Staying Single

“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?”

Matt’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 breath 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: Francie 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 always 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.

“You’re no Julia Roberts, but you have given her a bit of competition as the Runaway Bride.

“Second, Mom is never going to change, so you need to stand up to her or accept that she’s going to meddle. And you wear a size ten, so I’m not at all sorry for you.”

Easy to say from someone who wore a six, Francie thought.

“And finally, I hope you do get married one of these days because then Mom will get off my back.”

“Don’t count on it.”

“Isn’t that the truth? I was looking through her dresser drawer for a scarf the other day and found a list of prospective grooms she’d been making for me.” Lisa made a face, then a gagging noise. “Alan Swarski was on the list. Can you imagine? Alan Swarski! The man is almost sixty and has grandchildren. What can she be thinking? He has nose hair, not to mention a gut, for chrissake! What am I, desperate? I do have some pride, after all.”

“If he’s breathing, he’s an eligible candidate.”

The front door opened and Leo strolled in carrying a white bakery bag. He smiled widely when he spotted Lisa. “Hey, girl! You’re looking good. I bought bagels and cream cheese, if you’re hungry.” He held up the bag and the enticing aroma of freshly baked bagels clouded the room.