'Til Death Do Us Part

by Eliza Daly

  “Just shy of a thousand.”

  “A thousand? The website just went live yesterday.”

  “And I’m sure they’ll be flooding in after his interview.”

  “Yeah, there are a lot of desperate women out there.”

  “Aggie would appreciate how hard you are trying to find Ryan a perfect match.”

  Great. Now she had the guilt of a deceased woman on her shoulders besides her own conscience over arranging a marriage doomed for divorce.

  “I’m sure he was nervous as hell. He hasn’t given an interview in years. Turning the discussion to business probably relaxed him, a defense mechanism.”

  “Didn’t realize he’d ever given an interview.”

  “About five years ago. A comment he made was taken out of context and caused Aggie some grief. He took it a lot harder than her, of course.”

  Cassidy felt a flicker of sympathy for him.

  Her cell phone went off.

  “You gotta get over here. All hell’s breaking loose. Fiona’s drinking straight from a bottle.” Charlie sounded on the verge of a complete meltdown.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “What’s wrong! Didn’t you see Ryan make an ass out of himself on television? There’s paparazzi everywhere!”

  “I’ll be right there.”

  “Use the neighbor’s drive. It’s wooded, and there’s an opening where you can cut across to our backyard. Damn paparazzi,” Charlie wailed frantically, then disconnected.

  Great. Besides Aggie’s ghost, Cassidy would also be letting the staff down. She wasn’t the only one who had something to lose if Ryan didn’t marry for love.

  However, they had Ryan to blame, not her.

  • • •

  Charlie was right. The media was everywhere. It wasn’t the paparazzi lurking in trees and bushes, but rather a slew of reporters lined the sidewalk, their cameras rolling. Photographers’ zoom lenses were spying between the spindles of the wrought iron fence, snapping shots of the mansion.

  The neighbor’s drive, shrouded in trees, ran parallel to the mansion’s. Thankfully, Cassidy had thought to remove the funeral home ads so her car wouldn’t stand out. When she was halfway down the drive, Charlie leapt out of nowhere, waving her through an opening in the shrubs and a missing section of the mansion’s fence. This certainly wasn’t their first crisis.

  She parked on the grass by the back terrace steps, which the staff scrambled down. Fiona’s gold high-heeled sandals and the black lace scarf camouflaging her face and obstructing her view hindered her descent. Charlotte’s big blue eyes peered over the top of the feather duster. And the brim of Hector’s Panama hat sat low on his head, shielding the top of his face. They acted as if any moment photographers would scale the cliff behind the mansion and crawl up over the bluff.

  “Why’d you let Ryan go on the telly and make a bloody arse of himself?” Fiona placed a death grip on Cassidy’s arm and ushered her up the steps.

  “I have no control over what he says.” Fiona whisked her through the French doors into the safety of the mansion. They continued through the kitchen to the den.

  “Why did you let him say anything?” Charlotte plucked a dryer sheet from her bra and fanned herself like a wilting southern belle.

  “I’d hoped an interview would appease the media and they’d back off.”

  “Well, that sure as hell didn’t work, now did it?” Charlie peeked out the side of the drawn shade at the media on the sidewalk.

  The window was closed, and Hops was nowhere to be found. Neither were the gray cat or Barley. The staff weren’t the only ones freaked out by the media frenzy. The lit candelabra on the mantle cast a dim glowing light on the dark room, the tall flames coming dangerously close to the felt fish on Aggie’s urn.

  Hector shook his head in disgust. “I can’t finish my yard work. They’re taking my picture and shouting questions at me.”

  “I don’t like to keep the curtains closed,” Charlotte fretted, dusting the vacuum cleaner on the floor. “What woman is going to want Ryan after that interview?”

  “All of ’em,” Fiona snapped. “Money is an aphrodisiac, except the passion it evokes is more for the cash than the man.”

  Charlotte tiptoed over and dusted the plastic covering the couch. Fiona chewed on a long, blood-red nail. Charlie crept away from the window. Hector paced, his bare feet slapping against the wooden floor. Prisoners in their own mansion.

