  "You're incorrigible, Leo. Matt seems very straight to me. He's just a nice guy, who made the mistake of falling in love with the wrong woman…namely me. And now I've hurt him terribly, and I hate myself for it."

  "I should have never let my mother browbeat me into marriage. This obsession she has about me getting married is unhealthy…for both of us."

  Josephine's greatest aspiration in life was to see her two daughters married and settled down, preferably with five or six children that she could dote on, but she'd take two if push came to shove.

  Her mother had spent years saving for Francie's wedding—now weddings—making elaborate plans, buying not one, but three fabulous dresses, finding not one, but three perfect, in her estimation, grooms. And knowing how much all this meant to her mother, Francie had a difficult time bursting her bubble.

  Did she say Josephine had turned meddling into an art form? Try manipulation. She was even better at that.

  "So, just say no."

  Francie rolled her eyes at the absurdity of Leo's suggestion. "Have you ever tried saying no to my mother? Josephine is like a steamroller, leveling everything in her path. She never gives up, just keeps at me until all I want her to do is shut up and leave me alone. In the end I always relent, and she knows it. I've done it all my life. I'm programmed for it. Twenty-nine years old, and I'm pathetic."

  Nodding in understanding, Leo squeezed her hand gently. "I know, sweetie. But there's going to come a day when you'll have to stand up to Josephine. I think if you do, she'll back down."

  "Really?" A tiny kernel of hope blossomed in Francie's chest, reflecting in her voice. "Do you think so, Leo?"

  Apology filling his dark eyes, he shook his head. "No. But it sounds like good advice. You can't keep allowing your mother to control your life, Francie. These trips to the altar are not only emotionally taxing, they're expensive."

  She sighed at the truth of his words, knowing her job with Ted Baxter Promotions didn't pay that well. Not enough to keep up with recent expenditures, anyway. "Where am I going this time?"

  "Niagara Falls. I thought there was a nice irony to it."

  Her eyes widened in disbelief. "Niagara F… You're kidding, right? I'll be hanging out with honeymooners, couples making cooing noises at each other. I may have to throw up."

  "It was the cheapest destination I could find. Your Visa is about maxed out, thanks to all that junk you purchased for your honeymoon."

  "It was expensive lingerie, not junk. And that just goes to show you that I had every intention of going through with the wedding. I never set out to hurt Matt and ruin his life, not to mention my own."

  "He'll get over it. They all do. Marty Ragusa is marrying a former Victoria's Secret model, so I think his heart has mended."

  "That's good. I'm happy to hear it." And relieved.

  It lessened the guilt she felt a wee bit. "I'm not sure Michael Maxwell has fared as well. Last I heard the poor man was wandering the Australian Outback, trying to find himself."

  "He'll probably find a kangaroo instead, which will match his personality to a T. What you saw in that bozo is beyond me. The man was dull, dull, dull."

  Francie shook her head and sighed. "I'm a terrible person, Leo. I've hurt so many people."

  "Not terrible, sweetie, just spineless. You'll do better the next time."

  She shook her head adamantly, and with a mutinous expression plastered on her face, said, "I'm not doing this again! I will never let my mother push me into another marriage. I have almost married for the last time. I've decided to remain a bachelorette. I'll date, have sex, just enjoy the hell out of my life, but I'm never going to walk down the aisle again."

  No more engagements. No more weddings. No way!

  2

  It was the most depressing wedding reception Mark had ever attended, and he'd been to some strange ones in his thirty-four years.

  Of course, unhappiness tended to set in when there was no bride in attendance.

  But Steve and Laura Fielding had decided that since the reception at the Hyatt Regency was already paid for, thirty pounds of fresh shrimp stood to go to waste—not to mention massive amounts of liquor— and Matt hadn't wanted to disappoint his high school and college buddies, many of whom had traveled great distances to be with him on his special day, the reception would go on as planned.

  Mark's stepmom had always been a practical woman—practical, loving and wise. After his mother had died in a tragic car accident, Mark had lucked out the day his father had found such a wonderful woman to marry and to make a new life with.

  Mark had been four years old at the time of Helena Fielding's death, and six by the time his dad had remarried his former secretary, Laura Carson. And he had never felt anything but love and kindness from the pretty petite blonde.

  Laura had stepped into her role as his mother with enthusiasm and caring, giving Mark all the love and attention he craved. And even though she had a son of her own, two years his junior by a previous marriage, Mark had never felt slighted or the need to compete with his stepbrother. In fact, he and Matt were as close as or closer than brothers who'd been delivered from the same womb.

