Page 21 of 4 Weddings and a Feud
He sighed and trudged up the stairs. He didn’t deserve to imagine her dressed up for him. He’d asked her to prom under false pretenses. He’d known his father dealt with some shady people in the past—he’d never forget the night a pair of thugs broke the fingers on his father’s left hand and threatened to do the same to thirteen-year-old Alex—but he’d promised he’d gone straight.
He hadn’t.
Alex’s black BMW, his tux, and even Mary’s corsage had all been bought with stolen money. Honest, upstanding Mary would’ve been sickened to know about the college funds, the retirement accounts, the rainy-day savings that had disappeared into his father’s pocket. Or rather, into that money pit, the Paradise.
He’d done her a favor by not showing up that night. He wouldn’t allow himself to think about what could have happened if he’d taken her to prom. Even if his dream of leveling up their friendship had come true, it would’ve all gone to shit when she learned his life was a lie.
He rang the bell. Seconds later, a shadow passed behind the window shade, followed by the soft shuffle of footsteps on hardwood. When they paused, he imagined her leaning forward to peer through the peephole, deciding whether to let him in or order him to go away.
Ten long seconds later, the deadbolt clicked, and the door swung inward. Mary stood in the doorway, her curls piled on top of her head with a clip, her black work polo untucked over—he gulped—pink leggings that had looked like bare legs for a moment, and old-fashioned scuff slippers on her feet.
“What are you doing here, Alex? We said everything we needed to at the shop today.”
“I—” He licked his lips. “These are for you.” He extended the hyacinths to her and held his breath.
Her eyes softened as she took in the bouquet. Of course she knew what they meant. It was her business to understand the language of flowers. She took them from him. “Thank you.”
He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry I was an ass today.” If he had more time, he’d take it slowly. Leave it there. Send her more flowers at work on Monday. Something that meant friendship. But he had to turn around Rochelle’s wedding ASAP. “Can we talk?”
She tilted her head, and one curl floated across her forehead. He wished he could brush it aside, twist it around his finger and let it spring free. But he didn’t have that right. He never had.
“Okay.” She turned and led him toward the kitchen. He closed and locked the door, then followed.
The kitchen used to be yellow with light wood cabinets, but it had been repainted in a vibrant orange-red, and the cabinets had been painted white. The round white table in the corner was the same one where he and Mary used to do homework together, guzzling those disgusting Pepsi Blues her brothers liked. The chairs looked more rickety than he remembered.
When Mary reached into an upper cabinet for a clear vase, her golf shirt rode up, showing the generous curve of her ass. Quickly, Alex looked away. That peek at her delectable shape was not for him. Not today. Not ever.
The Forzas’ refrigerator had always been covered in photos, stuck to it with kitschy Las Vegas souvenir magnets. Now that it belonged to Mary, it was no different.
He walked over, drawn to the photo of Mr. Forza, seated in what appeared to be the church’s fellowship hall, surrounded by Mary, Michael, and Rafe. He looked frail, as he had at the end. “I miss your dad.”
Mary ran water into the vase. “So do I.”
The prayer card from his funeral Mass peeked out from under a Viva Las Vegas magnet. Alex’s own copy was stuck in the family Bible at his mother’s place. They’d gone together to pay their respects, but Alex had sat in the back pew.
Nearby was a photo that surprised him. “What’s this? Are your brothers wearing…lederhosen?”
She chuckled and peered around his shoulder. “We went to my brother Gabe’s amusement park in Ohio. I don’t think you’ve met him. That’s him in the green shirt. He was adopted and only came back into our lives last year. His fiancée, whom you met last year, is the entertainment director, and she let us all dress up in the costumes from the show.”
“Let you?” He eyed the mulish expressions on Michael’s and Rafe’s faces.
“Okay, more like let me. And made Michael and Rafe. I suspect Gabe was into it, though.”
Gabe did look happy, with his arm slung around his pretty fiancée. She wore a white gown, the stiff skirt encrusted with sparkly crystals. Alex remembered how she’d sung like an angel at his piano bar. On the other side of Gabe, Mary absolutely glowed in a red satin gown that did amazing things to her bustline.
“You looked incredible.”
“Thanks. It was a little tight, and I kept thinking I was going to pop a seam.”
Alex grunted and turned away. If he looked too much longer, he was going to pop a seam in his trousers.
“Wine?” Mary asked.
The tightness in his chest loosened. She must have liked the flowers. “Please.”
She pulled a bottle of Chianti out of the refrigerator. “Sorry, it’s nothing fancy.”
“It’s fine.” He kept himself from wincing. Since the wine was cold, he wouldn’t be able to taste it anyway.
