Page 36 of The Wedding Crush

A couple minutes and a timely stop at the big-boy toilet later, I’m standing in Morgan and Dante’s office with my camera hanging from my neck while she rummages through her Pendaflex.

“Here it is!” Victoriously, she tugs a sheet of paper free. “It just a handful of changes.” She passes it to me.

Oh, no big deal.

No, capping the guest list at fifty when Victoria’s list has 250 people on standby, isn’t wildly unrealistic. Then again, it’ll be like a Venn diagram riddle seating chart when there’s a column beside each name, detailing who, by no means, can be seated next to them. Naturally, they’ll all want to have unobstructed views of the wedding party pairs, each making special entrances with original, never-before-seen dances.

I shoot Morgan a confused glare.

Then I read the last item.

Victoria has requested an invite to Stefano’s ex, Carina.

My attention snaps to Morgan.

“Why would she want her here?” I ask. “That seems so…fudged up,” I say for Ace’s sake. Not that he’s listening to anyone besides the great Lightning McQueen.

Morgan shrugs. “Dante said she still considers her family.”

I consider this for a moment, wondering how his mother doesn’t see how having his ex around might not be conducive to Stefano moving on with his life after the divorce.

Shoving the thought aside—because that man isn’t my business—I ask Morgan to watch Ace for a few minutes while I take some photos of the main lawn and the terrace.

I’m gone,maybe, ten minutes.Maybe.

When I get back to the office, though, it’s empty.

Halfway down the hall, I spot my best friend, frantically opening and closing doors, and whispering Ace’s name.

“Where are you? This isn’t funny, hiding from Auntie Mo.”

“Yes, baby, how did you get away from workaholic Auntie Mo if she was watching so closely?”

Morgan whips around.

“Omigod, I checked my email for two seconds,” she explains. “Then I turned around and he was gone.”

Together, we double-team the rest of the rooms before we pour out the front door. In no time, we’re rushing down the entry steps toward the main lawn. My nerves are all over the place, and I’m about to start yelling his name, when Morgan throws out a crowbar arm, halting me.

When I meet her wide-eyed stare, she presses her forefinger to her lips, then taps her ear.

We grow still, listening.

Soon, Stefano’s deep chortle fills the air.

My immediate instinct is to U-turn, and sprint back to the house. I can’t handle another run-in with Stefano Fortemani. I should be searching for my son who could be playing with table spiders on a trail somewhere or drunk off dirty grapes.

But then, Stefano asks, “Where are your parents?”

Immediately my body slow-motion, zips around, my ears perked toward his voice.

Is Stefano talking to Ace?

“I don’t have a dad.” My son’s clear, high-pitched voice fills the air, and my heart lurches.

I want to jump out from behind this bush, and tell him, “You have a dad, who gave his life for us and this country. Just because he can’t be with us now, that doesn’t mean he’s not looking down on you, proud as the day you were born.”

Instead, I cover my heart with my hand, heat stinging at the corners of my eyes as I listen.

---