The Sicilian Marriage

“Well,” Fallon said, thinking back to the first time she and her husband met, “well—”

“Look, there’s just something about the guy I don’t like, okay? End of story.”

“Bree. Honey, you’ve gone through how many relationships? Sooner or later, there’s always something about the guy you don’t like, whatever that means. Don’t make a face. I know you’re a big girl—”

“An adult,” Bree said coolly, “but neither you nor Megan seem able to hang on to that thought.”

“We just want you to be happy. To find someone to love.”

“Lust isn’t love.”

Fallon blushed. “Sometimes it’s the way love begins.”

“Well, not for me.” Bree’s expression turned dreamy. “I’ll meet the right man someday. He’ll be gentle and sweet. He’ll never do anything to upset me. He might not stand out in a crowd, but—”

“What about passion?”

“Sex isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

“Passion isn’t only about sex,” Fallon said softly, “but if you think that making love isn’t special, you haven’t been with the right man.”

“Sex Ed 101,” Bree said and, just as she’d hoped, her sister laughed. Good. She really didn’t want to get into this topic. “Don’t worry about me, okay? And lunch is on me. No arguments.”

Fallon watched Briana rummage in her handbag. “Bree?” she said, so softly that Bree looked up. “This passion thing. I know you. You’re full of fire. Full of life. Why would you want to deny it?”

“Amazing,” Bree replied, trying for a light tone. “Karen made the same speech. Do the two of you really think you know what’s best for me?”

“I barely know Karen, but I admire her insight. Did you ever consider we might be right? Maybe you’re kidding yourself. Maybe what you really want is a man who’ll sweep you off your feet?”

Briana’s eyes flashed. Fallon had pushed too far. It was time for the truth.

“Sweep me off my feet, huh? Like our father did to our mother?” She leaned forward, all attempts at good humor gone. “I was the baby, so maybe you think I don’t remember, but I do. Ma struggling to pretend it was okay with her whatever he did, smiling when she wanted to cry, never saying an unkind word to him or about him.”

“Bree—”

“Our mother turned herself into a doormat because of that ‘sweeping her off her feet’ crap. She lived for our father, lived through him, and if you think I’m going to let myself in for the same nonsense, you’re crazy!”

“Is that how you think of me?” Fallon said quietly. “As a doormat for my husband?”

“No! I didn’t mean—”

“Stefano swept me off my feet. Qasim swept Megan off hers, and one look at our sisters-in-law and I could tell it was the same for them. We’re all head over heels, passionately in love with our husbands. Are we all doormats?”

“No, no, I never…” Bree took a steadying breath. “This is pointless,” she said. “I’m just not looking for passion. If it works for you, great, but I know myself. I want—”

“Something quiet.”

“Yes.”

“Something undemanding.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that!”

“Something safe,” Fallon said softly, and reached for Bree’s hand. “What are you afraid of, sis?”

“Nothing,” Briana said quickly, and even as she said it, she knew she was lying.

She was afraid. Of the dreams she’d had about Gianni Firelli each night since the party. Of the way he’d made her feel. Of that one cataclysmic instant when she’d looked into his eyes and felt the earth tilt under her feet.

Of losing herself, her dreams, her hopes, her very being, in the fires of passion.

MAY BECAME JUNE, and June slipped into July.

The days were hot and muggy. New Yorkers who could afford it abandoned the city in droves. You were more likely to bump into your Fifth Avenue neighbor on the beaches in the Hamptons or on village greens in the Connecticut hills than in the city.

Gianni didn’t notice the heat. He was immersed in a trial that was finally nearing its conclusion. It had been a complicated case, one that required his personal attention. He’d gone back and forth to the coast several times, even now, in the trial’s final hours. Days took on a numbing similarity when you spent them on airplanes.

Invitations came in, as they always did: dinner parties at the beach, long weekends in the country. He hadn’t dated anyone since the break-up with Lynda. Word had gotten out and hostesses everywhere were doing their best to inveigle him into meeting eligible women, but he wasn’t in the mood. He wasn’t in the mood for parties, either. Not since May. Not since Briana O’Connell had treated him with a curtness that had bordered on contempt. He needed closure.

Entering his penthouse on a Friday evening, tired after another round of flights and depositions, Gianni grimaced at that overused word. Closure was the feel-good term of the decade.

In this case, though, it was true.

He shrugged off his jacket, undid his tie and the buttons on his shirt as he made his way to the bedroom.

Lack of closure was why he couldn’t get what had happened out of his mind. He was furious with himself that he hadn’t told the lady what he thought of her, but how could he? He’d been a guest in Stefano’s home, and she was Stefano’s sister-in-law.

Gianni tossed his cuff links on the dresser, added his wallet and change, peeled down to his briefs and started for the shower before remembering the heavy vellum envelope the doorman had given him. It had been hand-delivered.

Gianni eyed the envelope narrowly. It was, surely, some kind of invitation. The delivery by messenger, the vellum stock were dead giveaways. Well, whatever he’d been invited to, he wasn’t going. He wasn’t in the mood for people and small talk but someone, somewhere was waiting for an answer and he believed in being polite even if…

Hell.

He tore open the envelope and felt his bad mood dissolve. Tomasso and Karen had had their baby. A girl. His smile turned into a grin. They were having a Welcome to the World party for the child. Karen’s idea, without question. Gianni didn’t know her well but from what he’d observed and from what Tomasso said, Karen was the antithesis of her pragmatic husband. She was day to his night, Tomasso had told him with the kind of smile that made it clear it was a winning combination.

Gianni’s grin faded. Damn it, the party was tonight.

Sighing, he shut his eyes and rubbed the back of his neck. Lord, he was tired. The last thing he was in the mood for was a party, but another life had come into the world and even if he couldn’t yet understand the appeal of fatherhood, he wanted to clap Tomasso on the back, kiss Karen and wish them well.

Gianni dropped the invitation on the dresser and headed for the shower.

Tonight, at least, nobody would try to play matchmaker, not with the baby the center of attention.

Better still, there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell he’d run into Briana O’Connell.

“Hallelujah,” he muttered, and stepped under the spray.

SO MUCH for snowballs and hell.