14. Chapter 14
Chapter 14
Patrick
I pulled up to the Russo house, making it on time for dinner by the skin of my teeth. Wrapping up at the fairgrounds had taken longer than expected. I’d met so many people in the community excited about someone young vying for a shot at mayor. Even folks in neighboring towns offered their support, despite not being able to cast a vote for me. I’d penciled in two more casual meet-and-greets for the coming weeks.
But Marcy. After the sidesaddle wardrobe debacle, she might never speak to me again. I guess I’d find out in twelve seconds.
I headed for the front door, mulling over what more I could have done. Or what I could have done less of.
Back at the fairgrounds, I’d acted fast as I could when she’d dismounted. Part distraction, part literal cover-up, I’d swept Marcy into my arms, covering the ripped back of her dress. I’d seen the fabric split before my eyes, revealing satiny lace underthings she didn’t intend for a gawking crowd.
I couldn’t get those lacy underthings out of my mind.
“Patrick!” Marcy had gasped when I’d scooped her into my arms .
I wished she hadn’t sounded so horrified. I mean, her dress had ripped during an animal show in a dirt-clogged arena, but it was also sort of romantic, right? Me holding her damsel-in-distress-style in front of a horse? I could have sworn I’d seen a couple of romance novel covers just like that.
The crowd had whistled and cheered. The old man emcee shot off quips about our approaching newlywed status. I carried Marcy out of the arena and set her down, where Bea Clark swiftly wrapped a shawl around her and led her away. I hadn’t gotten in another word.
So, yeah. Maybe romantic. Maybe not.
The Russos’ front door opened. Matteo nodded to me in greeting.
Dangit. Another unresolved situation. “Uh, hey.” I gauged his reaction.
He held open the door. “Heard you were some kind of county fair stud today.”
I laughed without much humor. I wanted to ask if Marcy was okay. But to Matteo? “Uh…” My social reserves were tanked. I had nothing useful to say.
I entered the house and Matteo spoke for me. “Thanks for letting me take Carmen out to lunch. We’re meeting for coffee tomorrow afternoon.”
“Coffee?” I slipped off my shoes at the door. Matteo usually aimed for dinner and drinks at a bar or some trendy club with his dates.
His cheeks deepened in color. “Yeah. She’s really cool. Smart too. We’ve been texting like, every day. Pretty much non-stop.”
“You’ve been texting back? Not playing it cool?”
Matteo frequently chastised me for being too earnest in my texting. I didn’t play games with who texted who first or how often. I didn’t get the point.
Plus, I was usually texting Marcy. We didn’t need to play games .
Matteo ran a hand through his dark hair. “None of that feels like it matters.” He shrugged.
Interesting. He was into Carmen.
Chatter carried over from the kitchen. Before things got chaotic, I had to say something about the engagement. “Hey, dude. Look, I know the thing with Marcy probably seems out of nowhere. I didn’t mean for it to be like that.”
He nodded, looking past me, then clapped a hand on my shoulder. “You know what? No worries. I was kind of weirded out by the whole thing at first, but if anyone’s going to date my sister, I’d rather it be you.” He winked.
A chunk of stress fell away. “Really? What about the engagement?”
His head tilted. “It’s the money, right? It’s got to be the money. You’re helping her out. I get it.”
He didn’t believe the engagement was real. That’s why he wasn’t mad. And it explained the wink, which just now registered.
His response bothered me. Why couldn’t we be real?
“It’s not just—” I started, when Nonna Russo approached, cutting me off.
“Patrick.” Her smile lit up her face. “Welcome. Now both of you, get moving. We’re all waiting to eat.” Her little dog ran to me for pets and led the way in.
Appetizers waited for us at the long table set between the kitchen and family room. The rest of the Russos filled small plates before parking in front of the TV blasting pre-game football coverage.
Marcy, now in a tank top and a long, casual skirt, looking much more herself than earlier, handed me a plate with cut vegetables and spinach dip. “How was the rest of the event?”
I lowered my voice. “Are you okay? That was not how I wanted today to go. ”
She laughed good-naturedly. “My pride aside, it’s fine. I didn’t talk to Bea the rest of the day, but she’ll get over it. If she even noticed.”
“I knew that outfit you had on was all her. And then with the horse—”
“It’s fine. That’s why you always wear your best underwear when you go out. You never know.”
Marcy’s mom made a tutting sound behind her. “What is this about underwear?”
