Bertrice Small - Sudden Pleasures

"Why not?" Ashley said. "After all, according to Ray it was her idea that you have an arranged marriage to save your inheritance. I think you would want to tell her right away so she would stop worrying," Ashley told him.

"You wouldn't mind? She might even end up calling you," he warned her.

"That would be lovely. Intimidating, but lovely," she said, and stood up. "I'll go with you to the door, and then I'm off back to the shop. It's only a little after three, and I've got a lot to do. June is always a busy month, with weddings and anniversaries."

The limo was waiting for him outside the house. They smiled and shook hands, and then, getting in, he settled back for the ride into the city. It had probably been the most interesting day of his life, Ryan Finbar Mulcahy thought.

Ashley watched the car disappear down the drive. The day had seemed like a dream, and yet it was reality. In a few short weeks she was going to marry a stranger. And this groom wasn't gay, or a con artist, or going to die in Vegas from too much sex. They had a similar problem, and united in matrimony they would solve that problem. And the wedding would take place. Suddenly she was afraid, but then she forced back her fears. He was handsome, well-spoken, and the only agenda he had was to hold on to his money. It was her agenda too, wasn't it?

“You're late," Angelina Mulcahy said to her son as he came into the house.

"I've been in a little town called Egret Pointe meeting my bride-to-be," Ryan told his mother as he bent to kiss her smooth cheek.

"What?" Angelina Mulcahy looked astounded.

"Well, you did tell Ray to find me a wife, didn't you?" he teased her, sitting down in a living room chair and taking the aperitif from the small tray she held.

"Yes," she answered him slowly, "but I didn't think he could find a girl from the old country so quickly." She sat down opposite him.

"What old country? She's a nice American girl with the same problem I have. Her grandfather's will says she has to marry or lose everything. I saw some of the everything, Ma. Her house is called a hall. It's beautiful. It's going to be a wonderful place to entertain my clients," Ryan told his mother.

"I thought…" Angelina Mulcahy looked thoughtful. "I thought Ray would find you a nice young woman from Italy or Ireland. Where did he find this girl?"

"His cousin, another lawyer, is Ashley's attorney," Ryan answered.

"So this rich girl won't be rich if she doesn't get married?" She sipped her own drink slowly. "I don't know, Ryan. This isn't quite what I had in mind when I asked Ray to find you a wife. I thought a nice, unspoiled girl who would be a good wife and mother. But a spoiled rich girl who doesn't want to lose her inheritance… I don't know."

"She's rich, Ma, but she isn't spoiled. She's got a degree in business, like I do. Her late grandfather invested in her business, and she's his only heir. She has to marry before she's thirty-five or she loses it all, including her shop, and she's just now expanding her little empire."

"She's nice?"

"Very nice," Ryan told his mother.

"Pretty?"

"As a matter of fact she is," he said with a smile. "But nothing like I would have thought I'd pick. She's got dark hair, very fair skin, and the greenest eyes I ever saw. And she's not a twig. She's got to stand at least five feet eight or nine inches."

"A big girl," Angelina Mulcahy mused. Well, that wasn't bad at all. She sounded like she was healthy. Angelina didn't approve of those women who starved themselves into wraiths and waiflike figures, but had the best boobs that money could buy. "Not fat?"

"No, just tall, and proportioned right," Ryan said. "And she likes her food, Ma. We had lunch together, and she scarfed down her ravioli like a champ. And bread too."

"Dessert?" Now Angelina was interested.

"Every crumb, Ma," he told her.

Angelina nodded. "So when do I get to meet her?" she wanted to know.

But before he could answer her the doorbell rang.

"This conversation is over if that's someone else for dinner," Ryan said.

"It's Frankie," Angelina said, getting up to go to the door and let her youngest daughter in, kissing her as she did so.

Francesca Mulcahy O'Connor was thirty-seven years old, and the mother of a single child. She had lost her husband, an investment banker, during 9/11. "Ma," she said, returning her mother's greeting. "Hey, big brother." She took the aperitif her mother poured her. "So, what's new?"

"Ray Pietro d'Angelo found Ryan a wife," Angelina said, and then hurried to catch her daughter up.

"That is so cool," Frankie said approvingly. "So when's the wedding?"

"August twenty-fifth," he said quietly.

