Page 3 of Highball and Chain

Fool me once and I’ll never give you the chance to do it again.

Heels clicking on the uneven sidewalk, I hurried toward Enzo’s, as in Lorenzo Marchionni, AKA the Ghoster. It made sense he’d host his older brother’s engagement extravaganza, but I’d rather have eaten out of trash cans than set foot in his restaurant.

The things we do for our friends.

I’d agreed to be Maggie’s maid of honor the second she’d asked. A few moments later, I’d realized my duties would entail seeing a lot of Enzo and rubbing elbows with NOLA society. Not that my friends and I belonged to the upper crust, or lower for that matter. We lived in the middle of the pie between the chunks of chicken and peas.

I rounded the corner and groaned. It looked like a luxury car dealership had exploded in front of the restaurant. As I’d predicted, the engagement party was the social event of the season.

Squaring my shoulders, I weaved my way through the cars and guests.

Maggie, the bride-to-be, climbed out of a limo. “Shanna! Perfect timing.”

I gave her a quick hug and found myself one breath away from a wardrobe malfunction. “Strapless dresses weren’t invented for women with B-minus cup sizes.”

“You look gorgeous.” She looped her arm with mine.

I took in her flowy pale blue dress and matching heels. “Thanks. So do you. Where’s Gabe?”

“Something came up at work. He’s meeting me here.” Maggie squared her shoulders and raised her chin. She might have tried for calm, cool, and collected, but I knew better. The woman was as nervous as a cat in a dog yard.

I squeezed her hand. “You got this.”

“I’ll feel better once I’m inside.”

“Morning sickness?”

“More like morning, noon, and night sickness.”

“Are you going to survive a transatlantic flight tomorrow?” I hated to think of her spending the trip from New Orleans to Sicily in an airplane bathroom, even if said bathroom was on a private jet.

“We’re flying at night. I plan to sleep unless this little one has other ideas.” She rubbed her slightly bulging belly.

After months of listening to Maggie describe the early stages of her pregnancy, I had absolutely no desire to experience motherhood. “You had to know this baby would be a pain in your butt. Look at its father.”

“Be nice.” Laughing, Maggie slapped my arm. “And relax. You might actually enjoy yourself tonight.”

“I doubt it. I’m not comfortable around these people. All of this wealth makes me break out in hives.”

She lowered her voice to a conspirator’s whisper. “They aren’t all bad.”

“So you keep telling me.”

Maggie was right. They weren’t all bad. I’d changed my mind about her fiancé, Gabe, after he’d proven himself to be a stand-up kinda guy. Though he’d broken her heart years before, he’d proved that some bad boys can morph into good men. I mean seriously, it took a spine of steel to raise five kids, three of whom were not his.

Too bad his younger brother hasn’t emerged from his cocoon as a hot, successful, butterfly with a heart of gold.

The moment we walked inside, people swarmed the bride-to-be. I took the opportunity to slink away and find the bar. No way could I get through the night without alcohol.

“Shanna.” The man’s voice made my toes curl and my hands ball into fists.

I turned ready to give Enzo Marchionni the brush off of his lifetime but stopped short. Enzo hadn’t said my name, Gabe had. Great, not only did the brothers all look alike—evidently they sounded alike, too.

The groom-to-be took a step back and raised his hands. “Easy tiger.”

“Sorry, thought you were someone else. Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”

“I’ve been dealing with a situation.”

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