Marcy grinned. “I’m sharing the good advice you’ve passed along to me.” Marcy shifted away from her mom. “Do not say a single word about what happened. My brothers don’t know. Thankfully, only the dogs and their handlers on the other side of the arena got a brief glimpse of the full panty show before you picked me up. And that weird cow.”
I tried not to choke at full panty show. I’d gotten a partial panty show, and I definitely hadn’t forgotten.
Switching gears, I nodded to Robby and took a seat near him in front of the TV. Their dad sat in a nearby recliner glued to coverage of the upcoming college game. The University of Michigan, a Russo favorite as it was Marcy’s alma matter, were predicted to win at an away game out of state. Marcy drifted over and sat beside me on the sectional couch. Do not think about the panty show.
Letting the sports commentary drift over, my ears perked up at my name.
Nonna Russo looked at me, seeming to wait on a response.
“Sorry? I was…” Not listening.
“I asked about the wedding. If you have a date in mind. I know you kids like to get those details nailed down first before you start involving the family. Keep in mind we have spring graduations next year to contend with for some of the extended family cousins…”
My mind went to static. I shot a look at Marcy.
“Probably next summer,” she answered. “I told you that, remember?”
“But when in summer?” her grandmother pressed. “Dates fill fast. People plan vacations. Then there’s hurricane season. You don’t want to schedule your honeymoon during peak hurricane season. Assuming you take a cruise like the one I showed you.”
I sensed Marcy tense beside me. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I reminded myself not to panic. “We’re taking things one step at a time. Getting through the campaign first.”
Marcy’s mom entered the room. “You can’t avoid planning all the way into November.” She held a stack of three-ring binders, the kind offices used to store hard copy policies. “That’s what we’re here for. You give us the date, and we’ll start planning.”
The binders settled in a chonky plastic thud as they landed on the coffee table. Pastel colors displayed on the cover sheet of the top binder caught my attention: Mindful Modern Wedding Planning .
Marcy’s expression slackened in horror. “What. Are those?”
“Cheryl Parkington is lending us the planning materials she used for Chelsea’s wedding,” Nonna Russo said. “You remember Chelsea’s wedding. She had it at the botanic gardens. Guest list two-fifty. Catered by Costa’s—they do a tiered cannoli cake. She went with a cupcake tower, but the binder said those are outdated. Cannoli cakes, on the other hand, still have quaint charm.”
Mrs. Russo pointed to the binders. Two of them had to be five-inch diameter bindings. “Those are copied from a top wedding planner. We can use their secrets and do the work ourselves.”
Marcy made a high-pitched humming sound.
Damage control—fast! “My mother, she’ll have a lot to say about the date.” Yeah, push it to her. With the campaign absorbing her attention, she’d shove off anything wedding related for months. Especially since she knew the engagement wasn’t real .
“I texted her this morning,” Mrs. Russo responded. “She suggested June twenty-sixth.”
“Mamá!” Marcy cried out.
My heart jumped into my throat. “You—you texted her? About the wedding?”
“What?” her mom gestured with a half-eaten bruschetta. “We need to get moving. Don’t tell me you two are doing one of those two-year engagements. All we need is a good nine-to-twelve month window to secure a reasonably priced venue and to ensure both families have plenty of time to plan ahead.”
Both families . It wasn’t lost on me that we were involving two unsuspecting families in our scheme. My parents may have known the truth, but what if word got out to my grandparents? They were online. Had they already heard?
Marcy stood, sending crumbs tumbling into the carpet. “Everybody chill out on the dates and we’ll…come up with something. Soon. I promise.”
“Just go to the courthouse and call it a day.” Robby didn’t bother to look up from playing a mobile game on his phone.
“No daughter of mine is having a courthouse wedding,” Mr. Russo cut in.
“There’s nothing wrong with a courthouse wedding,” Mrs. Russo began, but in the way someone hedged to make sure they weren’t causing offense, not because they believed it. “It’s certainly fine for some people, just not our Marcy and Patrick.”
A warm sense filled me at the way she included me. Like her son.
“Unless…” her mom lowered her voice. “Is there a reason you two need to rush?”
Marcy let out a growl of frustration and stomped over to the appetizers. “I am not discussing another word of wedding dates or time frames tonight. Pick another topic.” She grabbed a bruschetta slice and bit hard into the toasted bread .
Nonna Russo folded her hands calmly. “Fine. No dates. But you never answered us about the engagement party. We’ve let you have your space on that, but time is ticking.”
“We said no to an engagement party,” Marcy said through harsh crunching. “No party.”
Nonna Russo tipped her nose up. “With all this resistance, it’s almost like you don’t want this engagement.”
Marcy’s eyes widened.
