Marriage by Contract

Just who was Tony Petrocelli? He was no whipping boy, and he certainly wasn’t a shrinking violet. People at the hospital said he was a complex man, one who wasn’t easy to know intimately. Beth was beginning to realize that there was a lot more to him than rumors and tall tales.

She stood in the doorway, staring through the colorful beads for a long time after he left, feeling as if she were viewing the world through rose-colored glasses. Oh, what a difference a day could make. In the span of twelve hours she’d experienced nearly every emotion there was. Sadness, despair, embarrassment, desire and relief. Her head was spinning as a result.

Jenna would have said, “All’s well that ends well.”

Bethany supposed it was true enough. After all, according to Mrs. Donahue, she would be able to begin adoption proceedings as soon as she was married. She already loved Christopher as her own. Now she would be able to raise him as her own, as well. She smiled at the thought, her arms aching to hold the child that would soon be hers.

Soon. That was when Tony said he wanted to get married.

Good heavens, she was getting married, when she’d promised herself she’d never get married again. Touching the tips of her fingers to her lips, she only hoped she knew what she was doing.

* * *

Beth slid from the seat and rounded the front of Tony’s Lexus. Her feet stopped at the foot of the porch steps, her eyes trained on the welcome sign fastened above the front door.

“Ready?” Tony asked, reaching for her hand.

No. As a matter of fact, she wasn’t ready. Oh, the house looked inviting enough. It was located in what her mother referred to as the working-class district. These houses were old but well kept. They were far less ornate than the huge Victorian mansions that had been built by businessmen and prospectors who’d struck it rich in the silver mines a hundred years ago, and far less pretentious than the new structures built by present-day businessmen and the social elite. The houses in this neighborhood had painted porches and bare spots in the lawns where children played and dogs snoozed in the shade. The exterior didn’t concern Beth in the least. It was the people waiting for her inside that had her nerves standing on edge.

During the ride from her apartment, Tony had hit most of the high spots concerning his family. She now knew that his Grandpa Mario had died ten years ago, and that the Petrocellis were the kind of people who still referred to wall-to-wall carpeting as a rug, and who ate dinner at noon, and supper as soon as they closed the Italian grocery store that had been in the family for more than forty years. Other than a love for gossip, they sounded like kind, good-hearted men and women. So why were her feet frozen to the sidewalk?

“Come on,” Tony said softly. “You’re going to be fine.”

She took a deep breath and went up to the first step. Mentally preparing herself for what was to come, she stared straight ahead. “All right. Let’s go in. I only hope I don’t drop my spaghetti in my lap.”

Tony was still laughing when he opened the front door and ushered her inside. Every person in the room turned to look at them, more than a dozen pairs of brown eyes narrowing with a critical squint. Accepting the squeeze Tony gave her hand for moral support, Beth did her best to hold her head high and refrain from fidgeting. But honestly, a germ under a microscope had never received a more intense scrutiny.

“Everyone,” Tony began, “I’d like you to meet Bethany Kent. My future bride.”

Only one person in the entire room moved. A small woman with white hair leaned heavily on her cane as she ambled closer.

“This is my Grandma Rosa,” Tony said quietly.

Rosa Petrocelli was eighty-five years old if she was a day, and obviously accepted her position as head of the family as her just due. Her gaze started at Beth’s feet and trailed upward, ending at her face. She finished her perusal, pausing for a moment for effect. When she was good and ready, she said, “You’re very thin.”

Beth looked past the thinning white hair and the wrinkles lining a face that had lived through a lot of years, and into the other woman’s sharply assessing eyes. “Maybe. But not too thin.”

Rosa Petrocelli’s eyebrows went up. Tapping her cane on the floor to still the gasps behind her, she said, “You also have a strong will, yes? This is good. You’re goin’ta need it to hold your own with our Antonio.”

A chuckle started in one corner of the room, circled around and back again, picking up volume along the way. Rosa muttered a prayer in Italian, and in no time at all, chaos and confusion erupted. Beth was introduced to Tony’s parents and his sisters, and so many other family members she had a difficult time keeping everyone straight. She thought she tallied up eleven children, but she might have counted one adorable little boy who looked to be about four years old twice.

She managed to make it through dinner, or supper, as the Petrocellis called it, without spilling her spaghetti in her lap, although it was surprising that she could eat at all considering all the questions she answered. She glanced up several times and found Tony watching her, and at least one of his sisters nodding in approval.

The dishes were whisked away to the kitchen, Beth’s offer to help with the cleanup quickly denied. The Petrocelli women were very formidable, giving their men strict orders to watch the children and keep Beth duly entertained. It didn’t take long for Tony’s father and brothers-in-law to draw him into a discussion about baseball, oblivious to their children’s noisy play and the woman they’d been instructed to amuse. Seizing a moment of solitude, Beth strolled through an arched doorway and into another room.

