by Nora Roberts
“Going to a wedding.” He lifted a hand to the knot of his striped tie, tugged. “Is this thing on right?”
“Cammie, Brad, Bo, this is Josh. Upstairs neighbor, fellow student and amateur tie knotter. Let me fix it. Who’s getting married?”
“Girlfriend’s sister. I’ll be meeting her whole family. I feel a little sick.”
“Oooh, the gauntlet.” She straightened his tie, gave his lapel a little pat. “There, you’re perfect. And don’t worry, hon, people are either crying or getting drunk at weddings.”
“They’re mostly Italian.”
“Then they’ll be doing both. Italian weddings are big buckets of fun. Just lift your glass and say—what is it?—salute!”
“Salute. Got it. Nice to meet you guys. See you later.”
“He’s a sweetie,” Mandy said when he went out. “Been hung up on this girl in his lit class most of the term. Looks like it’s finally working out. So.” She adjusted her cap. “Let’s go see some big-ass fish.”
Bella had ordered perfect, and in Reena’s opinion, she’d gotten her wish. The weather was spectacular, the balmy blue and gold of early summer, with the flowers both bright and delicate, and the humidity mercifully low.
She looked like a princess, everyone said so, in her frothy white gown, her hair gleaming gold under her sparkling veil. She carried a spectacular creation of pink roses accented with miniature white lilies.
The church was bedecked with her choice of flowers in white baskets. She’d rejected the more traditional organ in favor of a harp, flutes, cello and violin. Reena had to admit the sound was lovely.
And classy.
No more lace curtains and Kleenex bouquets, Reena thought as her eyes stung and her throat went hot. Isabella Hale swept down the aisle of St. Leo’s on their father’s arm looking like royalty. Her train a sparkling white river behind her, her face glowing, diamonds firing at her ears.
She’d gotten her wish all around, Reena thought, as Vince—elegant and handsome in his formal morning coat—looked dazzled by her.
His eyes, deep and dark, lit on her face and never moved from it. Her father’s were damp as he carefully lifted Bella’s veil, gently kissed her cheek and answered the priest’s question about who gives this woman to this man with a tenderly spoken, “Her mother and I do.”
For once Bella didn’t weep, but stayed dry-eyed and luminous through the Mass and ceremony. Her eyes like stars and her voice clear as a bell.
Because she knows this is exactly what she wants, Reena thought. What she’s always wanted. Just as she knows this is her spotlight, and all eyes are on her.
It no longer mattered that the bridesmaid dress was a little less than flattering. Here was another kind of fire, she realized. It was strong and bright and hot. It was her sister’s joy flaming through the air.
So Reena wept when the vows were exchanged, and the rings given, knowing that this was the end of a part of their lives. And the beginning of the next part of Bella’s.
The reception was held at Vince’s parents’ country club where his father was some sort of officer or board member. Here, too, there were flowers in abundance, and food and wine and music.
Each table was draped with the same shade of pink as Bella’s signature roses, sprinkled with white rose petals and centered with yet more flowers and glossy pillars of pure white candles.
Reena was required to sit at the long head table along with the bridal party. She was grateful her mother had the foresight to seat Josh at the same table as Gina, who could be counted on to keep him entertained. She was nearly as grateful that Fran—as maid of honor—and Vince’s brother, who served as best man, were the ones who would make the traditional toasts.
She ate rare prime rib, talked and laughed with the other members of the wedding party, worried about Josh. And when she took time to gaze around the big ballroom, wondered what kind of world her sister was now a part of.
The two families were mingling, as people do at such events. But even if she didn’t know them, she’d have been able to separate them into groups. The working class, the upper class. City neighborhood, suburban wealth.
The bride wasn’t the only one wearing diamonds, or draped in a dress that cost more than a week’s take at Sirico’s. But she was the only one of her blood who’d managed it.
Probably, Reena admitted, the only one of her blood who could pull it off as if she’d been born wearing Prada.
As if reading her thoughts, Xander leaned close to her ear. “We’re now the poor relations.”
She snickered, then picked up her champagne. “Screw it. Salute.”
