The Marcelli Bride

by Susan Mallery

  Joe sank back onto his chair. “I’ve reached my limit. When is this going to be over?”

  “Not for a long time.”

  He didn’t like the sound of that. “Marco should be running things. Everyone’s looking to me.”

  “Because you’re the strong one. Those with natural leadership ability always rise to a position of authority.”

  “It’s his family.”

  She walked around the desk and crouched in front of him. After taking both his hands in hers, she looked at him. Just looked.

  He knew what she wanted—for him to admit it was his family, too. But he couldn’t. Accepting the Marcellis as his own changed too much.

  “I’m not one of them,” he said stubbornly. “I know that makes me a real bastard, but I’m okay with that.”

  “Denial doesn’t change reality.”

  “This isn’t my reality.”

  She rose and, still holding his hands, leaned forward and lightly kissed him.

  “Don’t keep pushing them away. Learn from your past.”

  He jerked free. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

  He hadn’t pushed Alicia away. She’d gone on her own.

  Darcy shrugged. “Have it your way.” She left.

  Alone in the silence, he thought. It was all he wanted. All he’d ever wanted.

  • • •

  Thursday morning Darcy reported for kitchen duty. Grandma Tessa had found out about the caterers and had a fit. She’d called in all the Marcelli women and Darcy to prepare everything. A menu had been posted on the refrigerator, Mia, Colleen, and Ian had been sent out for supplies, and now Grandma Tessa assigned tasks.

  “Brenna, you’ll need to stay off your feet,” she said. “You can sit at the table and chop. Nothing more.”

  Brenna nodded. “Anything you want. You know that.”

  Her grandmother glared at her. “Stop being so nice to me. It makes me want to cry. No tears today. Today we cook. Tomorrow all those people will come to pay their respects to Lorenzo. They’ll drink Marcelli wine and they’ll eat Marcelli food. Nothing else.” Her gaze narrowed as she turned her attention to Katie.

  “I was only trying to help,” her granddaughter said. “I thought I was helping.”

  “No. Helping is washing all the chickens when Mia brings them back.”

  The back door opened and Grammy M walked into the kitchen. Tessa stared at her for a long moment, then held open her arms. The two old ladies rushed together and hugged tightly.

  “I’m sorry,” Grammy M murmured. “Oh, Tessa, your pain. I would have come sooner, but I was thinkin’…” She gave a little sob. “I don’t know what I was thinkin’. I can’t believe he’s gone. I’ve barely seen him these past three years. I regret that. And not seein’ you.”

  They rocked back and forth.

  “No,” Tessa said. “I’m sorry. My harsh words.”

  Grammy M straightened and looked at her friend. “’Tis no matter. I’ll be moving back in. Gabriel’s packin’ my things. It’ll be like it was before.”

  Tessa stared at her. “What did you say?”

  “I’m movin’ back in. Oh, Tessa, you need me now. I feel so horrible about what I did. You made me mad with your talk of the good Lord punishin’ me, so I vowed not to come back until you apologized. Now I see I was an old fool. We’re not gettin’ any younger. We need to take advantage of the time we have left.”

  “Do you love him?” Tessa asked fiercely.

  “Gabriel? Of course I love him.”

  Tessa marched to the phone and picked it up. “Then you call him right now and tell him to stop packing. You’re staying there. If you love him, Mary, then hold on to him for as long as you have together. I don’t care if you’re married or not. I was mad because you seemed to leave so easily. As if I didn’t matter.”

  “You matter,” Grammy M said, throwing herself at her friend. “You matter more than anyone.”

  Brenna was already weeping. The Grands cried, Katie cried, Francesca had put aside the flour she was measuring and searched for tissues. Darcy felt her own emotions give way.

  Brenna pushed herself to her feet and waddled over to the Grands. “Group girl hug,” she said, motioning Darcy in. Katie and Francesca joined them.

  For Darcy, the pain of loss combined with the sweetness of feeling as if she belonged. In this time of family tragedy, the Marcellis reached out to include her.

