A Marriage of True Minds: A Sasha McCandless Novella

by Melissa F. Miller

  A MARRIAGE OF TRUE MINDS

  A Sasha McCandless Novella

  Melissa F. Miller

  Brown Street Books

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  This novella (approximately 18,000 words or 75 printed pages) is intended for my existing readers, who’ve been invited to attend Sasha and Leo’s wedding! If you’re new to the series, I recommend you start with any one of the full-length legal thrillers, which you can find at smarturl.it/sashaseries, and come back to this when you know Sasha and Leo a little bit better. I think you’ll enjoy the novella more that way—after all, who wants to go to a stranger’s wedding?

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2013 Melissa F. Miller

  All rights reserved.

  Published by Brown Street Books.

  For more information about the author,

  please visit www.melissafmiller.com.

  For more information about the publisher,

  please visit www. brownstbooks.com.

  Cover design by Clarissa Yeo

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Special thanks to DC, GC, and DG, the other three horsewomen, who insisted Sasha and Leo deserved a proper wedding. Sincere appreciation to my editing and proofreading team, especially Curt Akin and Lou Maconi. Any mistakes or errors that remain are mine and mine alone. Finally, and always, my love to my understanding and supportive husband and children.

  Let me not to the marriage of true minds

  Admit impediments. Love is not love

  Which alters when it alteration finds,

  Or bends with the remover to remove:

  O no! it is an ever-fixed mark

  That looks on tempests and is never shaken;

  It is the star to every wandering bark,

  Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken.

  Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks

  Within his bending sickle’s compass come:

  Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,

  But bears it out even to the edge of doom.

  If this be error and upon me proved,

  I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

  William Shakespeare, Sonnet 116

  CHAPTER ONE

  “Hand it over, Mac.”

  Naya stood, one hand on a silk-sheathed hip, the other, palm up, waiting to receive Sasha’s Blackberry.

  “Come on. Really?”

  Naya glanced behind her for support from her fellow bridesmaids. Only Maisy, relatively fearless as befits a television journalist, dared to respond.

  “Really,” Maisy agreed. She bobbed her head vigorously, and her curly blonde updo bounced, threatening to tumble out of its knot and over her shoulders.

  Sasha’s sisters-in-law pretended not to be aware of the face-off. Riley listened with apparent fascination to Jordan’s enthusiastic description of the stainless steel food mill she used to make homemade baby food.

  “It’s your rule,” Naya insisted.

  “False. My rule is no weapons at the wedding. Connelly’s the one who said no cell phones.”

  Only their wedding would include guests who would otherwise attend with a firearm holstered on one side, and a mobile phone on the other.

  “Same difference. You’re about to be united as one. Your husband said leave the phones at home or in the suites. You can’t be the one who disregards his rule.”

  Her maid of honor had a point. If ever there was a time to let her calls roll to voicemail, it was probably during her wedding weekend.

  No need to concede so easily, though. She’d worked with Naya long enough to know that the better course was to let Naya think her victory was hard-won.

  “What? You think I’m going to obey him, suddenly?”

  Naya gave her the look.

  “No. But I think it would be very rude for you to show up at the rehearsal with your phone. Now, will you please stop being a brat and give me the phone?”

  “Fine. But it’s on you if we miss a client emergency tonight.”

  Sasha powered off the device and slapped it into Naya’s open palm.

  “It’s New Year’s weekend. There aren’t going to be any client emergencies, unless you’ve started practicing DUI law and forgot to tell me. Everything is tied down at home, and if an emergency does crop up, I’ve arranged to refer it to Mickey.”

  Sasha blinked. “Collins?”

  Admittedly, she’d been distracted for most of December, what with planning a wedding abroad, holiday preparations, and taking care of the administrative niceties involved with adding Will Volmer as a partner in her law firm. She’d been more than happy to let her usually able legal assistant handle the coverage arrangements for the days that the entire firm would be in Nicaragua celebrating her nuptials. But Mickey Collins? A class action plaintiff’s attorney was hardly the logical choice to backstop a corporate defense firm.

  “Yes, Mickey Collins. And don’t even start. Will approved it. Mickey likes you. He’ll do a good job, and nothing’s going to come up anyway. You know you just want to check the kitty cam at the pet hotel so you can make sure Java’s being spoiled.”

  Naya’s tone was brusque but her eyes were laughing.

  Sasha tried to hide her grin. It was true, she’d passed quite a bit of time watching her cat nap on a fluffy pillow thanks to the magic of the eco-resort’s free wireless service—in between leisurely walks on the snowy white private beach with Connelly, hikes through the lush, green jungle, and decadent picnic lunches perched on the rocks above the cove where the dolphins played tag in the surf.

  She’d spent the past three days relaxing without any thought of what might be happening at the offices of McCandless & Volmer, LLP. There was no reason to ruin her track record now. All that was left was the wedding rehearsal, the rehearsal dinner, and then, tomorrow, the wedding itself.

  The wedding. A little shiver of anticipation inched up her spine.

