Married in Haste Page 4

  Chapter Three

  The Reno marriage license office in the Washoe County Courthouse was open daily until midnight. Angie and Brett got there at a little before eight. They produced their drivers’ licenses, answered a few basic questions, paid the thirty-five-dollar fee and received two copies of their marriage license—one to keep, and one for whoever married them to turn back into the courthouse within ten days of the ceremony.

  Our marriage license, Angie thought. Mine and Brett’s. I can’t believe it….

  They walked out of the courthouse and into a wedding chapel conveniently located right down the street. A plump fiftyish woman, her red hair teased and sprayed into an elaborate bouffant, greeted them at the door.

  “I’m Marian.” She beamed wide, displaying a mouthful of amazingly large white teeth, and put a chubby hand to her breast. “Welcome to the Sweetheart of Reno Wedding Chapel.” The plump hand swept out. “We have all you’ll need right here to make this blessed occasion one you’ll remember always.” She held up an index finger. “First, if I may suggest, a wedding gown? And for the groom, something a little more…festive? Let me show you what we have to offer in our Sweetheart Boutique.”

  Angie had no desire to spend a whole bunch of money on a spur-of-the-moment dress. “It’s really not necessary.”

  But Marian either didn’t hear her or pretended not to. She was already turning. “Right this way.”

  Angie glanced at Brett. He shrugged.

  “Okay,” said Angie. “I suppose it won’t hurt to have a look….”

  The boutique was off the reception area and packed with racks of white formals, some a froth of lace and tulle, some sleek and silky. There were other options: slim skirts and silk jackets with pretty beading; cocktail dresses. And for Brett, Marian offered a variety of tuxedos for rent. She had all the accessories, too: shoes and veils, beribboned garters, the works.

  Angie was just slightly tempted—after all, they’d left the Flat without even stopping to think about clothes. Brett wore his usual khakis and a knit shirt. Angie had changed out of her nurse’s tunic before they’d left the clinic, but otherwise she had on what she’d worn that morning: white jeans, a nondescript shirt and flat-soled shoes.

  She fingered a froth of lace and peeked at the price tag: $2,569.99.

  “It’s your wedding,” said Brett. “You should have a white dress.” She tipped the price tag so he could see it. He didn’t even flinch. “You want it? It’s yours.”

  Now this, she thought, was a truly great guy. But they hadn’t come to Reno to spend a small fortune on wedding clothes. Angie shook her head. “Not necessary. Let’s just do it.”

  “At least choose a bouquet,” he coaxed. The boutique had a refrigerated case full of them.

  Oh, why not? She pointed at a ribbon-bedecked creation of yellow roses and white lilies. “How about that one?”

  Marian took it out and handed it over with a flourish. “An excellent choice. A perfect choice.”

  Brett said, “And we’ll need a ring.”

  Marian was only too happy to sell them one. Angie chose a simple gold band and insisted that Brett should have one to match.

  “Now,” said Marian, “as to the chapel. We have two. The Pink Chapel and the White. Let me show you the Pink first.”

  “White is fine,” Angie decided right then. She’d never been real big on pink, anyway.

  “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather take a look at both options before making your final decision?”

  Angie and Brett exchanged a glance. As if it mattered. The whole idea was to do this with no hassle and no fuss. They had no need for all the hoo-rah of a big wedding. They wanted a happy, normal life together and they were going to have one—starting tonight.

  “We’ve decided,” said Angie. “We’ll take the White.”

  “Well, then.” Marian beamed all the wider. “Right this way.”

  The White Chapel was truly, blindingly white: the walls, the ceiling, the floor, the simple altar that was really more like a podium. On either side of the altar, massive bouquets of artificial white hydrangeas exploded from tall white vases. A strip of plush white carpet served as an aisle between the rows of white wooden folding chairs.

  “And here’s Pastor Bob,” announced Marian proudly as a big gray-haired fellow entered the all-white room.