  Later, when the groceries had arrived and the tasks were assigned, she went with Grandma Tessa to collect the family silver from a pantry under the main staircase.

  “We’ll need all the serving pieces,” Grandma Tessa said. “Bowls, chafing dishes.”

  She stepped aside so Darcy could duck into the small room. Shelves filled the space, and each shelf was crowded with beautiful pieces in silver, silver and glass, and crystal.

  “This is all so incredible,” Darcy breathed. “I’ve been to the White House, and I have to tell you, this is just as lovely.”

  Tessa smiled. “You’re kind to say so. Bring everything to the dining room table. Don’t worry, I won’t put you to work washing it all. You’re helpful in the kitchen. Francesca will be in charge of washing and polishing. She never was very handy with a knife.”

  Darcy nodded. She would have to put the leaves in the table first, or there wouldn’t be room. But then five hundred was a lot of people to feed, especially on three days’ notice.

  Tessa turned to leave. Darcy hesitated, then stopped her. “I know I probably shouldn’t say anything, but I…” She cleared her throat. “I’m sorry I didn’t come get you or anyone. I wanted to, but then he said he didn’t want to be alone. I screamed for help, but no one heard me. I just…” She had to swallow against the tightness and the tears. “I’m sorry he wasn’t with family. At the end, I mean.”

  Tessa looked at her for a long time, then patted her arm. “Lorenzo died with someone he cared about very much, Darcy. That makes you family. I’m glad you were with him. So very glad.”

  Darcy nodded, but she couldn’t see or speak. There were too many tears and no way to stop them.

  • • •

  Paige was prepared to go to the mat on this one. “Darcy’s request isn’t unreasonable,” she said, striving for patience, when she really wanted to hit Alex over the head and tie him up in the closet for a couple of days.

  “No one is supposed to know the president’s daughter is here. You don’t think one of the five hundred people at the funeral will notice?” Alex demanded in a tone that told her he thought she was an idiot.

  “She’s hardly going to be parading herself around. She’ll be in a hat with a heavy veil. We’ll walk her in at the end and she’ll duck out a side door right before the services end. She’s not asking to go to the graveside and she’s going to stay in her room with the door locked until the wake is over. That’s more than reasonable.”

  “What’s reasonable is not going out at all. We’re talking five hundred people, Paige. Do you know what kind of security nightmare this is? We should move her to a secure location until all this mess is over. Typical Darcy, she’s refusing to leave.”

  Paige took a step toward him and raised her chin. “Typical Darcy? What does that mean? How has she even once been difficult? How has she made your job harder? The only goddamn time she was left on her own was because of a shift change and the fact that you forgot to schedule overlap. Which happened to be the exact moment Lorenzo Marcelli died.” She poked him in the chest with her index finger. “Darcy was on her own with a dying man and no one around her. Did she come to you and point out the screwup? Did she threaten you? Not even close. So don’t you dare tell me that she’s been difficult.”

  Temper flared in his dark blue eyes. He carefully pushed her finger away. “Why is this so important?”

  “Because she cares about these people. Because they mean something to her. An emotion you’ve probably never experienced, but it’s there for the rest of the worl
d.”

  Alex glared at her. “We do things by the book on my watch.”

  “Right. And sometimes mistakes get made.”

  He didn’t respond. Paige knew it had to be killing him that he’d messed up. Such a minor thing, not assigning any overlap. It could have happened to anyone. But it had happened to Alex, and she was more than willing to press that point home.

  “She will be completely covered and unrecognizable,” Paige said more calmly. “I will be with her every second. You can have agents in the church. But she’s going to that funeral.”

  “Fine,” he said curtly. “Straight to the church and straight back. Nothing graveside, and I’ll post agents on the stairs so no one gets up to her floor during the wake.”

  The victory surprised Paige. What had caused Alex to give in? She’d thought they’d have to fight a lot longer and she would have to threaten him with Darcy calling her father.

