“You’re one of those ‘autoimmune people.’ You know if you ate right and exercised that would clear right up.”
Ugh. Like I don’t already follow an autoimmune protocol.
“Welcome. Let’s begin.” The local officiant smiles, the late afternoon sun gleaming on his wealth of salt-and-pepper hair.
Elliot leans closer. “I’m Elliot, by the way.”
The introduction is nice. The timing, coming as it does when we’re meant to pay attention to the officiant, is not.
I offer him a brief glance from the corner of my eye and a smile. “Franki McRae,” I whisper, hoping he’ll take the hint and stop talking.
He doesn’t.
“Franki McRae,” he repeats. “What’s that short for? Francine? Frances? Francisca?” He stretches out and rolls hisron his last guess.
I shake my head slightly and lift my finger to my lips to indicate the need to be quiet, though I do it with a smile to soften the sting.
“Francesca!”
I startle as he shouts loudly enough that the entire rehearsal comes to a screeching halt. The wedding party jerks toward us to see why he yelled my name.
He shakes his head at me with a scolding look, as though I’m the reason he was forced to raise his voice. Heat floods my neck and face.
Across the marble behemoth, Henry, utterly expressionless, stares at the young man. Behind that flat look, I know he’s cataloging everything and liking none of it.
I give the officiant a tight smile. “Sorry. Please, continue.”
I’m off to a less than impressive start with my Elliot-wrangling duty. But who knew he’d be a problem during the literal rehearsal?
Standing nearby with an iPad in her hand, the wedding planner, Lucinda, appears to have decided I instigated the interruption. She tosses her blonde hair over one shoulder and scowls at me.
My mouth drops, but I manage, barely, to suppress the urge to point at Elliot and sputter,“But, but . . .”
When she finally spares a glance for Noah’s brother, he dimples back at her.
Gosh darn it, heisadorable. I have to give him that.
He’s a harmless kid. I can handle a bit of boisterous energy and bad manners. What I need to do is redirect.
When we reach a lull before we start a second run-through, I turn my head toward him. “Is this your first time on the coast?”
“This one. Yes. Not my first time onacoast. How about you,Francesca?” He does this weird thing with my name, using a fake accent that doesn’t actually match any real one I’ve ever heard.
“Just Franki is fine. This is my third time in the area, but my first at Villa dei Limoni. Normally, we stay on the water.”
His gaze fixes on the Mediterranean. “You stay on the water?”
“On Henry’s parents’ yacht. Do you like boats?”
“Love them.”
“You should join us next week for an afternoon. It would be fun.”
He turns toward me slowly and rakes his gaze over me. “We would definitely have fun.” He winks at me.
Umm. Okay. What is wink-worthy about boats? “Are you a university student?”
“When classes are in session. At the moment, I’m a groomsman in my brother’s wedding.” He winks again.
