My Ex-Boyfriend's Wedding (7 page)

"I'm on my way to work and just wanted to tell you that I had a wonderful time last night."

"Me, too." Jemma beamed, releasing a dreamy sigh as she thought back to their date, but curiosity finally got the better of her. "Isn't there some kind of man code, two day rule about calling a girl after a date?"

"Hmm, would you like me to call you back in two days?"

"Yes." She paused, hoping for some twisted panicky retribution for the previous night. "But I want to talk to you now and several more times before then, too." Again, she girly-giggled. What was wrong with her?

"You nearly had me with that one."

"I can't help it. With sarcastic parents, it's pretty much genetic. So, you said you were off to work. Where might that be?"

"I own a nightclub downtown, right off of the square. It's what brought me here from New York. Well, that, and Kate's family. My place is called The Big Apple. Have you heard of it?"

"I have. I've even been there a time or two. You play great music, and better still, it's not a college hang out like so many places on the square. What could you possibly have to do there on a Saturday morning, though?"

"Sometimes on weekends I go in early to catch the staff off guard and make sure the office people actually come in. You'd be surprised at how many times I catch them either asleep at their desks or signed in and nowhere to be found. The beer truck comes in early on Saturdays, too. It's kind of important for business that someone is there to get that."

"Sounds like you've got some
fine
employees there."

He chuckled. "Most of them are, but you know what they say about one bad apple?"

"Yup, it can spoil the whole bunch." Jemma groaned aloud as the old song popped into her head. "You realize that I'm going to have The Jackson Five playing on repeat in my head all day now, don't you?"

"Personally, my mind prefers to dwell on your kisses."

The song was toast as soon as those memories flooded in. "Hmm, that's a much better way to occupy my
mind. Good call."

"Well, I'm at the club. I should let you get back to sleep."

Jemma snorted, "Who said I was asleep?"

Laughter broke out on both ends of the line, and they said their goodbyes. Jemma snapped her phone shut and crawled back in her fluffy bed in a dream-like, happy state.

Sleep quickly claimed her again, drifting back into Tony's awaiting embrace within her dreams, but only until loud, erratic knocking at her door roused her again. She grabbed her housecoat and sprinted to the door without thinking, or even completely waking up, just reacting to the desperate banging. She swung the door open to be greeted by her brother's mischievous face.

"You do realize that it's almost noon, don't you? Hmm, is
he
still here?" Mikey propped himself up on his toes for added effect as he surveyed her apartment, even though he was tall enough to see over her head.

Jemma balled up her fists, forcing herself not to shove him down the stairs. "Who is the
he
you are referring to?"

"Mr. Hot-and-Sweaty-Sex-Guy. You know, the one that has you washing your sheets on a daily basis." An evil smile snaked across his face, and Jemma's face bloomed with heat.

"There… There's no one here, and there hasn't been anyone, for that matter. You really need to mind your own business for a change." Jemma stomped into her kitchen to start some breakfast.

Or lunch.

Mikey slammed the door behind him and jumped onto a barstool on the other side of the counter. "Ooh, what are you making us?"

Jemma raised a brow. She'd learned long ago that she'd be fighting a senseless battle to get Mikey to leave without feeding him. She scrambled some eggs, toasted bread, sat the butter and jelly in front of him, and bowed in his direction. "Does this please you, Sire?"

In regal fashion, Mikey sat up straight, adjusted his non-existent tie, and pretended to dust off the seat next to him. "You may feast with me, wench."

Shaking her head and grinning, she walked around the bar and stood next to him. "Many thanks, good sir." After pulling her robe out on both sides and dipping in a mock-curtsy, she took her place next to him and devoured her meal.

"If you eat like that when he takes you out, it's no wonder he isn't in your bed."

She lifted her fork and poised the prongs over his hand. "Evil Jemma is winning right now, just so you're aware."

Yanking his hand away, he waved both between them. "Okay, I'll be nice. So, who is this guy?"