The room was small and appeared to be used as some sort of den. An overstuffed sofa took up one wall, and a cozy armchair was placed at a comfortable angle nearby with doily-topped end tables on either side. There was an old television in one corner, and everywhere, on every available surface, sat framed photographs in all shapes and sizes. Beth studied them, intrigued.

There was a black-and-white snapshot of a man in uniform, another of a solemn-faced wedding couple, and color photos of everything from first communions to weddings to smiling babies. Tony’s sisters looked so much alike it was difficult to tell who was who. But Tony was easy to spot. She’d noticed the way his mother, grandmother and four sisters all doted on him, making it obvious that he was the family favorite—because he was the only boy, or because he kept himself slightly aloof, she couldn’t be sure.

“Are you hiding or wandering?”

Beth spun around, flushing guiltily. Tony was leaning in the doorway, one hand in his pocket, a lazy light in his eyes. Wondering what had happened to her air of calm and self-confidence, she said, “A little of both, I suppose.”

He pushed himself from the doorway and ambled farther into the room. “They can be overwhelming at times. Believe me, I know.”

Beth found herself smiling. Although she had wandered into this room to catch her breath and grab a moment of solitude, she certainly couldn’t fault the Petrocellis for the way they’d welcomed her tonight. Shrugging, she said, “Your family is wonderful. I’m just not used to all the touching and embracing and, well, all the noise.”

Tony stopped a few feet away, his gaze trailing over photographs he’d seen a thousand times. “You learn to tune it out. Your family isn’t noisy?”

“Hardly. I only have one sister. We’re very different.”

Something about her tone of voice drew his gaze. “Different, how?” he asked.

She shrugged one shoulder. “Janet is beautiful, poised and gracious. She’s two years older than I am, and she has always made all the right choices. She married a handsome, intelligent man and has three beautiful, intelligent children.”

Tony thought they all sounded extremely politically correct, and wondered why it irked him. Before he was able to come up with an answer, Beth began clicking off names on her fingers. “Let me see if I’ve gotten your family straight. Your father’s name is Vince, your mother is Elena. Carmelina is married to Nick Santini. Gina’s husband’s name is Teddy Bulgarelli. There’s Andreanna and Rocky Grazanti, and Maria and…what’s Maria’s husband’s name again?”

“Frank Giovanni.” His answer had been automatic. Why wouldn’t it be? He’d known Frankie all his life.

With a rustle of silk that kicked his heartbeat into overdrive, she bent down to study another photograph. “Is there anyone in your family who hasn’t married a fellow Italian, Tony?”

He caught a whiff of decadently expensive French perfume, and suddenly, he didn’t want to talk about his family. He waited for his silence to draw her attention, letting his gaze travel over her soft, elegant blouse and long, straight skirt.

“There’s me,” he whispered.

Beth straightened slowly. Had she moved closer, or had he? In the tight space so near him, she couldn’t think of a single thing to say or do. Tony seemed to have no such problem. His breath felt warm on her cheek. A moment later, his lips touched hers. This was the first time he’d kissed her today. She suspected he’d been on his best behavior, but there was no disguising the passion running through him right now.

There was a ruckus in the next room, but it was Elena Petrocelli’s voice coming from the doorway that drew Tony and Beth apart. Calling for attention with a loud clap of her hands, she said, “It’s nice to see that my son takes after his father, but there will be plenty of time for that later. Now, come. Quickly. We have wedding plans to make.”

Beth and Tony ended up in the next room, surrounded by Petrocellis who were all talking at once.

“Bethany,” Elena said, “will your mother be helping you with the wedding plans?”

Beth barely had time to shake her head before Tony’s mother rushed on. “Uh! No problem. I’ve planned four weddings already, and would love to help with yours and my Anthony’s. I know the two of you will be busy with adoption proceedings—I can hardly wait to meet my new grandson. You just leave the wedding plans to me.”

“We’ll have to see about a hall.”

“And food, Mama. We’ll need plenty of food.”

“Tony, were you thinking of an autumn wedding? Or winter?”

Beth cast a look at all the people who were talking and gesturing a mile a minute, then slowly turned her gaze to Tony’s. He leaned closer and said, “I told you they were overwhelming.”

She smiled. She hardly knew this man, yet she had an unsinkable feeling that everything was going to be all right. Tony obviously had strong family ties, and would undoubtedly be a good father to Christopher. Although arranged marriages weren’t common in this day and age, they’d certainly been effective in other eras. She’d married Barry for love. And look how that had turned out. Perhaps a marriage based on mutual respect and the love of an innocent child would fare better.

Tony raised his voice above all the noise. “Sorry to disappoint all of you, but Beth and I aren’t going to have time for a big wedding. We’re going to be married as soon as possible.”

“As soon as possible!” Rosa exclaimed.