That's Amore! - Janelle Denison [64]
Now Efi smiled at the old woman who had lived her life as a single woman, an outcast in Greek society, a person forever relegated to be someone's aunt or pain in the ass.
A woman who had drawn a map for her that led straight to her heart.
Efi's father stopped and she blinked to find she stood at the foot of the steps, looking into Nick's dark, dark eyes. She saw hope and happiness and love. She also saw the same fear of the unknown she felt in the pit of her stomach like a pool of mercury.
Nick held out his hand. Efi looked at it, then back up at him. And when she put her fingers in his, she did so knowing that whatever they faced, they would do it as a couple. In every sense of the word…
THERE GOES THE GROOM
Leslie Kelly
Dear Reader,
Having been raised in a primarily Irish family, I hadn't had much experience with Italian weddings … until my own. My husband and I actually had a very small, outdoor wedding, with our closest friends and family at a beautiful moutaintop shrine in Maryland. Yet my very dear mother-in-law did manage to bring a bit of her big Italian family culture into our private, but perfect, wedding.
I honestly had never seen nor heard of a "boursa" until she presented me with one she'd handmade for me. A silk and lace purse with bits of blue ribbon, this "purse" was something I was to carry at my reception, to gather gifts of cash from well-wishers. As I said, our wedding was pretty small … so the purse wasn't exactly bulging. But I did treasure it, and have held on to it for my own daughters.
My husband's family also brought a big platter of Italian cookies for the reception, decorated with "confetti" … the Jordan Almonds that do, as my mother-in-law informed me, represent the bitter and the sweet of life. Fortunately, the number of colorful almonds mixed in with the delicious cookies did not indicate the number of children we would have … I have three. Not three dozen.
I hope you enjoy this story of a non-Italian woman being welcomed into a big Italian family, with all the love, laughter—and food!—that goes with it.
Happy reading!
Leslie Kelly
***
To three of my very favorite people, Janelle, Lori and Tony. I love working with you guys!
CHAPTER ONE
IT WAS A BRIDAL GOWN fit for a princess.
Carefully shifting the mountain of silk and lace on her lap, Rachel Grant stroked the delicate material against her fingers, nearly cooing at its softness. Any bride's dream, the dress was traditional in style, with a square neck and tight-fitting long sleeves. A slight sheen in the fabric gave evidence to the quality of the silk, and the lace was so delicate, she was afraid to breathe on it for fear it would disintegrate.
Its pure white color represented the ultimate virgin bride, which made Rachel shake her head. Was there such a thing these days? If so, she hadn't seen much evidence of it since she'd moved here to Chicago to open this bridal boutique with her aunt.
"Who cares?" she whispered. "I'll wear white, too." Then she sighed, acknowledging a few depressing truths. Not only was she pretty far away from a wedding dress of any color, considering she hadn't had so much as a date in six months. But also, white wasn't so far off for her. Nope, her only sexual experiences had been high school, back-seat-of-the-car type things where clothes never came fully off for fear of an unexpected pair of headlights.
And since moving to Chicago she'd been about as sexually active as a post-menopausal divorcee.
"Maybe you have to get married to get laid in this town," she muttered, returning her attention to the fabulous dress.
She carefully touched the tiny seed pearls decorating the bodice, telling herself she was merely testing the sturdiness of the sewing. Marveling again at their miniscule size, she peered at the small white roses which accentuated the waistline just above the scalloped layers of lace falling away into the ten-foot long train.
Beautiful. Perfect.
Too bad it belonged to the Nazi Bride of Taylor Avenue.
"Are you checking that over again?"