She scanned Mikey's face for genuine interest and was amazed to actually find it for a change. He swiveled his stool toward her and leaned forward with his elbows on the counter. Shock settled in her first, and then curiosity at his sudden interest in her dating habits took over. "Why do you want to know? Usually, you wait until I bring someone over to meet Mom and Dad before you even know I'm dating anyone."

"After the Dumb Ass Dalton incident, I've decided it's in our family's best interest to keep an eye on your dating habits for a while. I don't think Dad can handle many more late nights at Duke's with his buddies. Took him two days to live out that hangover."

Jemma laughed aloud at the memory of her father's stubbly face and bloodshot eyes as she gathered their plates and put them in the sink. He'd been a bear to deal with, too. "Okay, I guess I can give you some info." She turned toward her brother and leaned against the cabinets. "His name is Anthony Giovanni and…"

Mikey didn't give her a chance to finish. He slapped the countertop and bounced in his seat like a little boy. "Dude! You're dating Little Ant'ny? He's Mafia! Hand to God!" He crossed himself and threw his right hand in the air as though pointing directly to The Big Guy himself. "Dude, my baby sister is doing the mob."

"First off, I am
not
a dude. Secondly, Anthony isn't related to the Mafia."

"You know Dad takes business trips to New York City a lot. He has
friends
up there. I've heard him talk about Little Ant'ny. His real name is Anthony Giovanni."

Jemma vaguely recollected the name and felt a little unsure on her feet as the room seemed to wobble. She pondered the possibility of Tony's ties to the mob for a split second. He'd told her he was from New York. She stared at her brother and forced a cynical look to her face as she crossed her arms over her chest.

"Whew, try to get blood and horse-head guts out of those sheets you've been washing every day at Mom's. You think you've had it tough lately.
That
would be messy."

Jemma shook her head at her brother's reference to the
Godfather
movie. Common sense barged in, helping her realize that even
if
this was the name her dad mentioned, the odds of Tony being Little Ant'ny were not all that good. Giovanni was a popular Italian last name, Anthony even more commonplace as a first name.

"You know, if you married this guy, there could be perks in this for me, too." Mikey rested his chin on his palm and stroked the three chin hairs he considered a beard in contemplation.

"If you didn't look so much like Dad, I'd think they switched babies at the hospital when you were born." Jemma shook her head in disbelief. "Anthony is
not
Mafia. Not to mention, I only just met this guy, so marriage plans aren't exactly in the works. You'll be the first to know though," she said sarcastically, turning away from him, messing with the dishes, but really just wanting him to go away.

"Believe what you want."

"Trust me, I will. It really is too bad that you have to leave now." She turned around to punctuate her statement with a glare.

Confusion clouded Mikey's face for a moment, but he finally stood, shaking his head. She escorted him to the door.

Turning back toward her in the open door, he exclaimed, "I can't wait to tell Dad!"

Jemma grabbed her brother by the front of his shirt, pulled his face down close to hers, and said, "The guy I went out with last night is
not
Little Ant'ny. Got it?"

"Fine, whatever you say, Evil Jemma. Is Nice Jemma even still in there?" He looked deeply into her eyes, switching from one to the other as his face closed in on hers.

Pushing her forehead to his, she hissed in her best demonic voice, "She's sleeping. She was up late last night."

Mikey grabbed his sister by the shoulders and removed her from the front of his shirt. "I see how it is. Mr. Sexy got the good Jemma, and I have to put up with you." He planted a kiss on her forehead. "I love both of you the same, though."

Jemma patted his cheek. "We love you, too."

She shut the door behind him, and "This Kiss"
filled the air again. She sprinted to her nightstand to answer her phone. Breathless, she answered as she sprawled across her bed. "Hello?"

"Did I catch you in the middle of something?" Anthony asked, curios humor fusing his voice.

"I was just escorting my brother out. My phone was charging in the bedroom, so I ran for it."

"Uh, your apartment is so tiny."

"Yeah, I'd join a gym, but there's no need to pay for something I'll only use once and pay for every month for the rest of my life because I
might
go back again someday." She knew she was babbling, but it was more of a defensive mechanism not to ask him any stupid questions.

Is your nickname Little Ant'ny? Damn you, Mikey!

