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  “Scarlet. She’s having a baby.”

  “Scarlet is a surrogate?” The reporter asked.

  Armando crossed his arms at his chest and glared at the man. “Stop. Calling. My. Wife. Names.”

  “Wait, she’s your. . .wife?”

  “Of course. And she’s having a baby girl. Only, I’m not supposed to tell anyone any of that.”

  Mr. Jamison now wrote very slowly. “Rossi. Girl. No surrogate.”

  Oy vey.

  The guy tapped his pencil on his notepad. “Hey, I think I met a Scarlet. She runs the bakery. She’s pregnant?”

  “Well, of course she’s pregnant. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. With a baby girl.” Armando pinched his eyes shut and muttered, “Which is totally private information. I’m not supposed to be telling a soul until our Rossi family dinner on Friday night.”

  “Did you say you’re one of the Rossis?” The reporter gave him a penetrating gaze.

  “Yep.” My brother nodded.

  “Related to Lazarro, who’s running for president as the Food Party candidate? I think I’ve got it all now. It’s making sense to me.”

  I was glad it was making sense to somebody.

  At this point Rosa got so tickled she couldn’t stop laughing. The music overhead switched to Mambo-Italiano, which played loudly in the background.

  “Laz is my uncle,” Armando raised his voice to be heard above the music. “But he’s not really running for office. He just has illusions of grandeur.”

  “Did you say he has delusions?” The reporter scribbled in his tablet. “Is he on medication?”

  He wasn’t. But I had a feeling we would all need some if this story hit the news.

  “You Rossis are quite an interesting family,” the reporter said. “But there’s one family member I have yet to speak to.”

  “Who’s that?’ Armando called out above the music.

  “Bella. Would you happen to know a Bella Rossi-Neeley?”

  Oh. No. Please. No.

  Everyone turned to look at me.

  I took a little step backward.

  “What do you need with my sister?” Armando asked.

  “Oh, just hoping to ask her a few questions about the DeVine wedding.”

  I took another step backward. Then another. Then another. And then. . .I bumped into Uncle Laz, who happened to be walking behind me carrying a pitcher of soda to a nearby table. The pitcher shot out of his hand, sailed through the air, and landed all over the reporter’s notepad.

  I pinched my eyes shut and prayed for a clean get-away. Only when Laz hollered, “Bella-Bambina, what have you done?” did I realize there was no getting out of this one.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Love is Blue

  Any American who is prepared to run for President should automatically, by definition, be disqualified from ever doing so.

  Gore Vidal

  I managed to somehow elude the reporter, though I heard from Mayor Bradley that he was staying at the Tremont and would be looking for me. That made my upcoming visit with Victoria even more nerve-wracking. She showed up at Club Wed on Thursday morning with the Agent O’Conner standing watch. Surely the Secret Serviceman could keep the big, bad reporter away.

  As we walked through the lobby of Club Wed, I couldn’t help but notice the sadness in the bride-to-be’s eyes. I probably shouldn’t have been so brave, but I came out and asked her, “What’s wrong, Victoria? Please, tell me.”

  She stopped walking and shook her head, her eyes now brimming with tears. “My wedding is day after tomorrow, Bella.” Victoria bushed away tears with the back of her hand.

  “Yes, of course.” I couldn’t quite understand the tears, though. “Are you alright?”

  She took a few steps through the reception hall without saying anything. When she turned to face me, the tears rushed down her cheeks. “I’m not, Bella. I’m not okay. Only, I don’t know what to do about it. I’m marrying a man who’s already married.”

  “Um. . . “ I hardly knew what to say.

  With the wave of a hand she appeared to dismiss any concerns. “Okay, so he’s not married in the traditional sense, but he’s married to his job. And by job, I mean his campaign. He’s pinning all of his hopes on landing in the White House and sometimes I just have to wonder if I’m just a. . .a. . .”

  A pretty wife-to-be who would look good hanging on his arm?

  Thank goodness I didn’t speak the words out loud, though they sailed through my brain with shocking clarity.

  “I’m just a prop.” She sighed and dropped into a chair. “A prop on his arm.”

