A Marriage of True Minds: A Sasha McCandless Novella Read online

  The next fifteen minutes were an anticlimactic blur.

  Padre Alexander and Charlotte blocked the wedding as if it were a play. Sasha’s partner, Will, and Leo’s former coworker, Hank rehearsed their readings.

  When it came time to recite their marriage vows, the former priest said, “So, this is where you’ll say your vows. We can run through those if you want, but I don’t want you to share the homework I assigned each of you. That’s to be a gift for your spouse tomorrow.”

  Leo caught Sasha’s eye and smiled.

  She arched a brow at him and tried to hide her own smile.

  He almost couldn’t believe that this nose-breaking, danger-courting, spitfire had, somehow, tumbled into his life or that, in less than twenty-four hours, they’d be beginning their shared life together. He blinked back emotions that threatened to overtake him and turned to Padre Alexander.

  “I think we’re good on the vows, but we may need to practice the kiss, Father.”

  Sasha shot him an electric grin. “Definitely.”

  The former Jesuit spread his palms wide. “You lovebirds will have to do that on your own time. I understand there’s a dinner party starting soon.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  From her vantage point at the front of the ballroom, Sasha smiled out at the laughing, drinking friends and relatives who ringed the room, mingling and nibbling on hors d’oeuvres. The wall of floor-to-ceiling windows that faced the ocean had been opened to let in the warm night breeze. The buzz of happy voices filled the space, and the candles that adorned the tables cast a hazy glow. She felt warm and, possibly, slightly tipsy.

  She nestled into Connelly’s side and sipped her wine.

  “What are you thinking?” His warm breath tickled her ear.

  “How lucky we are to be so loved that all these people wanted to spend their Christmas vacations with us.”

  “We are lucky,” he agreed, pulling her closer. He nuzzled her neck.

  “Get a room, already,” came a voice from behind them.

  She turned and looked up into her brother Ryan’s laughing green eyes.

  “Har har,” she fake-laughed.

  “So, uh, listen, when are we doing toasts?” he asked, suddenly businesslike.

  “We’re doing toasts?”

  Ryan’s ability to stay serious lasted about thirty seconds, as usual, and he jabbed her in the arm. “Come on, Sasha, loosen up. I’m not going to spill all your childhood secrets to Leo—just the most embarrassing ones.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Just remember, I can kill you with my bare hands.”

  “Just you remember, I named you guardian of the kids. If I die, Riley will be so broken up with grief, she’ll probably be unable to care for the them. Instant family for the newlyweds! Good luck with potty training.”

  “There’s no set agenda for the night,” Connelly said before the sibling ribbing could go any further. “So, if you feel moved to make a toast, have at it.”

  Ryan clapped his hands together, cutting through the din of laughter and conversation. Heads turned toward them. He cleared his throat.

  “Everyone,” he said in an awkwardly formal tone, “if you could take your seats, dinner will be served shortly. And, I thought we could start toasting the happy couple and get that out of the way early, so we can party!” He’d started stiffly, but Sasha thought he’d warmed up nicely and ended on a natural note.

  The rehearsal dinner really was a party, by design. Sasha and Connelly had decided that if people were going to fly several thousand miles during the holidays to attend their wedding, they should make it a trip to remember.

  So far, so good.

  The room quieted as people found their tables. A white-jacketed waiter motioned toward the door, and soft instrumental music began to play, piped into the room by an unseen sound system.

  Ryan raised his glass and turned toward Sasha and Connelly.

  “Leo, we always knew it would take a special person to tame our little sister.” He glanced at Sean, who guffawed his agreement.

  Sasha rolled her eyes at her brothers’ antics.

  Ryan continued, “And for a long time, we thought she’d never find the right guy—someone who could handle her strength and her sharp wit. But, you’ve done okay. I mean she only had to break your nose that one time.”

  He waited for the laughter to die down and then said, “It’s clear you love her, and she loves you. I know I speak for Sean, too, when I say, it will be great to have you as a brother.”

  He cleared his throat and took a long swallow of his drink.