  In a little more than twenty-four hours, she and Connelly would be married, and their destination wedding would magically convert into a honeymoon, while Naya and Will returned to the law firm and the real world with the rest of their guests.

  The thought of weaving her life together with Connelly’s made her catch her breath. The force of her feelings almost knocked her off balance.

  She let her eyes travel around the cozy room and fall on each of the women who’d come to stand next to her as she wed Connelly, and her joy increased until she felt as though her heart might burst.

  A gentle tap on the door forestalled whatever gooey speech was about to pour from her mouth.

  The thatched door eased open inward and her mother’s impeccably coiffed hair filled the opening, followed by the rest of her.

  “How are we doing in here, girls?” Valentina asked, letting her eyes travel slowly over the assembled group in search of a bra strap peeking out from a dress or a tendril of hair that had escaped its bun.

  Satisfied, she turned her attention from the bridesmaids to her daughter. The assembled women shared a communal breath of relief at having passed inspection. And this was just the rehearsal. Sasha didn’t want to imagine the level of scrutiny her mother would bring to bear to the actual wedding.

  “We’re great, mom. Just waiting for the word that it’s show time.”

  Sasha looked over her mother’s shoulder for Charlotte Givens, knowing that where her mother went, the resort’s wedding coordinator was ce
rtain to follow.

  And, sure enough, the trim, British expatriate ducked under Valentina’s arm and slipped into the room with an apologetic smile.

  “Ladies,” she said sunnily, “Christopher has asked for just a few more moments alone with the piano and then we can start the rehearsal. Any jitters, questions, concerns?”

  Naya, Maisy, Riley, and Jordan shook their heads in unison. It was nobody’s first time at the bridesmaid rodeo.

  “Excellent.” She turned toward Sasha. “And how are you holding up?”

  “I’m fine. Is everything okay with Chris?”

  When her Krav Maga instructor’s boyfriend had offered to play the piano at the wedding, she’d been so grateful—and eager to cross the item off her to-do list entirely—that she’d left the choice of music entirely to his discretion. At the time, Connelly had been shocked by her willingness to loosen her control freak, vise-like grip and delegate the decision. Now, she worried it had been a mistake.

  Charlotte smiled, a genuine, wide grin, and shook her head.

  “Everything is perfect. You’ll be so pleased.” She patted her silver bob back into place and smoothed her bangs out of her eyes.

  “Now, remember ladies, should you need anything, anything at all—aspirin, water, magic tape for a loose hem, a bandage for a blistered heel, a breath mint, a prophylactic—I am the woman to see.” She lifted her large, macrame purse as visual evidence that it contained anything they might need.

  “Prophylactic?” Jordan mouthed to Riley.

  With the gaggle of kids her two sisters-in-law had produced in true Irish Catholic speed, Sasha somewhat doubted Riley was going to be able to help Jordan with the word.

  Maisy leaned over and stage-whispered, “You know, a condom. Hmm, well, maybe y’all don’t.”

  The room dissolved into fits of giggles. Valentina pursed her lips but said nothing. Charlotte threw Sasha a wink and linked her arm through Valentina’s, gently guiding her out of the room.

  “Now, Mrs. McCandless, let’s go see about that oceanfront massage I’ve taken the liberty of scheduling for you tomorrow morning, shall we? You can meet the spa staff.”

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  With no cell phone, Sasha passed the time waiting to start the rehearsal staring out at the pristine beach and, beyond that, the orange sun hanging low over the water. The sun would set soon, dipping below the glistening waves.

  Will and his wife, followed by the firm’s secretary, Caroline, and her husband came into view, walking along the white stone path that led from the cliffs to the beach below. The four clutched tropical cocktails, made with the syrup of local fruits and—as Sasha had learned over the last few days—mixed with a generous hand.

  Maisy joined Sasha at the window and slipped an arm around her waist.

  “You aren’t looking for an escape route, are ya’, sugar?”

  Sasha turned from the view and laughed.

  “No, just wishing I could join the Masters and Volmers down on the beach to watch instead of sitting around, penned up, with nothing to do.”

  “Patience, Sasha. I hear it’s a virtue.” Maisy’s smile held a hint of relief, as though she actually thought Sasha might be having second thoughts.

  She’d have to squelch that right away. “I just want to get the wedding part out of the way, so we can get on with the marriage, you know?”

  “Everybody knows. Once Leo suggested this place, you were like a whirling dervish, pulling the whole thing together in a blink.”

  “That was mainly Charlotte’s doing,” Sasha admitted. She’d called the resort in June, had spoken to the septuagenarian wedding coordinator, and asked for the earliest possible reception day.

  So here they were, six months later. They’d rented the entire resort for the week between Christmas and New Year’s Day and had set the wedding itself for New Year’s Eve. She and Connelly would start the new year as newlyweds.

  “Just in a hurry to get to the honeymoon, aren’t ya’?” Maisy waggled her eyebrows at Sasha.

  “Oh, please. You’re one to talk, corrupting my sisters-in-law with your extensive knowledge of rubbers.”