  As it was, she was all charged up for a fight that had ended too soon. Lucky for her—there was still one more thing.

  She moved in close again and glared at him. “Just so we’re all clear on this—don’t start something with me unless you intend to finish it. I’m not a toy, and this is not a game.”

  Under other circumstances his bewilderment would have been amusing. Right now it just pissed her off.

  “What on earth are you talking about?” he asked.

  “Figure it out,” she told him, then stalked away.

  • • •

  The Catholic church closest to the Marcelli vineyards usually held three hundred. On a foggy, cool, Friday morning, nearly twice that many squeezed inside. Colleen had given Joe an idea of whom to expect. Even so, he was surprised to see so many unfamiliar faces.

  Some were old—contemporaries of Lorenzo’s. Others were much younger. Distant relatives, employees, fellow vintners. A half a dozen politicians sat in the pews.

  There had been over two hundred requests to speak at the funeral. Last night Colleen and her daughters had gone through them and picked thirty. Twenty would speak in the church, the other ten by the graveside.

  Joe listened to the religious service, then to the first few mourners. He heard stories about a Lorenzo he had never known. In some ways the tales made the old man seem alive again.

  Tessa sat next to him, with Marco beside her. She cried through the service, seeming to shrink with every minute that passed. Unable to stand her quiet tears, he put an arm around her and pulled her close.

  She looked up at him. “Your grandfather was so proud of you,” she whispered from beneath her veil. “So proud.”

  His grandfather. He’d never claimed that relationship with Lorenzo. Joe had been careful to avoid calling him by name, much as he did with Marco and Colleen and Tessa. Grammy M had escaped the name stigma because her title didn’t seem to be about any familial relationship.

  There were too many people, Joe thought, wanting to bolt. He forced himself to stay in place, trying to think about other things. He felt Darcy’s presence in the church. She sat in the back, on the side, where she would be whisked away before the service ended. She’d insisted on coming, saying she wanted to be there for the family and for herself.

  He knew in his head funerals were supposed to help. That the ceremony clarified the moment of death and allowed those still living to move on. It had never worked that way for Joe. He’d been to funerals of guys he’d worked with, and the pomp and circumstance had only pissed him off, as it did now.

  Nic stood and walked to the front of the church. He nodded at Tessa and Marco, then introduced himself.

  “I first met Lorenzo when I was ten. I’d walked over from Wild Sea to taste some of his grapes. I was a kid—what did I know?” Nic smiled sadly. “Lorenzo found me snooping and took me back to the winery, where we did some barrel tasting. He listened to my opinion and told me his. I was terrified, of course. He was a Marcelli and we weren’t supposed to get along, but he was kind that day and made me wish I could be a part of his family.”

  Nic paused and stared into the crowded church. “Years later, I met and fell in love with his granddaughter Brenna. After a little complaining because I was a Giovanni, Lorenzo welcomed me into the family. And there I’ve stayed, grateful to have known him. He was a man bound by tradition, yet farsighted enough to see what the future would require of those around him. He has given us all room to succeed, while offering us a haven of support and caring.”

  Joe let the words wash over him. Speaker after speaker spoke of a man Joe had barely allowed himself to know. He thought of all the times Lorenzo had pressed him to be part of the family, and of all the times Joe had refused. Lorenzo had wanted little more than a chance to get to know his grandson, but Joe had been determined to make sure that never happened.

  Why? What was the point of disappointing an old man? What had he gained by resisting?

  And now it was too late. He couldn’t go to Lorenzo and say he understood why he, Joe, had been sent away all those years ago. He couldn’t acknowledge that whatever his last name might be, Marcelli blood flowed in his veins. He couldn’t stop rejecting what had been offered because the man who refused to give up was finally gone.

