Married in Haste Read online

  Still, for the life of her, she couldn’t bring herself to ease her hand around where her mom and aunt Stella might spot the ring on her finger. “What’s this all about?” Angie couldn’t help eyeing them with groggy suspicion. Coming over early with the coffee and the Danish wasn’t the kind of thing her mom and aunt did every day. There was no special occasion that she could think of—well, okay. She’d gotten married last night. But they didn’t know that.

  Yet.

  Did they?

  “What’s it about?” Mamma Rose repeated. She and Stella shared a meaningful glance. “Why, Angela Marie.” Rose looked injured. “We bring Danish. And you ask what it’s about?”

  “And where are your manners?” Aunt Stella said it gently, but it was still a rebuke.

  “Sorry…” Angie stepped back. “Come on in.”

  The two didn’t need to be invited twice. They surged forward, sweeping past Angie, headed for her tiny kitchen. Not knowing what else to do, Angie shut the door and trailed along after them.

  “Sit, sit.” Her mother set the bakery box on the table and waved a hand toward one of the four fiddleback chairs. Angie sat. She also tucked her left hand under her thigh. She knew hiding her ring was pointless and cowardly and dumb. They would find out very soon anyway—at the very latest, by ten, when Brett showed up in his pickup to move her to his house.

  Probably sooner than that—like in the next five minutes or so. Because it was going to get awkward trying to drink her coffee and eat her Danish with one hand tucked constantly out of sight. Her mom had sharp eyes and so did Aunt Stella. They’d notice that she wasn’t using her left hand.

  Still, Angie continued to sit on it. She watched her mother and her aunt bustle about. Rose was the taller of the two sisters. Aunt Stella was shorter and rounder. Rose kept her auburn hair free of gray with a little help from L’Oréal. Aunt Stella was letting her black hair go silver naturally.

  For over a decade, the never-married Stella had lived in her sister’s house and now the two worked effortlessly together in the small space, each knowing instinctively what the other would do, never once bumping into each other. Stella set the carafe on the table and got down a serving plate as Rose folded back the lid of the bakery box. Stella set down the plate and Rose transferred the Danish to it. Stella got out forks and small plates and mugs.

  The sugar bowl was already on the table. Rose, looking for the milk, pulled open the door of the refrigerator before Angie remembered what she’d find in there.

  “What’s this?” Rose whirled. She had Angie’s bridal bouquet in her hand and she brandished it like a deadly weapon.

  Angie winced. “Oh. That. I stuck that in there last night. To keep it fresh, you know?”

  For once, neither her mother nor her aunt said anything. They just stared at her. Waiting.

  Until she finally confessed, “Okay. It’s like this. It’s my wedding bouquet.”

  Stella and Rose shared a stunned glance. Then they both gaped at Angie again. “Your wedding bouquet?” they echoed in unison.

  “That’s right.” And why was she still sitting on her hand? No point in that now. She whipped it out from under her thigh and held it up. “Surprise,” she said weakly, wiggling her fingers.

  Stella gasped. “Angela Marie, that is a ring on your finger.”

  Angie gulped. “Yes, it is. Because you see, um, as it turns out…” She sucked in a fortifying breath and made herself come out with it—fast, so she wouldn’t loose her nerve in the middle. “BrettandIgotmarriedlastnight.”

  “Married…” Her mother repeated the word much too softly.

  Angie gulped again. “Yes. That’s right. We got married.”

  There was another silence. It was huge.

  Then Stella crossed herself. “Oh, Rosie. I knew it. Didn’t I tell you? She’s been out with him every night this week. The whole town’s been talking. And the whole town is right.”

  Angie’s mother set the bouquet on the table, sagged into a chair—and burst into tears.

  “Shh, shh…” Stella wrapped an arm around her sister’s shaking shoulders and frowned sternly at Angie. “Will you just look at your poor mamma….”

  Angie felt exactly what her aunt intended her to feel: guilt. Bad-daughter guilt, to be specific. And as any daughter knows, that’s the worst kind. “Mom. Look. I’m sorry. I know I should have said something, but—”

  “Half the town knew.” Stella stroked Rose’s back and kept on as if Angie hadn’t spoken. “But your own mamma? She didn’t have a clue.”

