chapter Ten
Francesca’s precious retreat was a mess. Her beautiful townhome was in a state of disarray with moving boxes and bubble wrap all over the place.
Liam was maintaining the payments on her town house, so the bigger pieces of furniture she didn’t need could stay, but everything else was going to his place. She’d probably need these things over the next year. This wasn’t some overnight trip or long weekend she was packing for. She was getting ready to move in with the man who would be her husband in a few days’ time.
Her parents had taken it well. At least they’d seemed to. Who knew how long her father had ranted after they hung up the phone. Either way, they were making arrangements to fly to Washington on Thursday afternoon. Liam’s mother was thrilled. She didn’t hesitate to say how excited she was to come and meet Francesca. Liam’s mother and sister were coming Friday morning.
Their story was that they were so in love they didn’t want to wait another minute to be husband and wife. Incredibly romantic or unbelievably stupid, depending on how you looked at it. But no parent wanted their child to elope and miss their big day, no matter what they might think about the situation.
Things were coming together, although it didn’t look like it from where she was sitting.
The doorbell rang and Francesca disentangled herself from a pile of her things to answer the door. She’d asked Ariella to come over for lunch, hoping she and Scarlet could pull off the wedding hat trick of the year.
When she pulled open the door, she found her friend on the doorstep, but Ariella didn’t have the bright smile Francesca was expecting. Her brow was furrowed with concern, her teeth wearing at her bottom lip. She had faint gray circles under her eyes as though she hadn’t slept. And, most uncharacteristic of all, her hair was pulled back into a sloppy ponytail. That wasn’t the Ariella she knew at all.
“Are you okay?”
Ariella’s weary green gaze met hers as she shook her head almost imperceptibly.
Alarmed, Francesca reached for her friend’s hand and pulled her inside. She sat Ariella down on one of the overstuffed living-room chairs that wasn’t buried in packing tape and cardboard. “I’ll make tea,” she said, turning to the kitchen.
“Is it too early for wine?” Ariella called out.
Probably, but if her friend needed wine, she’d serve it with breakfast. “Not at all. Red or white?”
“Yes,” she responded with a chuckle.
At least she was able to laugh. That was a step in the right direction. Francesca quickly poured two glasses of chardonnay, which seemed more of a brunch-appropriate wine, and carried them into the living room with a package of cookies under her arm.
It took several minutes and several sips before Ariella finally opened up. She set the glass on the coffee table and reached into her purse. Pulling out an ivory envelope, she handed it over to Francesca to read the contents.
Francesca quickly scanned over the letter, not quite sure if what she was reading could possibly be true.
“It’s from my birth mother, Eleanor Albert,” Ariella said after a moment, confirming the unbelievable thoughts Francesca was already having.
The letter didn’t give many details. It was short and sweet, basically asking if Ariella would be willing to write her back and possibly meet when she was ready. There was nothing about the circumstances of the adoption, the president or where Eleanor had been the past twenty-five years. Nothing about the letter screamed authenticity aside from a curious address in Ireland where she was to write back.
“When did you get this?”
“It came yesterday afternoon. To my home address, which is private and almost no one knows. Most of my mail goes to the office. I must’ve read it a million times last night. I couldn’t sleep.” Despite her weary expression, there was a touch of excitement in Ariella’s voice. She’d waited so long to find out about her birth mother. Yet she seemed hesitant about uncovering the truth.
Francesca understood. The truth wasn’t always pretty. People didn’t always live up to the fantasy you built up in your mind. Right now, Ariella’s mother was like Schrödinger’s cat. Until she opened that box, Eleanor would remain both the fantasy mother Ariella had always imagined and the selfish, uncaring woman she’d feared. Was it better to fantasize or to know for certain?
Francesca looked at the envelope and shook her head. After everything that had happened in the past few months, she’d grown very suspicious and protective where Ariella was concerned. It wouldn’t surprise her at all if a journalist was posing as her mother to get details for a story. But she hesitated to say it out loud. She didn’t want to be the one to burst the small, tentative bubble building inside her friend.
“Go ahead and say it,” Ariella urged.