  Sasha blinked down at her plate at the memory Ryan’s words dredged up—thoughts of their dead brother Patrick, who hadn’t lived to see any of his younger siblings get married. Connelly seemed to sense what she was thinking. He leaned over and stroked her hair, tucking a tendril behind her ear.

  Ryan’s speech was followed by a sweet and sassy toast from Maisy; a plain old sassy toast from Naya; a beautifully recited poem from Khalil Gabran’s The Prophet from Bodhi; and a heartfelt wish for their future from Hank. At that point, Sasha’s dad rescued the party by suggesting they take a break from the speeches and eat before the food got cold.

  Sasha threw him a grateful look and lifted her fork.

  But before she could take the first bite of her perfectly pink steak, Charlotte materialized at her elbow.

  “I’m so sorry to interrupt your meal, but Marisole would like to do a final fitting of your gown.”

  “Now?”

  “I’m afraid so. It’s getting quite late.” Charlotte checked the bracelet-style watch that hung on her wrist. “It’s after eight o’clock.”

  Connelly wrinkled his forehead. “Can’t we eat first? You can do this dress thing after dessert, before they start up with the toasts again.”

  “It shouldn’t take long at all. The dress fits beautifully, but Marisole is a perfectionist. And your mother happened to mention that you’re looking a little thin, so we just want to check one last time.” Charlotte threw Sasha a look that said just cooperate.

  She put down her fork, with one last, longing look at her filet, then folded her napkin and kissed Connelly’s cheek.

  “I’ll be back. Don’t wait for me to eat.”

  Charlotte nodded to the waitress who stood beside her, at the ready with a silver dome to cover Sasha’s plate.

  “Are you sure?” Connelly pressed.

  “I’m sure.”

  “We’ll keep her dinner warm,” Charlotte interjected.

  Sasha gave her a wan smile and dutifully trailed the woman from the table.

  They were intercepted at the door by Valentina and the bridesmaids.

  “We heard you’re trying on your gown,” Jordan squeaked. She raised a bottle of champagne in a salute.

  Beside her, Maisy and Riley carried several glass flutes. Naya tucked a confiscated iPhone into her handbag and relieved Maisy of a flute. Riley handed Sasha one.

  She looked around at them, confused by their interest in watching her try on a dress.

  “But, you’ll miss the party,” she said.

  “Nonsense,” Valentina declared, “we’ll bring the party with us. Let’s go, ladies.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Sasha held her arms out at an awkward angle, her elbows bent, and turned in a slow pivot.

  Her mother gave her a smile brimming with unspoken emotion. Maisy clapped her hands like a little girl, while her sisters-in-law beamed.

  Sasha looked over at Naya, whose face was a neutral mask.

  “Well?”

  “Well, what?”

  Sasha shot her a death glare.

  “Doesn’t matter what I think, Mac. What do you think?”

  Sasha turned toward the wood-framed, oval standing mirror and confronted her reflection. What did she think?

  She wore a column of ivory satin overlaid with a silver hand-crocheted lace trim dotted with tiny crystals. The strapless gown buttoned up the back in an endless row of hu
ndreds of impossibly small, ivory fabric-covered buttons that had taken Marisole approximately a day and a half to button. It was a gorgeous dress, no doubt.

  An idiotic grin worked its way onto her face. But it was the fitted mermaid silhouette that had sealed the deal. True, it made walking a bit of a challenge. That small disadvantage was outweighed by the effect of the contoured cut. It skimmed close to her body until it flared out at her knees with a dramatic trumpet of fabric, made her feel sleek and—somehow, magically—tall.

  She’d scoured vintage shops until she’d found a style that wouldn’t overpower her tiny frame and make her look like a powder puff. This dress did so much more.

  She met Naya’s eyes in the mirror.

  “I feel like a movie star,” she admitted. She sipped her champagne and hoped no one noticed the red stain working its way up from her neck at the admission.

  A slow smile spread across Naya’s face. “Well, you should. You look like one.”