  “Aunt Stella, I’m—”

  “Don’t start making excuses.”

  “I’m not, I’m only—”

  “I hope you realize that Nadine’s been telling everyone how she made a joke about wedding bells—and the two of you just got right up and headed for Reno.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “A joke. You got married because Nadine Stout made a joke.”

  “No. That’s not it. That’s not it at all—and would you please stop yelling at me.”

  “I’m not yelling!”

  “Yes, you are. And you’re upsetting Mom.”

  “I’m upsetting her?”

  “Yes.” Angie rose. “You are.”

  “Well. Humph.” But at least Stella shut up for a minute.

  Angie got the box of Kleenex from the shelf. “Here you go, Mamma.” Rose whipped one out and buried her face in it. “Mamma, listen…” Angie knelt by her mother’s chair. “Brett’s a good man. You know he is. Come on. Be happy for me….”

  Rose heaved a quivering sigh. “I…just…don’t believe it.”

  Stella scowled. “Back in town a week…”

  “….and you’ve married one of the Bravo boys.” Rose surrendered to a fresh flood of tears.

  Angie patted her knee and waited.

  Finally, Rose lifted her head and wiped at her eyes. “I can’t believe that one of my girls would run off and elope without even telling her own mamma that she’s in love.”

  In love. Well, not exactly, Angie thought, but had the good sense not to say. “Mom, I mean it. I’m sorry. I should have told you. I realize that.”

  “And what about that big wedding you always wanted?” her mother loudly demanded with yet another sob. “What happened to that?”

  “And,” Aunt Stella hastened to add at a volume every bit as loud as her sister’s. “What kind of marriage is it, anyway, if it’s not in the church?”

  “A legal marriage,” Angie replied, quietly and with firmness.

  “‘Legal,’” Aunt Stella parroted. “Legal, she says. For a good Catholic, legal isn’t enough.”

  “She’s right.” Rose honked into her tissue. “Your aunt Stella is right.” She started sobbing again.

  It went downhill from there. As Rose sobbed, Aunt Stella alternately patted her back and lectured Angie on her thoughtlessness as a daughter and her terrible error in marrying outside the church. “Because a marriage in haste is no marriage at all,” Aunt Stella declared. “Marriage is a vocation, a calling from God. It is not to be entered into lightly. It is a sacrament, permanent unto death, in which man and wife shall be faithful, each to the other—and, God willing, fruitful, as well.”

  Angie pressed her lips together and resisted the urge to ask her maiden aunt what made her such an expert on marriage. Uh-uh, better to let Stella rant and Mamma cry it out. They’d get used to the situation soon enough. The storm of tears and recriminations would blow over. Except for his not being Catholic—which was only any kind of obstacle for Aunt Stella anyway—Brett was excellent marriage material. Sure, he was a Bravo. But he was one of the good Bravos. He was settled, respected in town and gainfully employed.

  Angie could have done a whole lot worse. And she had. Six months ago, in San Francisco—though that was a detail she wasn’t sharing with her mamma or her aunt.

  Eventually, Stella ran out of criticisms. Rose dried her eyes. “Well.” Angie’s mom let out a gusty sigh. “I su
ppose we might as well have our Danish.”

  So Angie took her bouquet off the table and Stella got the milk. Rose poured the coffee.

  “It’s really good,” Angie said after she took her first bite. “Thank you.”

  Rose bravely sniffed and spoke to Stella. “See. She’s a good girl at heart. She’s polite.”

  “I never said she wasn’t,” Aunt Stella replied. She granted Angie a nod and reluctantly allowed, “You can have the marriage recognized. We’ll arrange for a convalidation ceremony before Father Delahunty.”

  “And a big party after.” Rose brightened at the thought. “Just like a real wedding reception. A nice dinner, with dancin’ and a big, white cake….”

  Stella sipped her coffee. “There’s a waiting period, though. Six months, I think. We’ll have to talk to Father Delahunty.”