  Okay, so I didn’t need to say it. She’d done it for me.

  Victoria leaned her elbows on the table and groaned aloud. “He wants a certain type of woman, Bella, and I guess I fit the bill. Well, not right at this very moment. He wouldn’t be happy about my elbows on the table, but we’re not in public, so what does it matter? I don’t have to be perfect everywhere we go, right? I mean, no one’s filming me now.” She looked around, as if unsure.

  I had to wonder, what with the New York Times reporter holed up at the Tremont. Was he hovering behind a bush?

  “Surely there’s more to your relationship than that.” I took a seat next to her and gave her a sympathetic look. “Tell me how you met?”

  “At a political rally.”

  Ah. So, maybe there wasn’t more to it than that.

  “A friend dragged me there kicking and screaming. Not my bag, if you get my drift. I didn’t know much about politics, nor did I care. But I met Beau and fell hard.”

  “And Beau?”

  “He fell hard, too. At least, I thought he did. He tells the story better than I do.” A half-smile tipped up the edges of her lips. “Okay, so we really did hit it off. And everything was going fine. He was in his second term as senator and the media seemed to love the idea that he’d fallen in love.”

  “So, what’s changed?” I asked.

  “He has.” She shook her head. “Well, I don’t supposed he’s really changed all that much. He’s always been passionate about the things he believes in. And I’m passionate about them too. I just never saw myself as someone who was always in the public eye. What am I going to do if. . .” Her eyes widened and she looked as if she might be sick. “What if he’s elected, Bella? I’ll really be the first lady.” She paled. “Like. . .really really. It won’t be a maybe anymore.”

  “If that’s what God has in your future then He will give you everything you need to fulfill the task.”

  “Even if it’s a task I don’t want?” She glanced around, as if anticipating an interruption from Beau. He wouldn’t be joining us, of course. Not until the morning of the wedding. The man had another debate coming up.

  “You’re saying you don’t want him to win?” I spoke the words in a whisper.

  “Therein lies the conundrum. I love him and I want God’s best for him. What if God’s best is for Beau to be President of the United States? But what if God’s best for me is to be a soccer mom in Texas? You know? I just don’t know if I can handle it, Bella. I don’t.”

  “Can I ask you a question, Victoria?”

  “Of course.”

  “If you could remove politics from the equation, would you love Beau any more. . .or any less?”

  She began to sob in earnest now. In-between hiccoughs, she stammered, “I. . .I. . .I love him, no matter what.”

  “So, it’s not really an issue of what he does or doesn’t do. And by that, I’m not saying that what he’s doing is easy. I realize it’s hard.”

  “Very, very hard. And I don’t mind admitting, sometimes I pray. . .sometimes I pray. . .”

  “That he loses?” I asked.

  She swiped at the back of her hand and whispered the word “Yes. And he’s been down in the polls. Way down. So, losing feels like a real possibility now. I know it would devastate him but frankly, I—”

  Off the far side of the reception hall I saw Rosa fussing with
the mop bucket. I knew she’d overheard our conversation, but she kept her thoughts to herself. For a while, anyway. By the time Victoria dissolved into a haze of tears, my aunt could no longer contain herself. She released her hold on the bucket and headed our way.

  “Victoria?”

  The bride-to-be paused from her tears to look up. “Y-yes?” She sniffled.

  Rosa took her by the hand. “I know we’ve only known one another a short while, so I hope what I’m about to say isn’t presumptuous. Bella can vouch for me. I speak my mind but I do it prayerfully.”

  “O-okay.” I could see the doubt in Victoria’s eyes. Still, I knew better than to interrupt my aunt when she was on a roll.

  Rosa took a chair and sat next to the teary-eyed bride. “There was a time,” my aunt explained, “when my relationship with Laz was much more complicated. For many years we barely got along.”

  “You and Laz?” Victoria looked stunned. “You two are perfect for each other. Like. . .peanut butter and jelly. Mozzarella and garlic.”