"You've set the date already?" Angelina was a little surprised.

"I don't have much time," Ryan said. "I'm forty in April, Ma. Remember?"

"Yes, I remember," Angelina said quietly. "I remember very well."

"So what kind of a shop does she own?" Frankie wanted to know.

"It's called Lacy Nothings," he said, and grinned when his sister squealed.

"Oh, my God! The real Lacy Nothings? The one I get my stuff from?"

"One and the same, although why a nice widow lady needs stuff like that, I don't know," he teased her.

"Shut up!" Frankie said. "Do you think once you're married she'd let me have merchandise wholesale?"

"What is Lacy Nothings?" their mother asked.

"It's a lingerie shop, Ma. Very high-end, very expensive lingerie," Ryan said.

"It's gorgeous, Ma," Frankie enthused. "Real quality. She's got a catalog, and my most recent one says she's opening two new shops. One is right near me!"

"You're marrying a girl who sells underwear?" Angelina said.

"She's marrying a guy who makes furniture," he countered.

"You aren't a craftsman," Angelina said. "You're a businessman, Ryan. Your father was the artisan, but not you. It's different." She was very proud of her son. She knew what he had done for his father, even if Fin never acknowledged it. Her late husband had had a very typical Irish attitude. Not once had he ever told Ryan he was proud of him.

"August twenty-fifth," Frankie said. "I can't wait to see the look on the girls' faces when I tell them you're getting married." She grinned almost maliciously.

"You are not to breathe a word of this," Ryan said quietly. "Either of you. The lawyers are handling the business end. Ashley and I will be seeing each other over the next few weeks, and it will be said to be a whirlwind courtship. You and Ma get to come to the wedding. The others will learn of it afterward. I don't want them trying to interfere. They are not going to get R &R."

"Dee is going to be furious." Frankie chortled. "She's already looking for a bigger house, although with her kids all grown I don't know why she needs one."

"Will we meet Ashley before the wedding?" Angelina Mulcahy asked her son.

"How about two weeks from tonight? Here. For dinner?" he suggested.

Angelina nodded.

"Can I come?" Frankie asked.

"Where's Michael? Isn't he home from school?" her brother said.

"Home from St. Peter's, and off to Mountain Lake Camp in ten days to be a junior counselor this summer," Frankie said. Her son, who was seventeen, had been given a full scholarship to his late father's old preparatory school after Mike had been killed at the Twin Towers. At first Frankie hadn't wanted to send her son away in seventh grade, but they had both grieved hard after Mike had been killed so tragically, and their grief fed off each other's grief. Frankie realized that the only way she and her son would be able to get on with their lives, and past that awful day, was for Michael to go to St. Peter's. And it had worked. Neither of them would ever forget that terrible day, but without each other they had no choice but to move on. Her son would be a senior at St. Peter's in the autumn. He was student body president, and Frankie knew his father would be very proud.

"I don't know why he can't stay home with his mother in the summer," Angelina said disapprovingly. "He was in England at Brixton School for his spring term. We've hardly seen him this year."

"Going to Brixton on the exchange program was a big honor, Ma, and he wanted to go," Frankie defended her son. "And he's been at Mountain Lake since before his dad died. He's always wanted to be a junior counselor. He gets his fee free this year, and a stipend of five hundred dollars for the summer. I like encouraging him to earn his own money. He's a very responsible boy."

"Maybe if your son were home you wouldn't work so hard," Angelina said.

"Nope. If he were home he'd be a latchkey kid, and I'd feel guilty," Frankie said.

Her brother laughed. "I think you and Ashley are going to get on very well together," he said with a grin. "She kept me waiting this morning because she had to take an overseas call from her lace supplier in Madeira."

"Having seen you now, sweetie," his sister teased, "I'll bet she doesn't ever keep you waiting again."

He laughed. He had been a little put off when she had been late, but her explanation had been perfectly logical and practical. And when she had looked directly at him with those gorgeous green eyes, he had to admit that he was intrigued. Why had he ever considered a blue-eyed blond the perfect ideal? Ashley's dark hair had been cut very fashionably short in a boyish bob, but he had to admit there had been nothing boyish about her body. It was, to use an old-fashioned expression his dad had been fond of, curvy. Her breasts had pushed out that red tee nicely, and her ass in those tight pants had been very tempting.