  Angie smiled and nodded and took another bite of Danish. If it made her mother happy, a big party was fine with her.

  Rose said with a heavy sigh, “I suppose this means you’ll be moving to Brett’s house—and, wait a minute. What are you doing here, anyway? How come you didn’t stay the night with your new husband?”

  Because I wasn’t quite ready for that, she thought. She said, “I wanted to have this little talk with you first.” It was the truth, just not all of it. “So Brett and I agreed that I’d stay here at the cottage one more night…and yes. He’s coming over with his pickup at ten.”

  Rose reached across and patted her hand. “Well. At least you married a man from town. You’ll stay close to home for sure now, not be a stranger. I did worry about you, honey. All the way out there in the Bay Area, with no family close by.”

  “Well, you don’t have to worry now, Mamma. I’m home to stay.”

  “It’s nice, that pickup of Brett’s,” said Stella in a meditative tone. “New. One of those big, fancy Dodge Rams, with an extended cab…”

  Rose looked up from her Danish. Her nose and eyes were red, but she was smiling. “And he is a doctor….”

  By the time Brett showed up in his shiny new pickup, Rose and Stella were definitely looking on the bright side. They were also on the case, which meant they’d been on the phone, telling everyone in the family how Angie had run off to Reno with Brett Bravo.

  Salvatore, Angie’s younger brother, lived in L.A. Petra and Lucia, born between Dani and Glory, were away at school. Rose had called them and passed on the news.

  Everyone else came rushing over. Tris and Risi brought their kids. Dani came with her husband, Ike. Anthony, the oldest of the Dellazola kids, showed up with his wife Gracie and their son, Baby Tony. Glory and five-day-old Johnny were already there, of course, as were Great-Grandpa Tony and Little Tony, Angie’s dad.

  The grandparents on the Dellazola side of the family, like Great-Grandpa Tony’s wife, Maria, had passed on. But Nonna and Pop Baldovino, the grandparents on Rose and Stella’s side, were still alive and kicking. They drove right over in their big old Lincoln Towncar.

  The whole bunch ran out to greet the groom. There were hugs and kisses and a lot of back-slapping. Angie thought her new husband bore up pretty well under the flood of laughing, shouting Dellazolas and Baldovinos.

  “Okay, now,” said Angie’s mom, once they’d all had a chance to welcome Brett into the family. “You pack Angie up and get her over to that beautiful house of yours. And then you both come back for lunch, you hear me, now?”

  Brett promised that they would.

  After that, most of the women headed for the kitchen, while the men helped Brett and Angie load up. Angie’s dad offered his truck and Anthony had his, too. Within an hour, they got all three pickups piled with everything Angie owned.

  “There’s a little more than I thought,” she told Brett when she climbed into the passenger seat beside him. “Are you sure you have room for it all?”

  “Don’t worry. We have extra bedrooms on the lower floor. We can put all this stuff down there until we figure out how much we want to use.”

  We have extra bedrooms…

  The way he said that melted her heart. He was generous, this new husband of hers. What he had, was hers.

  She wished she had more to bring to the marriage, more to offer than just herself, a few thousand in savings and three pickups full of mismatched furniture and well-used household goods.

  “What’s that sad little look?” He had his arm draped on the back of her seat and he was leaning close, his eyes warm with concern.

  “Just thinking I hope you didn’t marry me for my money, because there isn’t any.”

  He was shaking his head. “You kidding? I married you for your gorgeous face, those dimples and that hot body.”

  He was teasing—and yet his silly compliments made her feel better about not having more to bring to their life together. She answered him in kind. “Oh. Well, then. As long as you know what you’re getting.”

  “I do. And I couldn’t be happier about it.”

  Behind them, Anthony leaned on his horn.

  Brett said, “Your brother’s getting restless.” He put the pickup in gear and off they went.

  In the Flat—which was anything but—most of the houses were built on hillsides. Brett’s place was no exception. The upper floor was the main floor, with extra bedrooms below. The main entrance faced the back and the hill behind it. A steep driveway led to the detached garage on the south side of the house. From the garage, a stone walkway curved to the door. When they got there, he unlocked it and pushed it wide—and then scooped her high against his chest.

