Page 7 of 4 Weddings and a Feud
Mary shot her a rueful smile. “I do. That’s why I can tell you La Villa is the best choice. Alex’s planner, Evie, will take care of you. She’s been doing it longer than I have, and they can offer the full service you’re looking for.”
“Of course,” Alex said. “I’ll personally see to it that every one of your needs is met. That your wedding is unforgettable.”
“Unforgettable, huh?” She pursed her lips. “Okay. I’ll talk to your planner.” She flashed Mary a regretful smile. “It was nice meeting you, Mary.”
“If you need transportation”—Mary waved at her other booth, where Rafe still hadn’t returned—“Evie knows where to find me.”
“I’ll give you a call.” Rochelle tipped her head toward La Villa’s booth. “Shall we?”
“I’ll be right there,” Alex said.
Rochelle nodded and headed to the center booth.
“Don’t you want to be sure she doesn’t get pulled off course before she gets to Evie?” Mary propped her hands on her hips.
“Don’t be that way. We could’ve partnered on this wedding. Why did you insist on giving it to me?”
“Partnered?” Mary dipped her chin. “You have a wedding planner. You don’t need me. Besides, we both know we aren’t the best of partners.”
He laid his hand over his heart. “Someday you’ll forgive me for my youthful indiscretions.”
“Nope. Especially if you try that fake flirting bullshit on me. Save it for someone who doesn’t know you like I do.”
His full lips twitched downward. After all these years, Mary still didn’t know how to interpret that expression. It looked like pain or regret, but she knew better than to think Alex Villa ever experienced either of those emotions. He only inspired them in others.
He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. “You break my heart, Mary Theresa Forza.”
You broke mine first.
ChapterFour
Forza Elite Motors’ first customer of the day was a finance bro from New York City who wanted to explore the desert. After she sent him off with a Land Rover and a kiss of her fingers to the framed print of Saint Christopher, Mary stepped through the door into the shop. She’d expected to find Michael, but there were two coverall-clad rear-ends poking out of Nick Cage’s engine compartment. Prince’s “Cream” blared from the sound system.
Mary switched it off. “Rafe! What are you doing here?”
Twin thuds on the hood told her she’d startled them both. Her brothers turned, rubbing their dark hair.
“How many times have I told you to ring the bell when you come in here?” Michael growled.
“The bell would’ve startled you, too. Rafe, you’re not supposed to be working with your hand. Let me see it.”
Rafe hid his right hand behind his back and waved his filthy left hand. “All good here.”
She propped her fists on her hips.
Huffing out an exasperated breath, Rafe showed her his other hand. He’d put a plastic baggie over the splinted finger. “See? I’m being such a good boy.”
“Don’t sass me, or I’ll make you drive on the night of Garth Brooks’ show.”
“You wouldn’t,” he grumbled.
“I would. You’d sit in traffic for hours, and you know how handsy his fans get.”
Rafe shuddered. “Sorry.”
“That’s better. Now, where did you wander off to yesterday? I had to break down both booths by myself. It was lucky I ran into the Pollinzi boys. They helped me carry it to the truck.”
Michael ducked back under the hood.
