life, is taking care of others, making sure your husband has clean underwear in his drawer and hot food on the table when he gets home tired from work. It’s taking pride in your children’s accomplishments, like when you made your first communion, or when Jackie pitched the no-hitter in Little League, remember?”
Francie did, and she smiled at the memory of how thrilled her parents were for her little brother. Her mother celebrated the event with a cake and a party for all of Jackie’s friends. “You’re the best, Ma. We kids couldn’t have asked for a better, more caring mother. But you shouldn’t expect any of us to lead the same life as you. That’s not fair.”
Josephine grunted her disapproval. “What’s fair—growing old alone?”
“I’ve tried to be the daughter you want. I’ve gone along with these weddings, to make you happy. But it’s making me very unhappy. Not to mention the poor grooms in question. I’m sure Matt Carson will never speak to me again. And I truly liked Matt, as a friend.”
“His mother said there were no hard feelings. She’s a lovely woman, that Mrs. Fielding. She would have made you a good mother-in-law.”
A good mother-in-law! Now there was an oxymoron if ever she heard one.
“I agree. Laura is a lovely woman, and a very gracious one to have said that. I know the Fieldings spent a lot of money on the reception and I feel terrible about it. And that’s just what I’m talking about. These weddings have hurt a lot of people, including you and Dad. Your savings account has got to be suffering. And you need that money for your retirement. Dad can’t sell appliances forever.”
In fact, her dad had been talking retirement for the past two years, but had never gotten around to it. She wondered now if it was because he couldn’t afford to.
Francie’s guilt multiplied.
“I have money put aside for such things, Francie, you know that. And I will make you another wedding when you come to your senses. An even nicer one. We’ll pick out a new dress, make our own arrangements for the reception, hire a better caterer…”
Francie knew that her mother hadn’t heard a word she’d said, and probably never would. It was useless arguing with the headstrong woman. But she could be just as stubborn as Josephine, now that her mind was made up to remain single.
Francie would not be coerced into another wedding. And nothing or no one would convince her otherwise.
“IT WAS NICE OF YOU to have lunch with me today, Ms. Morelli, especially on such short notice. I found after returning to my hotel yesterday afternoon that I still had a lot of questions that needed answering, being new, as I am, to the publishing and promotions game.”
“That’s understandable, Mr. Fielding.”
Francie and Mark were seated at the City Tavern, the oldest dining establishment in Philadelphia, located down by the waterfront, and Francie wondered at her acceptance of the luncheon appointment.
Of course, it was a business lunch. And she wanted Mr. Fielding’s business for the company. But still…She didn’t like mixing business with pleasure, especially when that business was over six feet tall, had deep blue eyes and a face that could rival Pierce Brosnan’s.
Mark Fielding was definitely eye candy.
Francie was definitely addicted to candy.
Francie needs candy like a hole in the head!
“I was happy to oblige,” she went on. “Baxter Promotions prides itself on being a very hands-on company.”
His right brow shot up and she felt her face heat at what her words implied.
Way to insert foot in mouth, Francie!
“Really? How interesting.”
Ignoring his teasing grin, she said, “As I explained, our firm is a small one, so we’re able to give our clients more individualized attention. Details are very important in this business, as you are certain to find out, no matter who you decide to sign with.”
He smiled that devastatingly sexy smile again. It was a sin for a man to have such straight, white teeth. Francie had paid a fortune to have hers fixed. In fact, she was still paying the orthodontist, would probably be paying Dr. Rosenblat until the day she died, or needed dentures.
“I like the sound of that, Ms. Morelli, or can I call you Francesca, since there’s a good possibility that we’ll be working together? I hope you’ll call me Mark.”
“How did you know my—”
“The brass plate on your desk.”
She nodded. “Ah, of course.” Francie was dying to ask Mark about his last name. Though Matt’s last name was Carson, his parents’ last name had been Fielding, due to a divorce and remarriage in his family. He had never mentioned anything about having a brother.
Matt had made a habit out of surprising her with all sorts of things—romantic gifts, tickets to concerts she’d been dying to see—so when he refused to give her the name of his best man and had insisted on issuing the invitation himself, saying only that it was a big surprise and she would have to wait until the day of the wedding to find out, she didn’t insist.
Most grown men were really just little boys at heart, and Matt had been no different.
At any rate, Fielding was a pretty common name in the Philadelphia area, so she wasn’t going to start getting paranoid about every person she met with that moniker. And Mark Fielding didn’t look a thing like Matt, who was at least three inches shorter and had brown curly hair, not black waves that tempted a woman’s touch.
Stop it, Francie! This line of thinking is only going to get you into trouble, and you have plenty of that already.
Not to mention that Mark starts with the dreaded letter “M,” Francie reminded herself.
What is it about M names anyway? First Marty, then Mike, Matt, and now Mark. She had a serious alphabet problem.
“Was it something I said?”
Her cheeks filled with color again. “Sorry. I have a bad habit of zoning out. And yes, you may call me Francesca or Francie, if you like, which is what most of my friends and family call me.”
The waiter came to take their order. Francie decided on the crab cakes, which was the chef’s special for the day, while Mark opted for scallops in white wine sauce. They shared a bottle of chardonnay.
“So what kind of media coverage can I expect, if I decide to sign with Baxter? I was hoping to get on some talk shows, maybe a few radio spots.” Mark forked salad into his mouth as he spoke, and Francie had a difficult time concentrating on his words and not his lips.
“There’ll be book signings, of course. And with your affiliation with the Associated Press, I don’t see a problem getting the TV talk shows interested. From the little you’ve told me, your work sounds fascinating, not to mention topical.”
“It can be. But it can also be heart-wrenching at times. There’s a lot of poverty, death and disease in this world, and I’ve seen and photographed most of it.”
Over their main course, Mark told her what he’d seen in Africa—the deaths from AIDS, the famine—and detailed many other atrocities he’d witnessed in the countries he’d visited and photographed.
“I admire your ability to be able to deal with such things. I don’t think I could.”
“It’s been difficult at times,” he confessed, sadness filling his eyes. “I’ve had the opportunity to photograph some of what’s been going on in North Korea, and it sickens me. The children look like prisoners in a concentration camp. They’re so undernourished and badly treated. I wish our government could do something about it.”
“You talk with a great deal of passion, Mark. That will be an asset when you’re interviewed.”
“It’s