It was easier when she could escape the formal duties and find Josh. “You doing okay? I should be clear now, at least for a while.”
“Fine. It was some wedding.”
“Some wedding,” she agreed. “I didn’t know the pictures would take so long. I feel like I deserted you. And I wanted to warn you that—”
“Catarina!” Her aunt Carmela swept up to envelop her in clouds of White Shoulders. “How beautiful you look! Like a bride yourself. But so thin! We’ll fatten you up now you’re home. And who is this handsome young man?”
“Aunt Carmela, this is Josh Bolton. Josh, my aunt, Carmela Sirico.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Sirico.”
“Polite, too. It’s a wedding, today I’m Carmela. My niece.” Carmela wrapped a strong arm around Reena’s shoulders. “She looks so pretty, doesn’t she?”
“Yes, ma’am, she—”
“Francesca’s the beauty, and Isabella, she has the style, the passion. Our Catarina, she’s the smart one. Aren’t you, cara?”
“That’s right. I got the brains.”
“But today, you look beautiful! Maybe your young man will get ideas when you catch the bouquet.” She winked broadly. “Do I know your family?” she asked Josh.
“You don’t,” Reena said quickly. “I know Josh from school. I need to introduce him around.”
“Yes, yes. You save a dance for me,” she told Josh as Reena dragged him away.
“That’s what I was going to warn you about,” Reena began. “You’re going to get a lot of that and some third degree. Who are your family, what do they do, what are you doing, where do you go to church. Everyone in my family thinks it’s their business to know. Don’t take it personally.”
“It’s okay. Gina gave me the heads-up. It’s a little scary, but okay. And you do look beautiful. I’ve never been to a big Catholic wedding. It was something.”
“And really long,” she said with a laugh. “Okay, I’m going to have to show you off to the uncles, and the rest of the aunts. Stay strong.”
And it was okay, she saw as the party went on. Josh might have been peppered with questions, but there was so much talking going on he only had to answer about half of them.
The music kept things lively with something for everyone, from Dean Martin to Madonna. She’d relaxed into the moment when she took her dance with the groom.
“I’ve never seen my sister look happier. The ceremony was beautiful, Vince. Everything’s beautiful.”
“She worried every day. But that’s our Bella.”
He moved so smoothly over the floor, stayed so focused on her face as he did that Reena was sure there’d been lessons along the way. Dance and charm.
“Now we can start our lives, make our home, have our family. We’ll have you over for dinner once we’re back from our honeymoon and settled.”
“I’m there.”
“I’m a lucky man to have such a beautiful wife, such an enchanting woman. And she cooks.” He laughed and kissed Reena’s cheek. “And now I have another sister.”
“I have another brother. Una famiglia.”
“Una famiglia.” He grinned and swept her around the dance floor.
Later, snuggled in bed with Josh, Reena thought of her sister’s long-awaited day. The grandeur of the ceremony, all the solemn words, the elegant flowers. The initial formality of t
he reception that had, thankfully, broken down into a boisterous party.
“Tell me, did my aunt Rosa actually do the Electric Slide?”
“I can’t remember which one was Rosa, exactly, but yeah, I think. Or maybe it was the Hokey Pokey.”
“No, it was my second cousins Lena and Maria-Theresa who got that one going. Jeez.”
“I liked the dancing, especially the tarenbella.”
“Tarantella,” she corrected, giggling. “You held up, Josh, and it’s not easy. Big points for you.”
“I had fun, serious fun. Your family’s really cool.”
“Also big and loud. I think Vince’s family was a little wigged, maybe especially when my uncle Larry grabbed the mike and started belting out ‘That’s Amore.’ ”
“Sounded good. I like your family better. His are kind of snobby. He’s okay,” Josh said quickly. “And he’s over the moon about your sister. They looked like a movie couple.”
“Yeah, they did.”
“And your mom. Is it okay to say your mom’s really beautiful? She just doesn’t look like a mom. My family never did stuff like this, you know, the big events. I liked it.”