  “Hardly.” Rosa laughed. “Anyway, Bella can back me up on this—Laz and I were two people going two separate ways. The bickering was endless. I think we were both afraid of what a relationship would look like between two very different people. He was set in his ways, I was set in mine.”

  “Ah.” Victoria nodded. “I see.”

  “The truth is, a good marriage will be able to weather the differences. I learned this first-hand. I’m not saying everything is perfect. We still have our days when the differences between us feel like the Grand Canyon. But I love that old man more than life itself, and I dare say there’s coming a day—maybe forty years from now—when you’ll be sitting with some scared young bride telling her something similar. Things might be frightening. You might not know if this wedding should move forward, but if you put God at the center of it all—and I know you will—you and Beau will be an old married couple with stories to tell.”

  Before she could respond, Victoria’s cell phone rang. She pulled it from her purse and her eyes widened when she saw the number. “It’s Beau.” She quickly cleared her throat and then answered with a bright, happy voice. “Hey, baby.” She rose and began to pace the room. I could tell within a minute or two that the news from his end wasn’t good, but I didn’t want to eavesdrop, so I stood and took a few steps out of the reception hall and into the kitchen with Rosa tagging along behind me. Several minutes later Victoria located us. She shoved the phone back into her purse and gave me a woeful look. “Bella, I feel awful.”

  “About what?” I asked.

  “The latest polls just came out and Beau’s numbers have dropped again. . .a lot.” She shoved her phone in her purse and her shoulders slumped forward. “It’s my fault.”

  “It’s not your fault, Victoria. You know that. People can put their trust in polls, anyway.”

  “He just sounds so. . .dejected.” She released a little sigh. “I’m so torn. I want the man I love to be happy. Being President will make him happy. But it will make me miserable.”

  I wanted to respond, but something caught my attention. Just beyond the window, a strange shadow, followed by a fast-moving object. What in the world?

  “B-Bella, what’s happening?”

  Before I could respond, the glass in the window shattered. I shot under the table and pulled Rosa down with me. Victoria landed on top of us and we all laid there, completely silent, our breaths hard and fast.

  Agent O’Conner was in the room before either of us dared speak. “My men got him, Miss Brierley,” his booming voice rang out. “You have nothing to worry about.”

  “G-G-Got who?” Victoria remained on the floor in the fetal position.

  “Some guy claiming to be a reporter. We’ve got him handcuffed and headed to jail. He was just outside the kitchen window.”

  “Listening in?” Victoria looked panicked at this idea.

  “Nope. He had just slipped in front of the window and my guys lunged at him. He won’t be reporting anything for a while. So, you’re safe.” He extended his hand and helped Victoria up, then did the same for me.

  I couldn’t stop shaking. If this was a pre-cursor to the upcoming wedding, I’d bow out right now, thank you very much.

  From the look on Victoria’s face, she might bow out, too. I had a feeling this incident was just the icing on the cake for a bride who was already having very, very cold feet.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  I Just Called to Say I Love You

  It is necessary for me to establish a winner image. Therefore, I have to beat somebody.

  Richard M. Nixon

  On Saturday morning I awoke with a knot in my stomach. This week had provided enough drama for the rest of the year. From the minute the New York Times reporter landed in jail, other journalists—if one could call them that—had swarmed the island. Thanks to the Secret Service, Club Wed was now the safest place to be. I had round-the-clock surveillance, and they would remain until the end of tomorrow evening’s event.

  Of course, we had to get through another event today before thinking ahead. This morning’s wedding reception would be a breeze in comparison to tomorrow’s soiree. But, turning the reception hall over in just a few hours would be nerve-wracking. We’d have to go from a red and gold Italian themed reception for fifty to a full out Victorian tea party for three hundred. I shivered, just thinking about it.

  Then again, maybe the shivering was caused by something else. “D.J.?” I poked him and he stirred in the bed. “D.J., is it extra-cold in here or something?”

  My hubby stirred in the bed and then rolled over. “It is cold. Brr.” He pulled the covers over his head and fell back asleep, his gentle snores taking over.