  • • •

  Several hours later Joe moved through the crowded kitchen. The guests were being kept outside by a combination of family and Secret Service agents gently ushering them in that direction. Tessa held court over the stove, accepting the condolences of those who stopped by to see her and share stories. Colleen and Grammy M stayed close, while Marco, Francesca, Katie, and Mia circulated with the guests. Nic had taken Brenna home. She’d been inconsolable after the funeral, and with her due date so close, everyone had agreed she needed to rest.

  For the first time, Joe felt out of place. He didn’t know where to go or what to do. Several family friends had spoken with him about his grandfather, but he hadn’t known what he should say in return. He had no stories to share, no fond memories. He’d spent the last three years resisting.

  Finally he made his way to the back of the house and went upstairs. The agent on the landing nodded, then stepped aside to let Joe pass. He walked to Darcy’s room, knocked once, and entered when she called for him to come in.

  She sat on her bed. The plain black dress was still in place, but she’d kicked off her shoes and removed the veil. Her skin was pale, her eyes large and filled with pain.

  “How are you holding up?” he asked.

  “That’s my question for you,” she told him as she stood and stepped toward him. “Are you okay?”

  She wasn’t mad. Typical Darcy. She liked to act tough, but she was all heart.

  “I’m getting through it.”

  She studied his face, then touched her fingers to his cheeks. “I don’t think so.”

  He swallowed. “I never told him it was okay. A couple of days before he died, he apologized to me for forcing Colleen and Marco to give me up for adoption. I never said I forgave him. He thinks I’m still mad at him for that.”

  She pressed herself against him. “No, he doesn’t. He knows what’s in your heart, Joe.”

  If only that were true. But in his book, it was a bunch of crap. “I never said I cared. I never admitted that I was one of them. A Marcelli. I wouldn’t say it. I wouldn’t even call him my grandfather.”

  Tears filled her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. He touched the moisture. “Hey, I’m the one who screwed up. Why are you crying?”

  “Because you can’t.”

  16

  Joe couldn’t remember anyone ever crying for him. He didn’t know what to say, so instead of trying to speak, he bent down and kissed her.

  The gesture was supposed to offer comfort and thanks, but the second his mouth brushed hers, heat exploded inside of him. The wanting was as instant as it was powerful. Need took over, making him grab her and pull her close.

  Darcy responded by clinging to him, urging him on. She parted her lips, and when he slipped his tongue inside, she welcomed him
.

  Blood raced south, making him hard in a heartbeat. He reached for the zipper at the back of her dress. One long pull had it free. A quick tug at her shoulders and it fell down her arms, exposing her black lacy bra.

  He pulled back enough to get a good look. Soft, pale skin, black lace, tight nipples. If he’d had thoughts about turning back, one eyeful took care of that. Still, there was enough sanity left for him to remember where he was and what was happening.

  “What the hell am I thinking?” he asked, more of himself than of her.

  “Don’t think,” she said. She lowered her arms and stepped out of the dress. Underneath she wore a pair of tiny, black panties, her bra, and nothing else. How was he supposed to resist that?

  As he watched, she crossed to the door and turned the old-fashioned lock. Then she drew the curtains so the room was in semidarkness. She moved back in front of him and gently pushed his suit jacket off his shoulders.

  “Allow me,” she whispered.

  “Darcy,” he began, but she shook her head.

  “No talking,” she told him. “No thinking. No analyzing. Just feel my touch. What I’m doing to you. Nothing else. Clear your mind.”

  She loosened his tie and pulled it off, then went to work on his shirt buttons. He stood there, feeling strange and awkward, not sure what was going on. Oh, he understood they were both about to be naked, but this was different from his usual lovemaking, although he couldn’t say why.

  There was something in her eyes, something in the way she seemed so solemn, yet determined. Something in her touch that kept him quiet and immobile.

  When she’d tossed his shirt on the chair, she walked behind him and pressed her mouth to his back. He felt her tongue slip across an old scar.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “Knife fight. I rolled when I should have ducked.”

  She nipped the area, sending a jolt of fire right down to his crotch. She moved her hands to his waist, then to his chest, where she stroked him from shoulder to belly, getting close to his erection, but never touching him.