  “Welcome home, Angie.” He carried her over the threshold into the open foyer.

  She could see the living area beyond. It was one big, open space with a soaring cathedral ceiling and tall windows on three walls. French doors led out to the upper deck. Beyond the deck rail, a pair of stately firs framed the jutting black rocks across the river. Above the rocks, thick evergreens climbed the steep hillside.

  “Oh, Brett. What a great place.” She kissed him—a quick, firm peck on his warm, smooth-shaven cheek.

  His eyes had never looked so soft, or so full of promise. “You can do better than that.” He spoke low, his deep voice both tender and rough.

  She felt the funniest, hollowed-out lurch in her stomach, a nervous little thrill.

  Which was silly. It was just a kiss, after all. Only a kiss…

  She gave his challenge back to him. “Try me.”

  So he did. He pressed his lips to hers, like last night—only better, somehow. His mouth was so soft and his arms, holding her, were so strong.

  He kept the kiss light, just a tempting caress, a gentle press of his mouth to hers. She sighed as he brushed his lips back and forth on hers and found she could have kissed him for hours, held high in his arms in the open doorway of the house they would share from that day forward.

  But then she heard heavy boots on the walk and Anthony grumbled in a joking tone, “Okay, you two. Knock it off. We’ve got work to do.”

  Brett whispered, “More later…” His breath was warm against her cheek.

  “Definitely,” she whispered back, a lovely feeling of anticipation blooming within her. “Much more.” She giggled as he let her slide to her feet. “And I need a tour of my new home.”

  Anthony carried a big box of kitchen stuff. He bent to drop it on the step. As the pots and pans inside rattled and clanged, he muttered, “Work now, tour later.”

  “Oh, come on, Anthony,” she wheedled. “Just a quick look around. Won’t take a minute…”

  Her big brother grumbled some more, but he made sure she saw him wink at her as he turned and strode back down the walk.

  Brett showed her the bright, roomy kitchen area with its breakfast nook and acres of granite counters. In the main room, she admired the formal dining area, the two separate groupings of sofas and chairs and the natural stone fireplace.

  They proceeded to the master suite.

  He had one of those platform beds. A really big one. She thought of the t
wo of them, naked, in that bed.

  It could happen tonight….

  The idea still made her nervous. But then she remembered the warm, arousing feel of his lips against hers.

  They’d do what came naturally.

  It would be all right—not as wild and incredible as it had been with Jody. She didn’t expect the earth to move or anything. But she wasn’t in this for wild thrills. Uh-uh. In bed with Brett it would be…okay. More than okay. She was pretty sure of that now.

  And Brett was watching her.

  She slanted him a glance. “Nice bed,” she said. “Really…big.” He only grinned and gestured at the floor-to-ceiling windows and the second set of French doors leading out to the deck.

  He led her through the pair of walk-in closets and on to the gorgeous bath, which had his-and-hers sinks, glass-block windows, a giant tub and an open-front shower.

  “This way,” he said as they left the master suite. They went down the stairs to another central living area off of which branched three more bedrooms, two baths and a laundry room. There were French doors down there, too, opening onto a brick patio covered by the deck above.

  Brett kissed her again before they went back up to the main floor. He touched her cheek, stroked her hair and trailed a warm finger down the side of her throat.

  She shivered a little in the wake of his touch. It was good.

  Better than good.

  When he stepped back, he smiled at her. “We should go up. Your brother will start getting impatient.”

  “He was just teasing.”

  “I know. But it’s not fair that he and your dad should have to do all the work.” He held out his hand. She laid hers in it and he led her to the stairs.

  Back at the Dellazola house an hour later, lunch was on the table—or, to be more specific, several tables pushed together in the big family dining room. Old Tony broke out the elderberry wine and there were toasts: to love, to happiness, to a dozen baby Bravos…

  Brett enjoyed himself immensely. He’d always liked the Dellazolas. You knew where you stood with folks like them. And they were pleased, every last dark-eyed, dimple-cheeked one of them, about the marriage. They were pleased and they said so. Brett appreciated that.