  Seeing the staff so distraught tugged at Cassidy’s heart. She walked over and flipped on the chandelier; a bright golden hue filled the room. The staff cringed, shielding their faces like vampires exposed to sunlight.

  “Don’t worry, nobody can see in here.” She turned to Fiona. “Why don’t you make some coffee and grab Aggie a beer? Charlotte, how about putting on a record?”

  “I could play piano,” Charlie said.

  Cassidy gave his shoulder an appreciative squeeze. “That’d be nice.”

  “I’ll sing.” Charlotte slipped the handle of her feather duster in the belt of her pink floral dress.

  “I’ll go help Fiona.” Hector padded out of the room.

  Cassidy blew out the candelabra before the mansion went up in flames and really gave the media something to report.

  Charlie sat at the grand piano, cracking his knuckles, limbering up his bony fingers. With much exuberance, he seized the keyboard, playing “Yes Sir, That’s My Baby.” Charlotte scurried across the hardwood floor, chiming in, her high-pitched voice straining off key. Fiona walked in carrying a tray, belting out the song as if participating in a pub sing-along. Hector returned, singing in Spanish, setting a beer bottle on the mantle by Aggie’s urn. Hops jumped up on the piano, and Barley lay on the rug at Cassidy’s feet. She crouched down and gently stroked his shaved belly, avoiding the stitches.

  Everyone gathered around and sang their hearts out, the media forgotten. Fiona elbowed Cassidy to join them. Unable to carry a tune, she fit right in. When the song ended, Fiona started singing a melancholy ballad about a pub with no beer and Charlie followed her lead, apparently familiar with the tune. Hector requested “Feliz Navidad.” A bit out of season but a fun song. Charlie suddenly stopped playing, and their voices trailed off, following his gaze to the doorway where Ryan stood watching.

  “I called over an hour ago,” Charlotte said. “Where have you been?”

  “I had to find someone’s car to borrow so I’d be less conspicuous. I can see the emergency was you’re in need of a baritone.” The corners of his mouth twitched back a smile.

  “More like an electric fence,” Hector said.

  “Or an Uzi.” Charlotte planted her feet firmly apart, holding her feather duster like a makeshift gun, ready to take out the media.

  Cassidy seemed to be the only one shocked by Charlotte’s suggestion to go out with guns blazing.

  • • •

  “It’ll be all right.” Ryan tried to sound more confident than he felt. “Things will die down in few days. Until then, keep the shades drawn and avoid the front lawn.”

  He gazed over at Cassidy standing next to the piano. She looked away, obviously still pissed about the talk show. Yet regardless of how upset she was with him, she’d come to the staff’s rescue when he’d been unable to. Who knew what might have happened if she hadn’t been here to calm them and take charge. Most people found the staff a bit odd, but Cassidy seemed to fit right in.

  The fact that this pleased him so much scared the shit out of him.

  “We’ll be doing whatever is needed to help ya find a wife. But ya need to be helping too. Now sit.” Fiona gestured toward the couch.

  “I don’t have time—”

  “Make time. Sit.”

  Ryan opened his mouth, then snapped it shut when Fiona shot him a warning glance. He reluctantly sat. Fiona placed a hand on Cassidy’s back and directed her over to the couch. She sat on the opposite end, and he had the urge to slide closer. To meet her halfway. But being so close to her was unnerving as
hell. It was bugging the crap out of him that she was so upset.

  He turned to her. “Regardless of what you believe, it wasn’t my intention to make a complete ass of myself.”

  She stared at Fiona, avoiding his gaze. “Gee, you did such a great job without even trying.”

  Man, this woman got under his skin. It made it even worse when she was right.

  “Shame on you.” Fiona wagged a finger at him. “Ya might not be taking Aggie’s last wish seriously, but we are. And ya damn well are going to start. Any more shenanigans like today and I’ll be giving them wankers out front something to report. Tell them everything, I will. Starting with—”

  “Fine.” Ryan raised a halting hand. “Not like I planned on giving another interview anyway.”

  “If Cassidy is going to find your perfect match, she needs to know ya better. Spend time with ya. So the both of ya will be going to a baseball game. The one place you can seem to have fun.”