  Okay, then. I’d have to figure this one out on my own. I slipped out from under the covers, my feet landing on the cold, wood floor. Ack. I sprinted as fast as my early-morning feet would allow, all the way to the thermostat. I rubbed my eyes to make out the number: 59. W-what? Fifty-nine degrees inside the house?

  I messed around with the thermostat for a couple of minutes to make sure I’d set the dumb thing properly. I had. Looked like this was a job for D.J.. Only, he was still curled up in bed.

  “Mama?” I glanced down to see Rosie standing in the hallway behind me. “I’m c-c-c-cold!”

  “Me too, honey.”

  “The twins are crying.”

  I strained to make out the sound. Sure enough, Holly and Ivy’s faint cries sounded from their bedroom upstairs.

  I leaned down and gave Rosie a kiss. “Mama will take care of the babies. Will you go wake up daddy?”

  “Wake up daddy!” She let out a squeal and bounded toward the master bedroom. D.J. might not be happy to be awakened but who could resist such a darling little girl?

  I got the twins from their cribs and bundled them in sweaters and their heaviest leggings then went back downstairs. Tres joined us, wrapped in his Ninja Turtles blanket, and we ate a fast breakfast that included hot oatmeal and cocoa. Anything to warm us up. Afterwards D.J. stayed with the kids while I dressed for today’s event and then headed off to Club Wed.

  I arrived at the wedding facility at ten-fifteen and gave the building a final once-over before today’s reception commenced. Their ceremony was probably underway at St. Patrick’s right now. Pam and Fred—the sweetest elderly couple I’d ever met—would soon be Mr. and Mrs. Grantham. They should arrive at Club Wed no later than eleven. Even Agent O’Conner, who stood watch while I worked, seemed to know all of the details.

  Sure enough, the wedding guests started pouring in at ten minutes till eleven. The wedding party entered the reception hall at exactly eleven o’clock. The bride and groom—both in their 70s—looked blissfully happy. And relaxed. In other words, the polar opposite of Beau and Victoria. Not that I needed to be comparing anyone.

  With Mama and Pop’s help I stayed on task. Mr. And Mrs. Grantham had a short but sweet reception and their guests, mostly elderly folks, left after just an hour and a
half. Time to flip this place in preparation for tomorrow’s reception. For whatever reason, the idea left my stomach in knots.

  Or maybe the knots had something to do with not eating lunch. Ugh. I’d have to grab some leftovers from wedding #1.

  A quick trip to the kitchen was in order. I located a tray of chicken salad sandwiches and dove right in.

  By one o’clock it was all-hands-on-deck as D.J., Nick, Pop, Armando, Joey and my nephews arrived to bring in more tables. Sophia, Mama, Rosa and I flew into action, putting the tablecloths in place. Tomorrow I would officially set the tables with the gorgeous plates we’d rented and with the centerpieces Cassia was bringing, but for today this would have to do. When we finished in the reception hall I headed to the chapel to make sure everything was in order for tonight’s rehearsal.

  Weariness took its hold on me and I sat in the front pew to think through my plans—both for tonight’s rehearsal and tomorrow’s ceremony and reception. I must’ve fallen asleep. D.J.’s gentle voice roused me from a peaceful slumber.

  “Bella?”

  “Hmm?”

  “You sleeping?”

  “Who, me?” I sat up and wiped the drool from the corners of my mouth. “Um, I don’t know. Was I?”

  “Mm-hmm.” He slipped his arm over my shoulders. “And I don’t blame you. You can snooze a little longer if you like, but why don’t you go to your parents’ place? Sleep in a real bed.”

  “What if I slept through tonight’s rehearsal?” I sat up straight, the very idea terrifying me. “And what about the kids?”

  “Marcella just called to say she’s taken them to the Aquarium.”

  “Wow, she’s brave.”

  “Yep. But she didn’t seem to mind a bit. So, head next door and sleep a couple of hours. I promise to wake you up by five. How does that sound?”

  “Too good to be true.”

  The next two hours were spent in a warm bed. In a warm house. D.J. woke me up at five o’clock, as promised, and I did my best to make myself look presentable, then headed next door to the wedding facility, where I found Agent O’Conner gabbing with the Splendora sisters.