She rolled over, smiled down at him. “Then you’ll come to dinner tomorrow? Mom told me to ask you. You can see what we’re like when we’re not all dressed up.”
“Sure. Maybe you can stay tonight? My roommate’s not getting back until tomorrow night. We can go out if you want, or just stay here.”
“I wish I could.” She bent her head to kiss his chest. It was so smooth and warm. “I really do. But I think an overnight’s a little more than my dad could take tonight. He’s going to be feeling blue. On top of it, people were giving him the business about how soon he’d be doing this again for Fran.”
“You did shove her right at the bouquet when Bella tossed it.”
“Reflex.” She laughed again, and sat up to shake back her hair. “I want to keep Dad busy tonight. Otherwise he’s going to be thinking about Bella’s wedding night, and that’s iffy territory for him.” She touched his cheek. “I’m glad you had fun today.”
He sat up, hugged her in a way that warmed her heart. “I always do when I’m with you.”
She dressed, freshened her makeup. No good going home looking like she’d just rolled out of bed with a guy. At the door she let Josh draw her into several lingering kisses.
“Maybe, next day off, we could go somewhere,” he suggested. “The beach or something.”
“I’d like that. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She stepped out, then turned back and pulled him into the doorway for another kiss. “That’ll have to hold me.”
She all but danced down the stairs and into the warm night.
Bo drove into the lot as she was putting her key into the ignition.
He’d dropped Brad and Cammie off at Cammie’s place. It had been a good day, he thought, the kind that promised more. He liked Mandy. It was impossible not to. She was a pain in the ass with the camera, but in a way that made him laugh, or impressed him.
“I’m going to want to see some of the six million pictures you took today,” he told her as they got out of his car.
“You couldn’t escape it. I’m nearly as annoying with prints as I am with the lens. This was fun. I’m glad Cam nagged me into it. And saying that just proves I forget to engage brain before tongue.”
“It’s okay, I got nagged into it, too. I figured if it turned out to be a nightmare I could hold it over Brad for years. I’ll have to find something else to hold over his head. Okay if I call you?”
“Really okay.” She pulled a scrap of paper out of her pocket. “I already wrote down my number. If you hadn’t asked for it, I was going to plant it on you while I was doing this.”
She grabbed his shirt in both hands, gave a quick yank and rose onto her toes at the same time. The kiss was hot and promising.
“Nice.” She rubbed her lips together. “You know, if something works between us, they’re going to hold it over our heads.”
“Life’s full of risks.” He’d decided the eyebrow ring was sexy. “Maybe I could come in.”
“Tempting, very tempting. But I think we’d better hold off on that.” She unlocked her door, backed in. “Call me.”
He put her number in his pocket and was grinning as he walked out to his car.
Since he had the evening free, and no roommate to blare music, Josh sat down to write. He decided it would be fun to try to build a short story around the wedding.
He wanted to get some of it down before the impressions—there were so many of them—got jumbled up or started to fade away.
As much as he would’ve liked having Reena stay the night, he was sort of glad she’d gone home. Having the place to himself meant he could really think. Really work.
He had most of a quick draft roughed out when the knock on the door interrupted him. With his mind still on the story, he went to answer. When he opened the door, he cocked his head in greeting. “Can I help you?”
“Yeah, I’m from upstairs. Have you heard—See, there it is again.”
Instinctively Josh glanced over his shoulder in the direction his visitor pointed. Pain exploded in his head, a red bloom over his eyes.
The door was shut before he hit the floor.
Skinny kid. No trouble hauling his stupid ass into the bedroom. The sock full of quarters would leave a mark. Maybe they’d find it later. Leave him on the floor, so it looks like he hit his head falling out of bed.
Keep it simple, keep it quick. Light the cigarette, wipe it clean, put it between the dumb fuck’s lips. Just in case. Get his prints on the pack, on some matches. Just in case. Now lay the burning cigarette on the bed, lay it on the sheets. Smolder good there. Add a little paper—College Joe’s school papers. Leave the pack of smokes, leave some matches.
Go find a beer in the kitchen. Might as well have a drink while it starts.