  Maisy tossed her head back, closed her impossibly blue eyes, and gave a loud, throaty laugh.

  “Knowledge that’s goin’ to waste around here, sadly. I shoulda brought a date. Who’m I gonna kiss at midnight tomorrow?”

  Sasha arched a brow and considered the blonde bombshell beside her.

  “I suspect you’ll find someone.”

  Maisy opened her bow-shaped mouth to respond but swallowed her retort, when the door opened and Charlotte popped her head back into the room.

  “Show time, ladies.”

  Someone who sounded suspiciously like Naya squealed, and Maisy squeezed Sasha’s arm. Jordan and Riley were both grinning.

  “It’s just the rehearsal, you guys,” Sasha said, pretending that her stomach hadn’t just done a full somersault and ignoring the fact that her legs were suddenly none-too-steady.

  Charlotte gave her a gentle, knowing smile, pulled the door wide open, and ushered them out into the quiet hallway.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Leo stood under the bower formed by lush tropical rainforest foliage and tried not to fidget. Daniel was murmuring encouragement to Chris, who sat at the piano, his fingers poised to begin playing as soon as Charlotte gave him the cue. Behind him, the first streaks of pink-orange sun sunk into the sea, and, on cue, hundreds of twinkling white fairy lights flickered to life.

  He turned his head to sneak a glance at his groomsmen. His future brothers-in-law were joking about something in whispered laughter; Manny Ortiz stood at attention with his eyes straight ahead, like he was back in boot camp; and, at the end of the line, Bodhi appeared to be meditating, with his palms pressed together and a beatific smile creasing his face.

  The lifestyle down here seemed to agree with Bodhi, Leo thought. When the forensic pathologist had left Pittsburgh over the summer, he’d been at loose ends. But after two seasons volunteering on a sustainable farm just over the border in Costa Rica, Bodhi seemed to be recentered and recharged.

  Charlotte emerged from behind the gazebo that housed the piano and stage-whispered, “Are we ready, Father?”

  Padre Alexander looked up and nodded.

  Leo still couldn’t quite believe their luck in having found the former Jesuit priest in a neighboring town. When Sasha had explained to Charlotte that she was a lapsed Catholic with a large, religious family, Charlotte had nearly shrieked with delight and promised she had the perfect person to officiate their wedding—someone Sasha and Leo would love and the McCandless clan would respect and trust. Padre Alexander had fit the bill. The Church had sent him fresh out of the seminary to the hinterlands of Central America to save souls and build a congregation. But when he’d looked around at the squalor and desperate poverty that filled the villages he visited, he’d traded his collar for a pair of work gloves, gotten out of the salvation business and into the social justice business, and had spent twenty-odd years building schools, clinics, and homes instead of a congregation of devout Catholics. He was as Christ-like as anyone Leo had ever met—right down to the leather sandals and shoulder-length hair. Leo felt loved and blessed in the man’s presence. And Leo was half-convinced Sasha had developed a medium-sized crush on the former priest. He figured he needed to hurry up and marry her before she took off with the guy.

  The wedding coordinator tapped Chris’s shoulder then turned and gestured to someone who was out of Leo’s line of sight.

  Chris began to play. As the familiar strains of “Canon in D” wafted on the sea salt-scented air, Leo’s stomach flipped.

  This was it.

  Well, almost it. Nearly it. The next time he heard this song this would all be real, and he would be marrying Sasha. As in, spending the rest of his life as her husband.

  Riley appeared from behind a tall, red veranera bush, her green eyes smiling, and walked in that slow, distinctive step, pause, step, paus
e stride unique to bridesmaids and toddlers learning to climb stairs.

  When she reached the first silk-ribboned row of chairs, Jordan appeared behind her, clasping her imaginary bouquet at hip level and started down the aisle behind her sister-in-law.

  Maisy’s tangle of blonde curls bounced into view. She sashayed along behind the others as only Maisy could and fell into line in front of the bower.

  Whether by design or a quirk of composition, as Naya took her first step, the music crescendoed and swelled with drama. She didn’t seem to notice. Her eyes were fixed forward, and she walked down the aisle with all the pomp and circumstance that a maid of honor could carry.

  As the song ended, Riley and Jordan both sought out their husbands’ eyes to share a private moment—recalling their own weddings, Leo imagined.

  Then the four assembled women turned en mass toward the back of the space. Chris played the opening bars of “Ode to Joy” and caught Leo’s eye long enough to throw him a wink.

  Sasha smiled at her father and then started down the path on his arm, her silky dress floating along on the breeze.

  His future father-in-law handed her off and moved to a seat. Even though this was just the rehearsal, Leo’s heart began to thump as he looked down at Sasha, so full of joy and energy that she was barely able to stay still beside him.

  “Hi,” she said, grinning and bouncing on her toes.

  “Hi, yourself,” he managed around the lump that had suddenly materialized in his throat.

  The music stopped, and the hammering of his heart slowed as Padre Alexander raised his hands, allowed a smile to blossom across his face, and said, “Okay, gang. Let’s run through this one time.”