  Sporting his brother seated at a table across the large ballroom, the lights of the crystal chandelier glitter
ing down upon him, illuminating his cheerless expression, Mark moved to join him.

  Sympathetic friends and family had surrounded Matt all evening, making it impossible for Mark to have a serious discussion about the flighty woman in white satin who'd deserted his little brother.

  Trisha Yearwood's version of "How Will I Live?" blared from the DJ's oversize speakers, and Mark thought it a fitting tune for the occasion—maudlin without being overly sickening.

  Pulling out a chair, he sat. "I'm sorry as hell about all this, Matt, but I guess you already know that."

  Matt, who'd already consumed four beers and was halfway through his fifth, looked up and nodded, his slightly crooked smile sad. "I never saw it coming, Mark. It was love at first sight, a whirlwind courtship. Francie seemed so perfect for me. I thought for sure that she loved me as much as I loved her." He heaved a deep sigh. "Guess I was wrong."

  Noting the hurt in his brother's eyes, the slump to his shoulders, Mark cursed softly under his breath, wishing he had Francesca Morelli in front of him at that moment.

  Didn't the woman have a conscience?

  Didn't the selfish bitch know how much she had hurt Matt?

  Didn't she care?

  Obviously the answer was no, on all three counts.

  Grabbing one of the Bud Lights, he popped it open and downed the liquid in one gulp. "I haven't had much luck with women, bro. I find them to be heartless creatures with a phobia to commit."

  "You're probably right. Francie's run before. A mutual friend told me that she'd left her two previous fiancés at the altar. Even so, I never expected it to happen to me. Guess I was stupid to think it'd be different this time."

  Mark's look was incredulous. His brother was even more naive than he thought. "You knew this about the woman and still you wanted to marry her? Unbelievable."

  "I loved her. Still do, as a matter of fact. Love is funny like that. It blinds you to people's flaws, makes you do crazy things. You've never been in love, so you wouldn't know what I'm talking about, Mark."

  Wrong! Mark knew in spades. He'd been in love once, with the faithless Nicole Gordon. The woman had cheated on him, lied about it, ripped out his heart and stomped all over it with her four-inch heels, then married the bastard with whom she'd been having the affair.

  Mark knew all he wanted to know about women.

  "You shouldn't have rushed into marriage, Matt. Three months is not long enough to get to know someone you intend to spend the rest of your life with."

  "You're not trying to give me advice, are you?" Matt shook his head. "Not with your track record and failure rate? Unfriggingbelievable."

  "Touché. But you looked like you needed some advice and cheering up, so here I am." Grinning, Mark knocked his brother on the arm. "Come on, bro. Buck up. You dodged a bullet today, if you ask me. Obviously this Francie isn't in her right mind if she's willing to give up a great guy like you. And what do you really know about her?"

  "She comes from a large Italian family. Josephine and John Morelli are nice people, though the mother is a bit controlling."

  "I take it Josephine was the harridan in the blue dress that kept screaming and wailing that this couldn't be happening again, then crossing herself in front of the altar and vowing revenge?"

  Matt finally smiled. "That's the one. Josephine's a bit high-strung. She drives Francie nuts. I admit I was a bit apprehensive about having her for a mother-in-law, but Francie assured me that her mom's bark is worse than her bite, which is good, because the woman seemed a bit rabid at times."

  "I take it Francie doesn't live with her parents, then?"

  "She's got an apartment near Rittenhouse Square. Lives with some guy named Leo Bergmann. He has money, apparently."

  Mark's brow lifted. "Maybe he's the reason she's hesitant to wed. Maybe they've got something going."

  "I've met Leo. He's a really nice guy, but women aren't his thing, if you get my drift."

  "Gotcha. So, what does Francie do for a living? Does she have a job?"

  "She works at a small public relations firm downtown."

  "Which one?"

  Mart's brow wrinkled in confusion. "Why are you asking so many questions about Francie? It's a bit moot at this point, don't you think? It's over. I only allow myself one public humiliation in a lifetime."

  Sipping his beer, Mark tried to look nonchalant. He had his reasons for asking the probing questions. If he had anything to say about it—and he was pretty sure he did—Francie Morelli had dumped her last groom.

  Of course, he didn't intend to let his lovesick brother in on his plan, which was just starting to take shape.

  It was time someone taught this Morelli woman a lesson, gave her a bit of her own medicine, so she could experience just how rotten it was to play with other people's emotions and lives.

  At the moment he wasn't sure how, but he intended to extract a pound of flesh for what his brother had gone through.

  An eye for an eye. A wedding for a wedding. A bride for a groom.