  “Greetings.” Pastor Bob wore a black surplice and a royal-blue stole that made him look more like a late-in-life college graduate who had somehow misplaced his tasseled cap than any priest Angie had ever seen.

  Priest….

  The word got stuck in Angie’s brain. Probably because she was a Dellazola and a cradle Catholic and Dellazola women always married in the church. Even her second sister, Clarice, who couldn’t have a full mass because Mike wasn’t a Catholic, had worn a big white dress and walked down the aisle of the New Bethlehem Flat Catholic Church and stood before Father Delahunty to say her vows and receive the nuptial blessing….

  Brett caught her hand and asked softly, “You doing okay?”

  “Of course. Why?”

  He gave her fingers a reassuring squeeze. “You look a little…doubtful, all of a sudden.”

  “Well, I’m not.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I have never been so sure about anything in my entire life.” And she honestly hadn’t. The whole church-wedding issue was just one of those things her mother had drilled into her from birth, because when you were Catholic, getting married was nothing short of a calling from God. You couldn’t just run off and do it. You were expected to get with a priest for nine months to a year in order to prepare yourself for such a sacred undertaking.

  And in the Dellazola family, a huge reception always followed the church ceremony. Angie’s parents had spent a small fortune on three weddings so far: Trista’s, Clarice’s and Dani’s. Angie’s mother, who knew how to pinch a penny until it screamed for mercy, kicked out all the stops when it came to her daughters getting married. She would spare no expense.

  But this wasn’t her mom’s wedding, it was Angie’s. And Brett’s. They knew what they were doing and they didn’t need a year of spiritual preparation—or a reception for a hundred, complete with sit-down, prime rib dinner. Uh-uh. They would be married this very night by a guy named Pastor Bob of indeterminate denomination, and that was all there was to it.

  Pastor Bob said, “If the groom could stand here…” He pointed at the spot. Brett gave Angie’s fingers one last comforting squeeze before he let go and moved to the place the pastor had indicated.

  “If the bride will follow me…” Marian led the way down the white strip of carpet and out into the small foyer between the reception area and the chapel. Once they were beyond the chapel door, Miriam leaned close and spoke softly, as if imparting crucial and top-secret information. “I’m going to start the wedding march. Give it a few bars and then proceed at a stately pace toward your groom.”

  Brisk and still beaming, Marian trotted off. The familiar strains filled the air. Angie took her bouquet in both hands and stepped into position at the top of the plush white aisle.

  Fifteen minutes later Angie and Brett climbed back into his Jeep Commander wearing their wedding rings. Angie turned to carefully lay her bouquet and their marriage license on the rear seat.

  Brett glanced at his watch. “Well, it’s a quarter of nine. I suppose we’d better figure out where to stay for our wedding night.”

  Wedding night.

  Angie had one of those “Is this really happening?” moments. Amazing, but true. They had done it. She and Brett were husband and wife.

  He suggested, “How about Caesar’s? It’s only forty minutes or so to Tahoe. We can get a nice suite, have a little champagne.

  A suite at Caesar’s Palace. For a wedding night with Brett… She slid him a nervous glance.

  He caught her looking and grinned. “Why am I getting the feeling that you’re not quite ready to spend the night with me?”

  She di
dn’t know what to say. “Well, I’m sure that, um, making love with you is going to be…very nice….”

  He actually chuckled. “You’re scared.”

  “I am not—and anyway, we are married, so I guess I’d better get over my terror at the thought of seeing you naked….” Eeeuu. Now why had she said it that way? “Oops. Bad word choice.”

  He didn’t look especially offended. “No kidding.”

  “But you know what?” She pulled her shoulders back and tried to look jokingly determined—at the same time ignoring the little curl of nerves that had tightened her tummy. “I’m ready, if you are.”

  “Interesting question…”

  “What question?”

  “Whether or not I’m ready. I’ll have to think about that.” He pretended to ponder—at length.

  “Oh, stop.” She punched him playfully in the shoulder. It was muscular, that shoulder. Like the rest of him. Now she actually thought about it, seeing him naked probably wouldn’t be terrible in the least.

