To: Maisie Brown
From: Bellini O’Donnell
Subject: I’m thinking
I have a hundred ideas for the next book. I’ll surprise you soon with the title.
I’m working extremely hard.
Truthfully,
Bellini
To: Bellini O’Donnell
From: Maisie Brown
Subject: Lies
Please. You haven’t even started your next Roxy Belle book. You’re planning your wedding. I know you are very busy.
Thank you for the invitation. I would not miss it.
I love the photo of you and Logan surrounded by your four cats.
See you soon!
Maisie
41
Whiskey
Whiskey turned off the lights, leaned back in her chair, and watched the flames leaping in her fireplace. With a slice of pecan pie topped with whipped cream in front of her, she relaxed, classical music playing in the background. She was a lucky lady. She didn’t know why her eyes filled with tears. Well, yes, she did. They were happy tears.
Logan and Bellini’s wedding had been the most beautiful event she’d ever seen. She was still recovering three days later. It had been held on Logan’s property. She and The Sisters had created a huge arch of pink, yellow, and white flowers for the stage, while Bellini’s cousins had taken on the elegant table decor—yellows and pinks, the colors Bellini chose.
Whiskey was the officiate. She had teared up talking about Logan and Bellini, how they met in kindergarten, were friends all through school, how they’d found their soul mates in each other. Logan was so handsome in a tux, and Bellini wore a white ballgown with blue embroidered flowers. As she’d said, “Mom, when will I ever get to wear a ballgown except on my wedding day?”
When she walked down the aisle, surrounded by her six aunts who were giving her away, everyone clapped. Logan cried. When Whiskey read the vows, and they said, “I do,” Bellini and Logan’s kiss told everyone what the wedding night was gonna be like.
A local DJ had everyone up and dancing all night. Whiskey had paid for all of the food from local businesses—ribs and steak,fresh hot bread and salads, pasta, and fruits. The cake was a pink and yellow confection of roses.
She had never seen Bellini happier.
Bellini would, Whiskey hoped, have children. Many children. It’s what Bellini wanted, so Whiskey wanted it for her. Whiskey knew she would be a kick-ass grandmother. She could teach the kids all sorts of things—the same things she’d taught Bellini. She would encourage them to read every day, teach them to play Scrabble and how to make a mean martini. She’d tell them to be sure to follow their dreams and hold their heads high as members of the O’Donnell family.
What wouldhehave thought?
Bellini’s father.
Whiskey sniffled and paused on that. He had missed out on Bellini. She had looked him up over the years. She’d seen his wedding announcement decades ago. His wife, a blond, reserved-looking doctor, no-nonsense and serious even in her bridal dress, was clearly a match for him. He didn’t need someone who could send drinks sailing down a bar or dance while holding a tray of cocktails or throw drunken people out of a bar. He needed a staid woman like the doctor.
She sniffled again and told herself to get control.
Bellini’s father had been a gentleman. Calming. Honest. Earnest. Smart. He had soft, dark brown eyes, like Bellini’s. But he and Whiskey were so different. Different backgrounds. Different lives. Different obligations. She knew it would never work, but oh my. It had been thunder-and-lightning in bed with him. They had hardly been able to resist each other.
They had talked about everything and anything. He had made her laugh. He had made her feel precious and adored. He had been affectionate and true. She had loved him so.