Francesca frowned and handed the letter back over to her. “I’m excited for you. I know that not knowing about your birth parents has been like a missing puzzle piece in your life, even before the news about the president hit. This could be a step in the right direction for you. I hope it is. Just be careful about what you say until you’re certain she’s really your mother. And even then, you can’t be sure she won’t go to the press with her story if someone offers her money.”
Ariella nodded, tucking the letter back in her purse. “I thought the same thing. I’m going to respond, but I’m definitely going to proceed with caution. I don’t want to be the victim of a ruthless journalist.”
“I’m sure the letter is real, but it can’t hurt to be careful.”
Ariella reached for her wineglass and then paused to look around the living room. “What’s going on here?”
“I’m packing.”
Ariella’s nose wrinkled as she eyed the boxes stacked around. Her mind must’ve been too wrapped up in the letter to notice the mess before. “You’re moving in with Liam? So soon?” she added.
“Yes.”
“Wow,” she said with a shake of her head. “You two certainly don’t move slowly. Next thing you’ll be telling me you’re getting married next weekend.”
Francesca bit her lip, not quite sure what to say to that.
Ariella’s head snapped toward Francesca, her green eyes wide. “Tell me you’re not getting married in a week and a half. Francesca?”
“We’re not,” she assured her. “We’re getting married Friday.”
Ariella swallowed a large sip of wine before she could spit it out. “It’s Tuesday.”
“I know.”
“What is the rush with you two? Does one of you have an incurable disease?”
“Liam and I are both perfectly healthy.” Francesca wasn’t about to mention his aunt’s incurable disease. That would lead to more questions than she wanted to answer. “We’ve just decided there is no sense in waiting. We’re in love and we want to get married as soon as possible.”
With a sigh, Ariella flopped back into her chair. “Scarlet is going to have a fit. Putting together a wedding in three days will be a nightmare.”
“We have a venue,” Francesca offered. She loved how she didn’t even need to ask her friend if she would do the wedding. It was a foregone conclusion. Francesca wouldn’t dare ask someone else. “The Four Seasons. We’ve reserved the terrace for the ceremony and the ballroom for the reception.”
Ariella nodded, but Francesca knew she was deep in planning mode. “Good. That’s the hardest part with a quick turnaround. We’ll have to use the hotel caterer, so I’ll need to get with them soon about the menu for the reception. Did you guys have anything in mind?”
Francesca was ashamed to admit she didn’t. As a child, she’d always fantasized more about her marriage than her actual wedding. And even if she had dreamed of a princess dress and ten thousand pink roses for the ceremony, none of that seemed appropriate for this. She wanted to save those ideas for her real marriage. One that would last longer than a year.
“We will be happy with whatever you two can pull together on short notice. We don’t have room to be picky.”
Ariella reached into her purse and pulled out her planner. She used her phone for most things, but she’d told Francesca that weddings required paper and pen so she could see all the plans laid out. “Color or flower preferences?”
“Not really. Whatever is in season and readily available. I’m not a big fan of orange, but I could live with it.”
Her friend looked up from her notebook and frowned. “Live with it? Honey, your wedding isn’t supposed to be something you live with no matter how short the notice. Tell me what you want and I’ll make it happen for you.”
She could tell Ariella wasn’t going to let her off the hook. She would give her friend her dream wedding no matter how much Francesca resisted. She put aside her reservations and closed her eyes. Fake or no, what did she envision for her wedding day with Liam? “Soft and romantic,” she said. “Maybe white or pale-pink roses. Candlelight. Lace. A touch of sparkle.”
Ariella wrote frantically in her book. “Do you like gardenias? They’re in season and smell wonderful. They’d go nicely with the roses. And maybe some hydrangeas and peonies.”
“Okay,” she said, quickly correcting herself when Ariella looked at her with another sharp gaze. “That all sounds beautiful. Thank you.”
“What does your dress look like? It helps sometimes with the cake design.”
Francesca swallowed hard. “My appointment is tomorrow morning.”
“You don’t have a dress,” she said, her tone flat.
She’d been engaged less than two weeks. Why would she have a dress already? “I don’t have anything but a groom and a ballroom, Ariella. That’s why I need you. I will make sure that Liam and I show up appropriately attired. The rest of the details are up to you.”
“Please give me something to work with here. I know you trust me, but I want you to get what you want, too.”