Nothing like watching a fire being born. Nothing in the world. Power is like a prime drug.
The smoldering fire. The sneaky fire. Sly and cunning. Building, building, quiet and secret, toward that first flash of flame.
Gloves on, take the battery out of the smoke detector. People are so careless. Just forget to replace the batteries. Damn shame.
Kid could come to. Comes to, just smack him again.
Hope he comes to. Come on, you skinny bastard, come around so I can hit you again.
Hold it in, hold it down. Watch the smoke—sexy, silent, deadly. Smoke’s what gets them. Dazes them. Paper’s catching, there’s the flame.
First flame’s the first power. Hear how it speaks, whispers. Watch how it moves, dances.
Now the sheets. Good start, got a start. Drape the sheet down, over the asshole.
Beautiful! Look at the colors of it. Gold and red, orange and yellow.
Here’s how it looks: Lights up in bed, falls asleep. Smoke gets him, he tries to get out of bed, falls, hits his head. Fire takes him while he’s out.
Bed’s going up. Pretty, isn’t that pretty? A little more paper won’t hurt. Get his shirt caught. That’s the way!
Keep going, keep going. It takes so damn long. Drink some beer, keep your cool. Who knew a skinny bastard could burn that way? Carpet’s caught now—what you get for buying cheap!
Toast, that’s what he is. Fucking toast. Smells like roasting pig.
Better go. Hate to leave, miss the show. It’s so interesting to watch people crackle and melt while the fire eats them.
But it’s time to say our good-byes to dumbass College Joe. Take it slow, take it easy. Check the hall. Too damn bad you can’t stay and watch, but gotta go. Stroll away, no hurry. Don’t look back. Nice and easy, got no worries.
Drive away. Keep to the posted limits like any law-abiding son of a bitch.
He’ll be crisp before they get to him.
Now that’s entertainment.
7
Bo woke with a hangover that rang like cathedral bells. He was face-down on a bed tha
t smelled more like gym socks than sheets, and was just miserable enough to consider staying like that, breathing in the rank, for the rest of his natural life.
It wasn’t his fault that his downstairs neighbor’s party had been at full blast when he got home from dropping off Mandy. Stopping in had been polite, and an entertaining way to spend the rest of his Saturday night.
And since he’d only had to walk up the stairs to his own place, he hadn’t seen the harm in drinking a couple of beers.
But it was his fault, and he was willing to admit it once his head stopped screaming, that he’d hung out until after two in the morning and sucked down a six-pack.
But it wasn’t completely his fault, because the beer had been there, along with the nachos. And what were you supposed to do when you were eating nachos but wash them down with beer?
Oceans of beer.
He had aspirin. Probably. Somewhere. Oh, if only there was a merciful God who would remind him where the hell he’d stashed the bottle of Advil. He’d crawl to it himself, if only he knew where to drag his poor, abused body.
And why hadn’t he pulled the shades? Why couldn’t that merciful God turn down the sunlight so it wasn’t blasting like a red furnace against his aching eyes?
Because he’d worshipped the god of beer, that’s why. He’d broken a commandment and worshipped the false and foamy god of beer. And now he was being punished.
He thought the aspirin, which now took on the weight of his salvation, was most likely in the kitchen. He prayed it was as he covered his eyes with one hand, eased himself out of bed. His moan was heartfelt, and turned into something more like a scream when he tripped over his shoes and fell flat on his face.
He barely had the strength to whimper, much less swear.
He made it to his hands and knees, balanced there, prayed there until he got most of his breath back. Never again. He swore it. If he’d had a knife he’d have drawn his own blood and used it to write the vow on the floor. He managed to get to his feet, while his banging head spun and his stomach churned. His last hope was that he wouldn’t puke on his own toes. He’d rather have the pain than the puking.
Fortunately, his apartment was about the size of a minivan, and the kitchen only a few short steps from the pull-out sofa. Something in the kitchen smelled like dead rat, and wasn’t that just perfect? He ignored the sink full of dishes, the counter junked with boxes of takeout he’d yet to throw away, and fumbled through his cabinets.