  And one good thing had come out of the disaster with Jody. She’d had sex at last and found out that she really did like it. But with Brett? She simply had never considered such a thing—which was pretty dumb. After all, she’d just married the guy.

  Brett stuck the key in the ignition and started the engine. “We’re going home.”

  She grabbed his arm—which was warm and hard and dusted with dark hair. “No. Really. We should go to Caesar’s.”

  “No. Really,” he echoed, deadpan. “We shouldn’t.”

  She threw up both hands and asked no one in particular, “Oh, why did I make such a big deal about this?”

  He reached across and snared one her hands as she waved it in the air. “Because it is a big deal.”

  “But I—”

  “You’re not ready yet.”

  “How do you know if I’m ready or not?”

  His looked at her patiently. “Angie…”

  She grumbled, “I could get ready.”

  “Uh-uh. There’s no rush. We’re doing this our way, remember? We have every right to take our time.”

  He was right and she knew it. She looked down at their joined hands and then back up at him. “Okay. Like you said. There’s no rush…”

  He kissed her knuckles and then released her to shift into gear.

  As the SUV pulled away from the curb, she cleared her throat. “Ahem. So. You never thought of me that way, either…did you?”

  His gaze stayed focused on the stoplight ahead. “Sure, I did.”

  Too bizarre. She gulped. “You…you’ve thought of me naked?”

  He smoothly braked as the light went red. “Angie. I’m a guy.”

  “Well, I know that.”

  “Thanks,” he muttered dryly.

  This was such a weird conversation. She should just shut up and let it be. But somehow she found herself opening her mouth again. “So…you have? You’ve thought of me naked? You really have?”

  “Didn’t I already answer that one?”

  “Yeah. Yeah, I guess you did. I just can’t believe it. You’ve thought of me naked….”

  “And now that we’re painfully clear on that, how about we move on to a fresh, new topic?”

  “Uh. Sure. Of course. Yeah.”

  “You hungry?”

  Now that he mentioned it, she was starved. “Good thinking. Let’s eat.”

  Brett took his new bride to Monte Vigna at Atlantis for Italian. The food and the service were both great, as always. He watched her as she dug into her lobster ravioli and thought of that look she’d given him when he’d suggested they spend the night together at Caesar’s. Priceless.

  She glanced up from her plate. “What are you grinning about?”

  “Not a thing.”

  Strange. Back when they were kids, she’d been sort of an honorary kid sister to him, someone he liked and looked out for and put up with. Back then, they were friends. Period.

  But she’d filled out real nice in the years she’d been away, lost that angular, tomboy look she’d had in high school. And that first day he’d seen her again, when she’d come in for her interview at the clinic, he’d found himself noticing how much he’d liked the scent of her.

  That was important, that a woman smelled good. And Angie did. She smelled like Ivory soap and sunshine. All clean and fresh and sweet.

  No, it wasn’t going to be any hardship for Brett to take his new wife to bed. But he did understand her hesitation. As logical and reasonable as their getting married was, it had happened pretty fast.

  He had no problem with the idea of waiting until she was ready.

  She glanced up from her food again and saw that he was still watching her. “Okay. What?”

  “Eat your ravioli.”

  They were most of the way home when Angie remembered another important issue they’d yet to deal with. “Do you realize we haven’t even talked about where we’re going to live?”

  He shrugged. “I suggest my place—unless you have something else in mind?”

  She confessed, “I don’t. Your place sounds just fine.” Her stay in the cottage behind her mom’s was only supposed to be temporary, anyway. The sooner she moved out, the sooner her folks could rent it again. Or maybe Glory would want to move in there with the baby. So far, Glory hadn’t mentioned moving back to Chastity Bravo’s B and B, where she’d worked as a maid until a few weeks before Johnny’s birth. “Brett?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You know, I haven’t even seen your place—I mean, not the inside.” The day after Angie returned home, she and Glory had taken a long stroll around town. They’d walked past the house and Glory had told her that Brett lived there now.