"Okay, I'm making a mental note right now not to take you on any gym dates, then. Does
watching
a sport count?" His sarcasm was punctuated with a laugh. "I had my friend switch out those Springfield Cardinals tickets for next Saturday and thought you might like to join me. I don't want to put any of that gym pressure on you though." His words, light and jovial, removed the Mafia thoughts from her mind.

"Well, that depends on what time the game starts. I have a six o'clock wedding to photograph, so I doubt that would work unless it's a late game. I'll be done around eight-ish though."

"Hmm, the game starts at seven-ten, so that won't work."

She sensed disappointment within his words, not that she was any happier about it. "I'm sorry. I'd really like to go, but duty calls." She tried to add the girly giggle, but it sounded forced even to her own ears.

"Okay, from which church should I pick you up?"

The sun broke through the gloominess, and she rose to a sitting position on the side of her bed. "The First Presbyterian on south Lone Pine. Need directions?"

"No, I know the part of town well. I happen to live nearby. How does a home cooked supper at my place sound? We could go out dancing afterward."

Guilt gave Jemma a brisk tap on the shoulder. "What about the ball game? I don't want you to miss it because of me."

"I'd much rather spend time with you. The tickets are a friend's season passes he isn't using this month. We'll have other opportunities. Perhaps a weeknight? That is, unless a lot of people get married on Tuesdays?"

"No, that hasn't made it to the top of many brides' days-to-get-married lists yet." She tried desperately to reign in her giddiness.

After saying their goodbyes, Jemma put her phone back on the nightstand and stared at the bedroom partition, contemplating her upcoming date. Knowing she would have to come clean with him about her past with Dalton, her inner selves sparred in a whirlwind of angst, confusion, guilt, and passion. She finally decided it could wait until after the date.

Now, faced with a different struggle, she mentally tried to play through their dinner without throwing herself into his arms and begging him to take her to bed. She couldn't come up with anything, short of taking on her brother's mannerisms or canceling the date altogether, that worked without ending up horizontally. Perhaps it was time for her vow of celibacy to come to an end.

She jumped to her feet and scurried to the dresser. Digging through the underwear drawer, she pulled out two different bra and panty sets, opposite ends of the spectrum different. In one hand she held tan granny panties and a matching padded bra, in the other, a slinky, black lacy bra and thong set. She stared at her reflection in the mirror and let out a huge groan. The tan combo was basically birth control in and of itself, saving the ensuing, unbelievable, mind blowing sex for another date. The black lacy number, well, she would be ready to hop into his arms and have at it, birth control of other forms definitely needed. She folded them neatly in two separate piles as a reminder of the important decision to be made this week.

She groaned again. Like she wouldn't remember without them lying there.

The weekdays ticked by at the slowest pace she'd ever experienced. All of her years in elementary school seemed to have passed faster than the last few days. Finally, she arrived at the wedding she'd scheduled prior to her date, and her mind slipped into automatic pilot. This gave her a brief reprieve from the angst and excitement that'd been tag-teaming her nerves. Several times over the past days she'd considered just telling Tony on the phone about Dalton. It was fleeting, considering ex-boyfriends weren't casual topic material and would undoubtedly take his undivided attention.

Jemma absentmindedly brushed her bangs from her forehead for the umpteenth time, a nervous tick she'd had since childhood that drove her mother crazy. She smoothed the dark blue material of her long skirt and walked along the perimeter of the enormous church. Her meticulous, watchful eye never left the happy couple at the altar. Pulling her new camera up, she carefully peered through the viewfinder and brought them into focus.

Click!

She felt the familiar tug of satisfaction, knowing she'd just captured a keepsake moment. That very feeling never got old and was what led her into photography to begin with. Finding those moments her clients always wanted to remember, preserving them for eternity in the perfect photo, was almost euphoric.

The rest of the wedding and reception went off without a hitch. Jemma furthered her career-induced high by posing the wedding party for the still shots right after the ceremony; her own personal Barbie dolls. Going to great lengths to be sure she had done the couple justice, covering every single, minute detail and tossing in some fun poses, she lost track of time, completely caught up in her work.