  Marisole, the amazing seamstress whom Charlotte had convinced to semi-retire to paradise from a Parisian couture shop, stepped forward, cocked her head, and pursed her lips.

  After a long moment, she said, “You have lost a pound, maybe two, this week, oui?”

  Sasha raised her bare shoulders. She had no idea. She’d been eating non-stop, but the local fresh fruits and fish were simply prepared and probably very healthful. She and Connelly had body-surfed, rock-climbed, gone horseback riding, hiked the tropical rainforest, and run along the sand for miles. It was theoretically possible that she’d lost half a pound. Maybe.

  “You have. Look how this gown hangs on you. You are swimming in it,” Marisole declared.

  Sasha threw Charlotte a look. Swimming in it? The dress fit like an actual glove.

  “Not to worry. I can fix it.”

  Marisole pulled approximately one millimeter of excess fabric in at Sasha’s waist, nipping each side with a straight pin.

  Sasha looked at herself again and saw no difference. Although she certainly felt more constrained. She’d just have to remember not to try to breathe at any point.

  “Okay, great. Thanks.”

  Marisole shook her head critically.

  “A ribbon. We must add a long ribbon to trail you because you have no train.”

  “I really think it’s perfect just as it is—” Sasha began.

  Her mother cut her off. “Just give it a try, Sasha. Marisole is a magician.”

  So Sasha stood still and silent while Marisole painstakingly stitched an ivory satin ribbon to the back of the dress.

  When she finished, Sasha twisted to see over her shoulder and had to admit that the twin lengths of ribbon added a whimsical touch.

  Judging by the murmur of the other women in the room, she wasn’t alone in that opinion.

  A soft knock punctuated the oohing and ahhing.

  “That better not be Leo,” Riley said, putting down her champagne flute and hustling over to the door to answer it.

  She opened it a sliver, just enough for Sasha to catch a glimpse of a curtain of glossy black hair.

  “Yes?” Riley asked in a voice that managed to convey beat it, despite being perfectly polite.

  “It’s okay,” Sasha called, “it’s Aroostine. Let her in already.” She raised an arm to wave the woman in, carefully, unsure of her available range of motion while Marisole fussed with the ribbon.

  Aroostine ducked her head in apology as she entered the room.

  “You look breathtaking,” she said.

  Sasha shook her head. “I think taking a breath is going to be off-limits if these two have any say.” She gestured to the wedding coordinator and the seamstress. “The plan seems to be to sew me into this thing. I guess I’m on my own getting out of it.”

  Charlotte choked back a giggle, but Marisole threw Sasha a hairy eyeball.

  Aroostine grinned. “I think that’s the groom’s job. Listen, I’m really sorry to intrude. I’m actually looking for Naya.”

  At that, Marisole stood and removed the final pin from her mouth. She waited for Charlotte’s nod of approval and then said, “To finish this off, I must go back to my workroom and get the thin ivory thread, yes? You, do not move.”

  She scooted around Aroostine and headed for the door, pausing once to admire her handiwork. “Magnifique,” she muttered to herself before she disappeared into the hallway.

  Naya turned from the heap of water-blue silk shantung sheaths that she was arranging, organizing the bridesmaids dresses with their shoes, bags, and jewelry, so that the group could swoop in and get ready the next day in a tactical strike. “What’s up?” she said to Aroostine with a preoccupied frown.

  “I need my phone.”

  The frown morphed into a full-fledged glare of death.

  Uh-oh.

  Sasha opened her mouth to intervene, but Aroostine was no stranger to pissed-off legal assistants.

  “Listen, Naya, I agree with you. As a society, we’ve become obsessed with being plugged in to the point that we’re tuned out. Our constant need to check Facebook has eroded daily social interactions, let alone sacred once-in-a-lifetime events. I get it.” Aroostine spoke softly but with passion. Sasha bet she delivered a phenomenal closing argument.

  Unfortunately for her, her jury of one was not easily swayed.

  “But?” Naya crossed her arms over her chest.

  “But,” Aroostine hesitated, cutting her eyes over to the knot of women gathered around Sasha’s mother and dropping her voice. “Something’s happening. Something bad.”