  He flicked a glance her way. His fine, dark eyes glinted with humor in the dashboard light. “You’ll be seeing it soon—given that you’re going to be living there.”

  “I always liked that house.” Before Brett bought it, the house had belonged to a couple from the Bay Area who used it as a vacation home. “All those windows, and that big deck…”

  “I think you’ll like it there,” he said. “I do.”

  “I’m sure I will. And do you think that maybe, um, tomorrow, you could borrow a pickup and—”

  “I’ve got a pickup.”

  “You do?” She glanced his way again and saw that he was nodding. So strange. To be married to someone and not even know he had a pickup. “Well, then. You think we could move me in tomorrow?”

  “Sure. Tomorrow’s good. We can start early, get all your stuff moved in one day.”

  “There’s not a whole lot. I sold most of my furniture before I moved home.” She wondered how to say the next part without sounding as if she didn’t want to be married to him, after all. She took a stab at it. “And maybe, for tonight…” How to go on?

  He did it for her. “How about this? You go to your place for the rest of the night. First thing in the morning, you break the news to your family—being sure to remind them of all my sterling qualities. I want them greeting me with open arms when I show up with the truck to take you away from them.”

  She could have hugged him. “You understand.” Which really shouldn’t have surprised her. “But then, you always do.” And the mention of breaking the news made her feel anxious all over again. “When I tell them, there will probably be shouting.”

  He slanted her a too-wise look. “Probably?”

  She huffed out a breath. “You’re right. I love my family, but we both know how they are. There will be shouting. There always is.”

  They were quiet again as the SUV rolled through the darkness, the sliver of moon overhead seeming to flicker on and off through the lacy, shadowed branches of the tall trees.

  It was almost one when Brett pulled the SUV to a stop by the brick retaining wall in front of her mother’s house. He turned off the engine. “Is ten tomorrow okay? Or do you think we should get started earlier?”

  “Ten is good. The shouting might even be over by then.” Sh
e reached between the seats and scooped up her bouquet. “I’ll leave the marriage license with you, if that’s okay?”

  “No problem.”

  She smoothed the bouquet’s trailing ribbons and then reached for the door handle. “Good night, Brett.”

  “Hey.”

  “Hmm?”

  He leaned her way, one side of his mouth quirked up in a hint of a smile.

  A kiss, she thought. Yes. That would be nice. She tipped her face up in invitation.

  Their lips met. Like the kiss in the White Chapel that had sealed their vows, it was a light, tender kiss. A chaste kiss…

  His lips were warm. Even after he pulled away, it seemed to her she could feel a tingling where his mouth had touched hers.

  Chapter Four

  Someone was knocking.

  With a low groan of protest at being jarred from sleep, Angie rolled over in bed and squinted at the clock: 7:10. Bright morning light poured in through a gap in the curtains.

  “Angie! Angela Marie…” Her mother’s voice. Accompanied by yet more knocking.

  “Ugh. Coming!” Angie dragged herself to a sitting position and lifted her hand to rake the tangled hair back off her face. The band of gold on her ring finger caught the light and twinkled at her. And she remembered….

  The White Chapel. Marian and Pastor Bob. Brett holding her hand as she stood beside him at the altar….

  “Angela!” That was Aunt Stella.

  Time to face the music—or, in this case, the yelling and carrying on. “Coming, coming…” Angie shoved back the covers, grabbed her summer robe, stuck her feet in her floppy purple slippers and stumbled to the front door.

  Her mother and her aunt stood close together on the step. Both wore wide, bright smiles. Too wide, maybe. And too bright…

  Her mother held a bakery box. Aunt Stella clutched a big insulated carafe.

  “We popped over to the bakery and brought those cheese Danish you like so much,” said Rose.

  “And coffee,” Aunt Stella added, raising the carafe high.

  Angie realized she was holding her left hand carefully out of sight on the other side of the open door. Talk about your futile gestures—and the whole point was to tell them this morning anyway.