  “We can’t be seen together in public,” Cassidy pointed out.

  “Needn’t be worrying about that.” Fiona looked over at him. “A car will drop ya off at the entrance when the game starts, and you’ll have one of them private boxes on the opposite end from the brewery’s box.”

  “I planned on working all weekend,” he said.

  “Tough,” Fiona snapped.

  “Yeah, tough.” Charlotte stomped her Mary Jane on the hardwood floor for emphasis. “Cassidy was right, you guys need to go to a baseball game.”

  Ryan arched a curious brow, turning to Cassidy. “Oh really?”

  “I never said we should go to a game, I just said you looked happy when you were playing baseball.”

  “And when did you see me play baseball?”

  Cassidy twisted her mouth in contemplation.

  “Saw the team photo in yer bedroom.”

  Cassidy shot Fiona a gee thanks look and the cook shrugged apologetically.

  “You were in my bedroom?” Why did the thought intrigue him rather than upset him? He shoved aside visions of Cassidy naked in his bed except for a pair of red lace panties . . .

  “A guy’s trying to scale the fence.” Charlie’s panicked tone directed everyone’s attention to the window he was peeking out. “If we had an electric fence, he’d be toast right now. Zzzt.”

  Ryan stood, glancing around at the staff. “Promise me you won’t be installing an electric fence or getting out the tommy guns.” When they halfheartedly agreed, he ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “I’m putting an end to this circus right now.” He marched toward the entryway, the staff and Cassidy hot on his heels.

  Cassidy bolted past him and threw herself against the door. “You’re not doing another interview.”

  He stared into her pleading eyes, and his resolve crumbled. “I’ll just tell them they’ll never get an interview if they camp out in front of the mansion. I’m granting one after the engagement, and they won’t be invited. Their network names are plastered on their vans. I’ll remember who they are.”

  “Half of them are only interested in photos and couldn’t care less about a story.” She eyed his black suit. “At least you took my advice about wearing identical outfits every day.”

  “They won’t get any photos here in the future either if I don’t visit until after the engagement.”

  “Jaysus, Mary, and Joseph, ya won’t be visiting?” Fiona joined Cassidy, flattening herself against the door.

  He let out a frustrated sigh, trying to remain calm. “Of course I’ll visit, I’m just saying that.”

  “Make sure that’s all you say,” Cassidy said. “We’ve had enough bad press for one day.”

  Finally they agreed on something. The less said, the better.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Cassidy returned to the funeral home. She dropped the heavy tub of applications on the living room floor with a thud, plopping down next to it, exhausted before she even began. After a short breather, she scrounged up two cardboard boxes. Using a black marker, she drew a smiley face on the potential fiancée box, and a frowning face on the reject box. She lined up three towering stacks of applications on the cocktail table.

  Lucy breezed in, stopping dead in her tracks, staring wide-eyed at the applications. “Yikes.”

  “Sure you don’t want to quit?”

  “Nope. After that interview this morning, you need me more than ever.”

  “I don’t even want to talk about it.”

  Lucy tossed a beanbag chair on the floor next to the cocktail table, then sank down in it. She grabbed a stack of applications.

  “First, we’ll weed out applicants based on age, number of divorces, and whether or not she’s filed bankruptcy,” Cassidy said. “That should eliminate more than half and prevent us from having to read them all in their entirety. Especially since we’ll probably get a couple thousand more tomorrow.”

  “But what if she’s heavily in debt because her no-good husband maxed out their credit cards? Is that her fault?”

  “Fine. If she claims her husband was responsible, put a star by it. We can verify that if she makes the cut.”

  Lucy scanned the first application, then burst out laughing. “Here’s a brainiac for you. The woman says she’s twenty-nine, but according to the copy of her driver’s license, she’s thirty-four. Hel-lo. If you’re going to lie about your age, get a fake driver’s license. It’s not that difficult. I did it when I was like fourteen. A lot of women lie about their age. It’s more the fact that she’s just plain dumb. We don’t want to match him up with a stupid person.”

  “And who knows what else she may have lied about. Reject box.”