  “What are you talking about? What’s happening?” Sasha interjected while Naya put aside her clipboard and rummaged through her bag for the phone.

  “I don’t have any details. Hank Richardson apparently managed to keep his phone out of Naya’s hot little hands—”

  “He’s second-in-command of whatever scary-sounding federal agency he works for. He needs his phone,” Naya protested.

  Sasha arched a brow. “Hank rates an exception, but I don’t?”

  “He isn’t trying to keep tabs on his cat. Also, he threatened to shoot me.”

  Sasha shrugged. That sounded like Hank.

  “Anyway,” Aroostine continued, “he got an urgent call. He found me on the dance floor and told me I need to call into my supervisor and then meet him in the kitchen.”

  Sasha’s pulse ticked up a beat as she tried to work through what sort of event would implicate both Hank’s shadowy covert operations group and Aroostine’s office—the Department of Justice’s Criminal Division—after hours on a holiday weekend. Her brain spit out a half-dozen possibilities: none of them good.

  “Here it is,” Naya said, pulling a vanilla iPhone—no skin, no customization—from her handbag. She handed it to Aroostine. “Hang on. Did you say you’re supposed to meet him in the kitchen?”

  Aroostine powered up the phone and painted Naya and Sasha with an apologetic look. “Yeah.”

  “Why the kitchen?” Naya pressed.

  Aroostine cleared her throat. “Uh, a groomsman—one of your brothers, I think—paid a waiter fifty dollars to arrange access to the Steelers’ game. Some of the men in the party snuck out the minute you left.”

  “Patrick,” Sasha guessed.

  “I’m not sure. But, Leo and Manny are with the group checking the score. I assume Hank wants them to be in the loop.”

  “Carl better not be in that kitchen,” Naya muttered darkly.

  Aroostine smiled. “Last I saw, he was teaching the little ones how to do the electric slide.”

  “That man’s a dinosaur,” Naya said, but she couldn’t hide her own smile.

  Aroostine shifted her body slightly, angling away from them, and jammed her phone up to her ear.

  Sasha tried to listen to Aroostine’s end of the conversation and to read her expression and posture for clues. But the younger attorney was already a seasoned litigator, accustomed to acting for an audience, so her body language gave no hints. And she kept her voice low.<
br />
  Sasha passed the time worrying the diamond earring in her left ear, rubbing the stone between her forefinger and thumb.

  She didn’t realize she was doing it, until Naya reached out and stilled her hand.

  “I’m sure it’s nothing,” Naya said in a voice that sounded entirely unsure.

  Sasha nodded, unconvinced. She realized she was taking fast, shallow breaths and forced herself to inhale and exhale in a slow rhythm.

  Aroostine finally ended the call and turned back to Sasha and Naya. Her dark eyes were wide with worry, and she motioned for them to move to the corner of the room, further away from the others.

  “It’s bad,” Sasha said.

  She nodded and swallowed hard, but when she spoke, her voice was steady. “Hank got a call to let him know Jeffrey Bricker escaped from prison. And, according to my boss, the government believes he’s looking for you.”

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Leo shook his head as if he had water in his ears instead of the pounding sound of his heart. He stared at Hank, not comprehending.

  “What do you mean, Bricker’s escaped?”

  Hank guided him by his elbow away from the knot of men clustered around the small television set that sat on the long metal prep table.

  Once they were out of earshot, jammed behind a rack holding large canisters of grains, flour, and salt, Hank dipped his head close to Leo’s and repeated himself.

  “I received a call to inform me that Jeffrey Bricker was missing at the four fifteen p.m. head count. The prison was locked down and swept. He’s not there. Also missing is a dental officer by the name of Ted Rumson. Although Rumson’s background is clean, and he is assumed at this time to be a hostage, Homeland Security ran Rumson’s known associates through the Guardian database.” Hank’s gravelly voice stuttered to a stop as if his vocal chords had slammed on the brakes.

  “And?”

  Hank exhaled. “And, he seems to have tight connections with Preppers Pennsylvania.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.”