Chapter 2
EMILY
“Emily! Thank God I reached you in time!”
My bestie’s voice sounds somewhat hysterical on this long-distance call. But that’s normal Anna-speak.
Still, it’s a treat to hear from her. Last I knew, she was elbow-deep in spaghetti carbonara and art history, somewhere near Rome’s Pantheon.
In sharp contrast, I’m sitting in the back of a chauffeur-driven limousine heading down Central Park South in Manhattan. Quite a change of transportation in my economy-driven life.
“You may be in Italy, but there’s no need to shout. I can hear you just fine.”
I glance at the back of the chauffeur’s head. Can he hear my conversation? I lean forward and check that the glass partition between us is shut tight.
Something about the chauffeur my new fiancé Lorenzo hired to bring me to the Big Apple from Boston doesn’t sit right with me.
Can’t quite say what it is.
He’s a big guy, gruff and bulky. Most chauffeurs seem like slender, cheerful, crowd-pleasing types. At least in the movies.
But I’m just being judgmental as usual. I shake off the negative vibes and focus on Anna.
“My only question,” she says, her voice dropping into something both sweet and pointed. “Is WHY such a sudden marriage? This guy knock you up or something?
“As if!” I harrumph, a damn good indication of my late Aunt Jane if I say so.
She was queen of the harrumphs.
“I haven’t even met him yet, so there’s no chance he’s my baby daddy.”
Anna and I both laugh.
“But still, you’re holding something back. Spill.”
“Let me put it this way,” I say. “My Uncle Eton made me an offer I can’t refuse.”
“He forced you into marriage?”
“Not forced exactly,” I say, picking my way through it. “Not as dramatic as the word ‘forced’ implies …”
Outside the window, I watch pedestrians on the crowded sidewalks jostle for space.
“You know how Uncle Eton can get when he wants something bad. This time, he dangled Teddy’s tuition in front of me. Said he won’t pay next year if I refuse his request.”
“Oh, Emily!”
“It’s okay. As long as Teddy’s safe at his school, I can handle anything that life throws my way.”
I channel the steadfast determination my late Aunt Jane always embodied.
It runs in our blood. Aunt Jane inherited this trait from her own father. He led the Harvard Museum’s archeological expedition into Egypt back in the 1900s.
And I’m made of similar stuffing.
“Anyway, the marriage is temporary. That’s the part I keep reminding myself.”
“What’s your new husband’s name?”
“Lorenzo Ricci,” I say.
“Name sounds familiar. Give me a second.”
I hear rustling on her end of the phone.
“Ah, yes. Lorenzo Ricci. I see his picture almost every time I open Manhattan Social. “
“What’s Manhattan Social?”
“A juicy online gossip column about Big Apple ‘bad boys’ and the scandals they get themselves into. Required reading for Gotham’s movers and shakers. But it’s syndicated around the world.”
“But why was Lorenzo Ricci in it? Did he do something wrong?”
“There’s no such thing as ‘wrong’ in this publication. Lorenzo and his brothers own Dante’s Inferno, an elite club for Manhattan power players. And Lorenzo is a real playboy, Em. He has every model and actress in the Big Apple on speed dial. You lucky bitch!”
“Lucky?!” The word lands wrong. I shift in my seat and look out the window at the greenery. We must be approaching Central Park soon. With practiced fingers, I re-braid my long auburn hair tightly.
“Lorenzo Ricci being gorgeous is beside the point. You should check out the columns to see the photos I’m talking about. He’s out every night with beautiful woman at glitzy events. And now YOU get to visit all these places with him as his wife!”
“Temporary wife.”
“Either way, imagine how much fun it would be to be seen on his arm in the hottest places in town.”
“You’re reading too many billionaire romances, Anna. Besides, I doubt very much he’d find me attractive.”
“And why is that?”
“Given the fashion models that appear to be his usual choice of prey, I’m hardly his type.”
“You’re very attractive,” Anna begins before her tone turns into a tease. “At least when you put your mind to it.”
“Touché, bitch. As it happens, word got back to me that he’s expecting some dowdy New England girl. So I’m thinking, why disappoint him? First impressions are everything. Especially when you want someone to underestimate you.”
“Emily J. Fisher. What are you planning?” Anna demands.
Before I answer, I glance up and realize we’re already at the entrance to Central Park.
And I know that the 5-star hotel, The Circle, where we’ll be married, is just down the street.
The tantalizing scent of summer flowers wafts toward my open window.
They look especially appealing contrasted with the period-dressed coachmen standing beside their beautiful horses and garland-bedecked carriages.
Suddenly, I’m overcome with the urge to experience the pleasures of the park before the entrapment of my forced temporary marriage begins.
“I’m going to take a little jaunt in Central Park before the ceremony,” I tell Anna. “On this gorgeous day, it looks just like Pemberley.”
Pemberley.
Only Anna shares my obsession with the name of handsome Mr. Darcy’s grand estate in Jane Austen’s 1812 novel, Pride & Prejudice.
Since we were twelve, we’ve been obsessing about what we’d do as soon as we married our modern version of Mr. Darcy and became the mistress of an estate just like Pemberley.
When the limousine stops for a light, I rap at the plexiglass window separating us.
“Ernesto,” I say, remembering the driver’s name. “I’m going to get out and stretch my legs. Please tell the Ricci family I’ll be there in time for the ceremony. And please take my suitcase to the venue.”
“Mr. Ricci doesn’t like surprises. You’d better let me take you all the way.”
“No thanks,” I say, opening the door and hopping out into the warm sunlight.