  Lucy tossed the application in the frowning face and moved on to the next one. “What if she didn’t even include a copy of her driver’s license?”

  “If the woman can’t follow simple directions, too bad. We don’t have time to contact them for missing information. Reject. At this rate, we aren’t going to have a problem narrowing the preliminary apps down to a few hundred women.” Cassidy removed the top application from her pile, but the one beneath it caught her eye. It was bordered in hearts. “Does she think Ryan is reading through these things himself?”

  Kenny slithered in and slid into the egg chair behind Lucy. “Love the new perfume, babe.” He nuzzled her neck, and she squealed with delight.

  “Is that for me?” Lucy eyed the small silver-wrapped package with a hot pink bow in his hand.

  “No, it’s for Cassidy.” He tossed her the package.

  She caught it, shooting him a questioning glance.

  “It’s not from me. Some woman just dropped it off.”

  “Oh my god.” Cassidy placed the box gently on the couch next to her. “A mysterious box. What if it’s . . . a bomb?” she whispered.

  “Why, did ya piss the guy off already?”

  “What guy?” she asked.

  “The woman said it’s from Ryan Mitchell.”

  Why would Ryan send her something via a courier?

  “Open it already,” Lucy prodded, bouncing impatiently in the beanbag chair.

  Cassidy opened the box to find a pair of black Gucci sunglasses, identical to the ones she’d dropped off his balcony. She’d found hers on the sidewalk that night, but they hadn’t survived the fall.

  “A present?” Cassidy muttered in amazement.

  Kenny nodded approvingly. “Better than some stinking flowers. God knows we get enough of those things around here. The guy’s got class.”

  This meant a lot coming from a guy wearing a Monty Python tie. And what exactly did these glasses mean coming from Ryan? An apology for screwing up the interview? A peace offering?

  “Didn’t boffing your client get you in trouble the last time?” Kenny asked.

  Lucy smacked him in the arm.

  No, Nick hadn’t been her client. His family owned To Have and To Hold. He was the owner’s son slash company partner. She’d been boffing her boss.

  A mistake she’d never make again.<
br />
  “So now that you’re a kept woman, ya too good to advertise the funeral home? You know I still made half your car payment this month.”

  She’d forgotten to put the signs back on after leaving the mansion. “I took them off when I got my car waxed,” she lied. Kenny could appreciate the importance of routine car waxing. “I’ll put them back on.”

  She would use part of the advance Alex gave her to make a full car payment next month so she could remove the ads forever.

  He eyed Lucy’s stack of applications. “Wow, there’s a lot of desperate chicks out there.” He snagged an application off the top. “Pretty sad when you have to resort to applying for a position as a wife.”

  “If couples completed questionnaires before getting married, there’d be fewer divorces,” Cassidy said. “It’s amazing how many people don’t discuss things as basic as whether or not they want kids.”

  “We discussed kids,” Kenny said proudly. “Don’t plan on having any.”

  Lucy’s eyes widened behind her red plastic glasses, and her hand dropped from Kenny’s knee. “That’s not what we decided. We just weren’t planning on having them right away. We were waiting awhile before making a final decision either way.”

  “That’s what I meant, babe. We didn’t plan on having any right away.”

  “But that’s not what you just said.”

  Avoiding Lucy’s glare, he began reading the application in his hand. “I am submitting an application because I believe in destiny and love at first sight. I first met Ryan two years ago at my company’s charity benefit, and I felt an instant connection with him. Recovering from a failed relationship at the time, I wasn’t ready to date. But I am now.” A repulsed look consumed his face and he glanced up. “See what I mean? Desperate. The chick probably hasn’t been laid in two years, since the last guy dumped her.”

  “Oh . . . my . . . gosh,” Lucy sputtered, misty eyed. “That’s soooo romantic.”

  “Romantic?” Kenny scoffed. “This woman has stalker written all over her. That’s the problem, Luce. You’re too trusting.”

  Lucy slid him a disgusted look, snatching the application from his hand. “She’s thirty-one and never been divorced.” Her eyes widened. “This might just be destiny.”