Quick. Say something . “Of course we do. We had to announce fast because of the campaign, and well, our schedule is tight. I’m sorry.”
Nonna Russo appeared to consider this before she spoke again. “Fine. Marcy, we’ll want you to get you fitted in the next few weeks.”
“For what?” Marcy nearly wailed. Bread crumbs dusted her shirt front.
“For the gown.” Nonna Russo’s warm smile made her eyes practically sparkle. “I already have it ready for you.”
The dead silence that followed Nonna Russo’s announcement about a wedding gown for Marcy told me everything I needed.
When Russos got mad, they got loud. When Russos grew eerily quiet in the face of conflict? Deadly.
Marcy said nothing. She simply turned and walked out the back door.
I dashed after her, into the backyard, catching the storm door before it banged against the frame. She walked fast, as far as the yard allowed, all the way to the boundary fence .
“This is too much,” she said as she circled and met me by the big tree. “A dress? No, it’s the dress. A vintage dress passed on for generations that they want every woman in the family to wear. It’s this huge deal with a professional photo session ahead of the wedding. I don’t even wear the dress to the actual wedding, so that means I have to deal with two dresses. I’ve been hearing about this my whole life and I just—I can’t. I don’t want any part of this. I’m supposed to be planning my business and instead it’s gowns and wedding dates I don’t care about!”
Her emotions were understandably high. I’d even heard about the dress at one point. Something about a nearly six-foot tall cousin who couldn’t make the measurements work.
I understood she didn’t want her family to plan the wedding of the century when our engagement wasn’t real, but all I heard was: she doesn’t want to marry you .
If we were actually getting married, right now we’d be tossing out ideas. Making long-term plans. The Russos had always accepted me like one of their own. I honestly couldn’t imagine a wedding without them.
Wow. The thought struck me in my gut. The Russos meant a lot to me. Like a second family. I almost couldn’t fully separate them from my real lineage. Having a big family wedding with all the Russos, it sounded…great.
But that wasn’t what Marcy wanted. And even though I wanted her, and I wanted more between us, that wasn’t our future. Marcy wanted her dream bakery. Not me.
“You shouldn’t have to deal with this,” she was telling me. “My family is so extra about this stuff. I should have known it wouldn’t work to put them off on the planning. That’s probably why they even invited you tonight. To get your blessing to go hog-wild on wedding planning. All hogs gone wild. A total oinking calamity!”
“Okay…” I doubted they needed my blessing, but she was probably right. They’d gone right in on the wedding before we’d even hit dinner.
“And those freaking plastic binders!”
“Yeah, the binders are a problem. Especially from a copyright standpoint. I definitely don’t feel comfortable using a wedding planner’s potentially trademarked content without their permission.”
“ Patrick . Their copyright is the least of our concerns!” She pressed a finger to her lips. Those lush lips. “Unless that’s a legal strategy to get us out of this.”
“We’ll just keep telling them we need time.” Don’t think of Marcy’s lips. “Set firm boundaries.”
She snorted. “You think my nonna cares about boundaries?”
Fair point. “We don’t have to commit to anything. I’ll tell my family we absolutely can’t do anything until the election is over. They can’t move on without my parents.”
Even as I said it, the lie materialized in front of us. Marcy’s grandmother had a way of getting what she wanted. Her commitment to seeing her grandchildren settle made the top of her priority list. I wouldn’t dare underestimate her.
Which meant we needed to work with what we had.
An idea buzzed in my head. A stupid one. Really stupid.
“What?” Marcy looked at me expectantly.
I hadn’t said anything. “Nothing.”
“No, you have an idea. I can tell.”
Shoot. I couldn’t tell her what I was actually thinking. Okay, possibly part of it. “What if we let them start planning? Like, booking a venue that has a cancellation deadline we can work with. Tentative plans that keep them busy, but we can get out of with minimal damage.”
“You mean let them plan the wedding? ”
“If they’re that headstrong, we shouldn’t fight so hard against the grain. We’ll just need to prepare a good exit strategy.”
She chewed at her bottom lip. I knew I had her most of the way if she thought through it some more. Together we could make this work.
“We’ll have to give them parameters,” she said, still contemplating. “Venues only. Some initial catering options.”
What I couldn’t tell her, what I hoped for deep down, was that we wouldn’t need to cancel anything. That over time, Marcy would want the wedding. If we planned it far enough in advance, she’d…come around.
To want the wedding. To want me .
Because I wanted her to want the wedding. I wanted Marcy to fall in love with me as deeply as I’d fallen for her.