“I’ve got to buy off the rack with no alterations, so I’m not going in with a certain thing in mind because it might not be possible. I’m hoping to find a strapless white gown with lace details. Maybe a little silver or crystal shimmer. I don’t know how that would help with the cake. It doesn’t have to be very complicated in design. I prefer white butter cream to fondant. Maybe a couple flowers. I just want it to taste good.”
“Any preference in flavor?”
“Maybe a white or chocolate chip cake with pastry cream filling, like a cannoli. My mom would love that.”
“I can do that,” Ariella said, a smile finally lighting her face.
“And speaking of food, I did invite you over here for lunch. Are you hungry?”
Ariella shoved her notebook into her purse and stood up. “No time to eat, darling. I’ve got a wedding to put together.”
Francesca followed her to the door and gave Ariella a huge hug. “Thank you for all your help with this. I know I haven’t made anything easy on you two.”
“Do you know how many bridezillas we usually have to work with? You’re easy. Anyway, that’s what friends do—pull off the impossible when necessary. It’s only fair considering you just talked me off the proverbial ledge over this stuff with my birth mother. And taking on a huge job like this will take my mind off everything, especially that upcoming reunion show.”
The president had agreed to Liam’s show proposal right before the gala. Francesca had jumped from one event to the next, getting everything in place for the televised reunion. “You don’t have to do it, you know. You can change your mind.”
“No, I can’t.” Ariella smiled and stepped through the doorway. “I’ll email you our preliminary plans and menus to look over tomorrow afternoon.”
Francesca nodded and watched her friend walk to her car. It all seemed so surreal. She would be married in three days. Married. To a man she’d known less than a month. To a man she’d grown to love, but who she knew didn’t feel the same way about her.
A deep ache of unease settled in her stomach. She’d first felt the sensation when the shock wore off and she realized they were getting married on a Friday. That was considered to be very bad luck. Italians never married on a Friday. Unfortunately, the hotel wasn’t available any other day.
Francesca hadn’t seen a single good omen since that ladybug landed on Liam’s shoulder. Marrying Liam was looking more and more like a bad idea. But there was nothing she could do about it now.
*
Liam clutched a thick envelope of paperwork and a sack of Thai takeout as he went up the stairs to Francesca’s town house. He’d met with his lawyer today to go over some details for the marriage. Now he planned to help Francesca with some packing.
“Hello,” he yelled as he came through the door.
“I’m upstairs,” Francesca answered.
He shut the door behind him and surveyed the neat stacks of labeled and sealed boxes in the foyer. “I have dinner.”
“I’ll be right there.”
Francesca came down the stairs a few minutes later. Her hair was in a ponytail. She was wearing a nicely fitted tank top and capris with sneakers. It was a very casual look for her and he liked it. He especially liked the flush that her hard work brought to her cheeks and the faint glisten of sweat across her chest. It reminded him of the day they met.
God, that felt like ages ago. Could it really have been only a few weeks? Now here he was, helping her pack and clutching a draft of their prenuptial agreement in his hands.
“I see you’ve been hard at work today.”
She nodded and self-consciously ran her hands over her hair to smooth it. “I probably look horrible.”
“Impossible,” he said, leaning in to give her a quick kiss. “I picked up some Thai food on the way from the lawyer’s office.”
“Lawyer’s office?” Francesca started for the kitchen and he followed behind her.
“Yes. I got a draft of the prenup ready for you to look over.”
Francesca stopped dead in her tracks, plates from the cabinet in each hand. Her skin paled beneath her olive complexion. There was a sudden and unexpected hurt in her eyes, as though he’d slapped her without warning. She set down the plates and quickly turned to the refrigerator.
“Are you okay?” Liam frowned. Certainly she knew that with the size of both their estates they needed to put in some protective measures now that they were making their relationship legally binding.
“Yes, I’m fine,” she said, but she didn’t look at him. Instead, she opened the refrigerator door and searched for something. “What do you want to drink?”
“I don’t care,” he said. Liam put the food and paperwork on the counter and walked over to her. “You’re upset about this. Why?”
“I’m not,” she insisted with a dismissive shake of her head, but he could tell she was lying. “It just surprised me. We hadn’t talked about it. But, of course, it makes sense. This is a business arrangement, not a love match.”
