Staying Single

“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, 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.