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“Hey, maybe he’s gay.”

      “You’re incorrigible, Leo. Matt seems very straight to me. He’s just a nice guy, who made the mistake of falling in love with the wrong woman…namely me. And now I’ve hurt him terribly, and I hate myself for it.

      “I should have never let my mother browbeat me into marriage. This obsession she has about me getting married is unhealthy…for both of us.”

      Josephine’s greatest aspiration in life was to see her two daughters married and settled down, preferably with five or six children that she could dote on, but she’d take two if push came to shove.

      Her mother had spent years saving for Francie’s wedding—now weddings—making elaborate plans, buying not one, but three fabulous dresses, finding not one, but three perfect, in her estimation, grooms. And knowing how much all this meant to her mother, Francie had a difficult time bursting her bubble.

      Did she say Josephine had turned meddling into an art form? Try manipulation. She was even better at that.

      “So, just say no.”

      Francie rolled her eyes at the absurdity of Leo’s suggestion. “Have you ever tried saying no to my mother? Josephine is like a steamroller, leveling everything in her path. She never gives up, just keeps at me until all I want her to do is shut up and leave me alone. In the end I always relent, and she knows it. I’ve done it all my life. I’m programmed for it. Twenty-nine years old, and I’m pathetic.”

      Nodding in understanding, Leo squeezed her hand gently. “I know, sweetie. But there’s going to come a day when you’ll have to stand up to Josephine. I think if you do, she’ll back down.”

      “Really?” A tiny kernel of hope blossomed in Francie’s chest, reflecting in her voice. “Do you think so, Leo?”

      Apology filling his dark eyes, he shook his head. “No. But it sounds like good advice. You can’t keep allowing your mother to control your life, Francie. These trips to the altar are not only emotionally taxing, they’re expensive.”

      She sighed at the truth of his words, knowing her job with Ted Baxter Promotions didn’t pay that well. Not enough to keep up with recent expenditures, anyway. “Where am I going this time?”

      “Niagara Falls. I thought there was a nice irony to it.”

      Her eyes widened in disbelief. “Niagara F…You’re kidding, right? I’ll be hanging out with honeymooners, couples making cooing noises at each other. I may have to throw up.”

      “It was the cheapest destination I could find. Your Visa is about maxed out, thanks to all that junk you purchased for your honeymoon.”

      “It was expensive lingerie, not junk. And that just goes to show you that I had every intention of going through with the wedding. I never set out to hurt Matt and ruin his life, not to mention my own.”

      “He’ll get over it. They all do. Marty Ragusa is marrying a former Victoria’s Secret model, so I think his heart has mended.”

      “That’s good. I’m happy to hear it.” And relieved. It lessened the guilt she felt a wee bit. “I’m not sure Michael Maxwell has fared as well. Last I heard the poor man was wandering the Australian Outback, trying to find himself.”

      “He’ll probably find a kangaroo instead, which will match his personality to a T. What you saw in that bozo is beyond me. The man was dull, dull, dull.”

      Francie shook her head and sighed. “I’m a terrible person, Leo. I’ve hurt so many people.”

      “Not terrible, sweetie, just spineless. You’ll do better the next time.”

      She shook her head adamantly, and with a mutinous expression plastered on her face, said, “I’m not doing this again! I will never let my mother push me into another marriage. I have almost married for the last time. I’ve decided to remain a bachelorette. I’ll date, have sex, just enjoy the hell out of my life, but I’m never going to walk down the aisle again.”

      No more engagements. No more weddings. No way!

      2

      IT WAS THE MOST depressing wedding reception Mark had ever attended, and he’d been to some strange ones in his thirty-four years.

      Of course, unhappiness tended to set in when there was no bride in attendance.

      But Steve and Laura Fielding had decided that since the reception at the Hyatt Regency was already paid for, thirty pounds of fresh shrimp stood to go to waste—not to mention massive amounts of liquor—and Matt hadn’t wanted to disappoint his high school and college buddies, many of whom had traveled great distances to be with him on his special day, the reception would go on as planned.

      Mark’s stepmom had always been a practical woman—practical, loving and wise. After his mother had died in a tragic car accident, Mark had lucked out the day his father had found such a wonderful woman to marry and to make a new life with.

      Mark had been four years old at the time of Helena Fielding’s death, and six by the time his dad had re-married his former secretary, Laura Carson. And he had never felt anything but love and kindness from the pretty petite blonde.

      Laura had stepped into her role as his mother with enthusiasm and caring, giving Mark all the love and attention he craved. And even though she had a son of her own, two years his junior by a previous marriage, Mark had never felt slighted or the need to compete with his stepbrother. In fact, he and Matt were as close as or closer than brothers who’d been delivered from the same womb.

      Spotting his brother seated at a table across the large ballroom, the lights of the crystal chandelier glittering down upon him, illuminating his cheerless expression, Mark moved to join him.

      Sympathetic friends and family had surrounded Matt all evening, making it impossible for Mark to have a serious discussion about the flighty woman in white satin who’d deserted his little brother.

      Trisha Yearwood’s version of “How Will I Live?” blared from the DJ’s oversize speakers, and Mark thought it a fitting tune for the occasion—maudlin without being overly sickening.

      Pulling out a chair, he sat. “I’m sorry as hell about all this, Matt, but I guess you already know that.”

      Matt, who’d already consumed four beers and was halfway through his fifth, looked up and nodded, his slightly crooked smile sad. “I never saw it coming, Mark. It was love at first sight, a whirlwind courtship. Francie seemed so perfect for me. I thought for sure that she loved me as much as I loved her.” He heaved a deep sigh. “Guess I was wrong.”

      Noting the hurt in his brother’s eyes, the slump to his shoulders, Mark cursed softly under his breath, wishing he had Francesca Morelli in front of him at that moment.

      Didn’t the woman have a conscience?

      Didn’t the selfish bitch know how much she had hurt Matt?

      Didn’t she care?

      Obviously the answer was no, on all three counts.

      Grabbing one of the Bud Lights, he popped it open and downed the liquid in one gulp. “I haven’t had much luck with women, bro. I find them to be heartless creatures with a phobia to commit.”

      “You’re probably right. Francie’s run before. A mutual friend told me that she’d left her two previous fiancés at the altar. Even so, I never expected it to happen to me. Guess I was stupid to think it’d be different this time.”

      Mark’s look was incredulous. His brother was even more naive than he thought. “You knew this about the woman and still you wanted to marry her? Unbelievable.”

      “I loved her. Still do, as a matter of fact. Love is funny like that. It blinds you to people’s flaws, makes you do crazy things. You’ve never been in love, so you wouldn’t know what I’m talking about, Mark.”

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