  The doorbell buzzed three times and Francie froze, a sick feeling forming in the pit of her stomach.

  "Please, God, don't let it be my mother!"

  Her mother knew, by osmosis, voodoo or tarot readings that Francie was back in town. How she knew, Francie wasn't certain. The woman had a sixth sense when it came to her children, and Francie lived in fear that Josephine was standing on the other side of her apartment door, waiting to pounce.

  "Francie, it's me. Open up. I know you're in there."

  Releasing the bream she was holding, Francie unlocked the door to find her sister in mid-knock. Lisa was wearing jeans and a red T-shirt, her long black hair pulled back in a ponytail. She looked understated and chic. Not that Lisa would care. Her sister wasn't into fashion. And she had no idea how attractive she was, which was a big part of her charm.

  Smiling smugly, Lisa, all one hundred and ten pounds of her, pushed her way in with the same determination as a three-hundred-pound linebacker. "Thought it was Ma, huh? Well, that's what you get for sneaking out of town and letting the rest of us take the heat. Dealing with The Terminator wasn't pretty, I can tell you that. This past week has been pure hell. It's a wonder Dad still has his hearing. I had no idea that Mom's vocabulary had grown so much. She used curse words that even I've never heard of."

  Francie sighed. "Sorry to put you and Dad through that, but I've had my own week of hell."

  "Oh, well, that makes me feel a bit better then. Not!" Lisa plopped down on the red leather sofa studded with brass tacks and reached for the bowl of toffee peanuts Leo always left on the coffee table.

  Lisa ate like a pig and never gained an ounce: Fran-tie thought it was extremely unfair. She had cellulite in places she didn't want to think about.

  "How come your week was so bad?" Lisa asked between munches.

  "Niagara Falls. Need I say more?"

  Her sister burst out laughing, nearly choking on a nut in the process. "Leo's got a great sense of humor, I'll give him that. Got any diet Coke? These nuts are making me thirsty."

  "In the fridge. And I don't see anything remotely funny about it," Francie called after her sister, who had headed off to the kitchen in search of a soda. "I didn't laugh the entire time I was there." Though she did a great deal of crying and soul-searching.

  Being surrounded by happy, loving couples had been torturous for Francie, who didn't believe she would ever marry someone she loved, much less make it to the honeymoon portion. Not that she wanted to. But still…

  She'd had three opportunities and blown them all—the opportunities, not the…

  Whatever!

  And she still had mixed feelings about the matrimonial state. The idea of living the rest of her life alone was depressing, but not enough to make her want to saddle herself to some man just for the sake of companionship or, God forbid, to make her mother happy.

  Not that such a thing was possible!

  Josephine rained down gloom and doom wherever she went and could alway
s find the negative in any given situation.

  At any rate, Francie thought, staying single wasn't the worst thing that could happen. She still had her health, friends…a good job.

  Oh, God! She was starting to sound like her mother!

  Shoot me now!

  So what if she never met Mr. Right or had children?

  The whole marriage and family thing was entirely overrated. She knew hype when she heard it. Since working in publicity and promotion, she could B.S. with the best of them.

  And twenty-nine wasn't exactly spinsterish.

  Okay, so Aunt Flo wasn't married and had turned into a miserable shrew, which was a nice way of saying that the woman was a raving bitch.

  But that didn't mean anything.

  Aunt Flo probably hadn't had sex in a billion years, which no doubt accounted for her sour disposition. And she had that knuckle-cracking thing going against her.

  Francie's dry spell had been long, but not that long.

  "I leave you alone for two minutes and you look like you've lost your best friend. What's wrong?" Lisa handed Francie a soda, then sat back down on the sofa. "I'm all ears, if you care to share the ugly details."

  Francie heaved a dispirited sigh. "My life's a mess, Lisa. I've ruined three relationships and hurt some very nice men in the process. I'm confused about what it is I want from life, mad at Mom for putting me in this situation, over and over again, and I've gained three pounds. I'm miserable, not to mention, bloated."

  "So you're a bitch. Get over it." Grinning at Francie's blossoming outrage, Lisa added, "Just kidding." Stuffing a throw pillow behind her head, she reclined on the sofa, not bothering to remove her shoes.

  Where Francie was a neatnik, Lisa was somewhat of a slob. Sharing a bedroom with her as a teenager had been a nightmare. Francie had never known where candy wrappers and soda cans were going to show up.

  "First of all, those men entered into their relationships with eyes wide open," Lisa went on. "Okay, maybe not the undertaker, since he was the first victim, er, I mean, prospective groom, but the other two knew of your penchant for running and they still proposed."