The sharpness in her tone when she said “love match” sent up a red flag in Liam’s mind. He wished he could have seen her expression when she said it, but she was digging through the refrigerator. Then again, maybe he didn’t want to see it. He might find more than he planned for.
He’d chosen Francesca for this partly because he thought she could detach emotionally from things. After she walked away from the elevator, he thought she could handle this like a champ. Maybe he was wrong. They’d spent a lot of time together recently. They’d had dinner, talked for hours, made love…. It had felt very much like a real relationship. Perhaps she was having real feelings.
Francesca thrust a soda can at him and he took it from her. She spun on her heel and started digging in the takeout bag. “So what are the high points?” she asked, popping open a carton of noodles.
She would barely look at him. She was avoiding something. Maybe the truth of the situation was in her eyes, so she was shielding him from it. If she was feeling something for him, she didn’t want him to know about it. So he decided not to press her on the subject right now and opted just to answer her question. “Everything that is yours stays yours. Everything that is mine stays mine.”
She nodded, dumping some chicken onto her plate. “That sounds fairly sensible. Anything else?”
“My lawyer insisted on an elevator clause for you. I couldn’t tell him it wasn’t necessary since we only plan to be married for a year. He said he likes to put them in all his prenups, so I figured it was better for it to be more authentic anyway.”
“What is an elevator clause?”
“In our case, it entitles you to a lump sum of money on our first anniversary and an additional sum every year of our marriage after that. The money goes in trust to you in lieu of an alimony agreement. The longer we stay married, the more you’re given.”
Francesca turned to him, her brow furrowed. “I don’t want your money, Liam. That wasn’t part of our agreement.”
“I know, but I want you to have it. You’ve gone far beyond what we originally discussed and you deserve it. I’m totally uprooting your life.”
“How much?”
“Five million for the first year. Another million every year after that. Milestone anniversaries—tenth, twentieth, etc., earn another five million.”
“Five million dollars for one year of marriage? That’s ridiculous. I don’t want anything to do with that.”
“If we pull this off, I’m inheriting my aunt’s entire estate and all her ANS stock. That’s somewhere in the ballpark of two billion dollars. I’d gladly give you ten million if you wanted it. Why not take it?”
“Because it makes me look like a gold digger, Liam. It’s bad enough that we’re getting married knowing it’s just for show to make your aunt happy. If people find out I walked away after a year with five million bucks in my pocket…I just…” She picked up her plate and dumped rice onto it with an angry thump of the spoon. “It makes me feel like some kind of a call girl.”
“Whoa,” Liam said, putting his hands up defensively. “Now back up here. If we were getting married because we were in love, we’d probably have the same prenuptial agreement. Why would that be any different?”
Francesca shook her head. “I don’t know. It just feels wrong.”
Liam took the plate from her hand and set it on the counter. He wrapped his arms around Francesca’s waist and tugged her against him. When she continued to avoid his gaze, he hooked her chin with his finger and forced her face to turn up to him. He wanted her to hear every word he had to say. “No one is going to think you’re a gold digger. You will have earned every penny of that money over the next year. And not,” he clarified, “on your back. As my wife, you’re like an on-call employee twenty-four hours a day for a year.”
He could tell his explanation both helped and hurt his cause. It justified the money but reduced her to staff as opposed to a wife. And that wasn’t true. She was more than that to him. But if she was having confusing feelings about their relationship, would telling her make it worse?
“This isn’t just some business arrangement anymore, Francesca. We’re getting married. It may not be for the reasons that other people get married, but the end result is the same. You didn’t have to agree to do this for me or for the network, but you chose to anyway. You’re…important to me. So I’m choosing to share some of the benefits with you. Not just because you’ve earned them or because you deserve them. And you do. But because I want to give the money to you. You can donate every dime to charity, if you’d like. But I want you to have it regardless.”
That got through. Francesca’s expression softened and she nodded in acceptance before burying her face in his chest. Liam clutched her tightly and pressed a kiss into the dark strands of her hair.
It wasn’t until that moment that he realized what a large price they were both paying to save the network and protect his dream. The reward would be huge, but the emotional toll would be high.
Five million didn’t seem like nearly enough to cover it.