it turned out that she was pregnant. The only thing in life Josephine Morelli wanted more than seeing her two daughters wed was to get her hands on a grandchild. Girl or boy, it didn’t matter, as long as it was healthy and had ten toes and fingers, though she would probably take the nine-toed variety if push came to shove.
Her mother’s fixation on grandchildren was similar to the one she had about fiancés. Finding the perfect mate for Lisa gave her mother a purpose in life, but tended to make everyone else nuts.
Her mother’s only criterion for potential bridegrooms was that they had to be breathing. And some of the old geezers Josephine had paraded before Lisa barely even met that standard.
Morris Parker, her parents’ ancient accountant, carted an oxygen tank around with him wherever he went. Lisa had no doubt that it would have followed him into the bedroom, as well.
Not that she was interested. There was something very unappealing about shriveled skin!
Lisa’s sister would also be elated if Lisa was to find herself pregnant. Francie had been counting the days, and her birth control pills, until she and her new husband Mark Fielding could begin a family. But since they’d only been married a few months, the couple had opted to wait a while longer, which seemed quite sensible to Lisa.
One never knew when one’s marriage was going to end up in the shitter.
Nope. The only one who would have a conniption fit—translation: suicidal tendencies—if she was to find out she was pregnant was Lisa.
And not because she wasn’t married.
But because she was—to Alexander Hamilton Mackenzie, her mama’s boy, wimp-of-a-husband—wimp-of-a-handsome-smart-great-giver-of-sex-husband, she amended.
Her soon-to-be ex-husband, if Lisa Morelli Mackenzie had anything to say about it, and she most certainly did. Plenty, in fact!
Marrying Alex had been a huge mistake—one of many she’d made over the years. Lisa had always been impulsive and foolish when it came to men, and falling hard for Alex had been in keeping with her poor judgment.
Lisa hadn’t expected to fall in love with the conservative mortgage banker. They were as different as night and day. But when she’d spotted him across the dance floor at Club Zero dressed in a three-piece business suit, no less, and looking totally out of place, her heart had begun hammering and had never stopped. He’d obviously felt the same attraction, for three weeks later they’d eloped and moved to Florida to live with his parents—her second biggest mistake.
Every time she thought about how Alex had tried to placate his snotty, upper-crud parents she went ballistic. She didn’t display her Italian temperament very often, but when she got mad…Watch out! And she was mad as hell at Alex for what he had put her through. The Mackenzies made Bonnie and Clyde look like Ozzie and Harriet!
No. Discovering that she was pregnant would not be a good thing right now. If ever. Timing was everything, and hers…well, hers sucked! Always had and probably always would.
Besides, she doubted she would make a very good mother. She was too self-absorbed to share the spotlight with a baby, still too much of a child herself. At least, that’s what her parents had been telling Lisa for years, and she was beginning to believe them.
Trying to please Josephine and John Morelli—impossible, in her opinion—was what had gotten her into this mess in the first place.
Lisa hadn’t taken enough time to get to know Alex before marrying him. She’d only been dating him for a few weeks before agreeing to run off to that hideous wedding chapel in Las Vegas—her choice, not his.
Alex was much too conservative to ever suggest such an outlandish thing.
The man ironed his boxers, for chrissake!
The minister—she used that term loosely—who had performed the wedding ceremony and his wife were former circus performers. They had conducted the proceedings while riding unicycles and juggling oranges back and forth between them.
Alex had been hit on the right side of the head in a ride-by fruiting after reciting his “I dos” and had nearly been knocked unconscious, which would have proven disastrous for their wedding night—a truly memorable event, as it turned out.
Lisa had taken precautions against getting pregnant. Condoms had been the dress of the day, and night. Of course, she knew condoms weren’t one hundred percent foolproof, but then, only abstinence was, and abstaining from having sex with Alexander would have been too Herculean a task for a mere mortal—horny—woman, such as herself.
Sex with Alex had been fabulous, delicious, the best ever. It was what made her lose whatever sense she’d been born with—according to her father, that hadn’t been much—and toss caution to the wind.
John Morelli had a low opinion of his youngest daughter’s ability to act rationally, and she certainly hadn’t disproved that notion by eloping on impulse. Her parents had been furious when they’d found out what she’d done, especially after discovering that the bridegroom was a non-Catholic, non-Italian, WASP-white-bread mortgage banker.
Her hormones had always tended to get her into trouble.
Upon reflection, it also probably hadn’t been a good idea to have had sex with Alex the night before she’d packed her bags, said goodbye to her witch-of-a-mother-in-law’s Florida estate and hightailed it back to Philadelphia, brokenhearted and alone, but much wiser.
The one and only positive thing she had to show for her three-month marriage to Alexander Hamilton Mackenzie, besides the fabulous sex, was a great tan.
At least, she hoped that was all.
Banishing her disturbing thoughts, Lisa knocked on her sister’s apartment door again. When there was still no answer, she cursed beneath her breath.
Lisa knew a lot of curse words; she was her mother’s daughter, after all. They didn’t call Josephine Morelli “The Terminator” for nothing!
After spending one night under her parents’ roof listening to her mother wail about what a selfish, thoughtless daughter she had, Lisa was desperate for a place to stay and had come begging in the hope Francie would put her up for a few days, until she could find a job and get a place of her own.
She hated asking her sister for help, especially since Francie was a newlywed, but Lisa was quickly running out of options, not to mention money.
“She’s not home. Francie and Mark took a couple of days off and drove to Bucks County to look at houses. They left last night after work.”
Turning, Lisa found her sister’s former roommate, Leo Bergmann, standing behind her. The blond man, who reminded her of a young Elton John, sexual persuasion and all, was holding a bag of groceries and smiling that friendly, welcoming smile he always wore whenever he saw her.
“Hey, Leo! Do you know when Francie’ll be back from big bucks country?”
Bucks County, land of stone farmhouses, quaint bed-and-breakfasts and assorted artsy types, was only a short drive from Philadelphia. Buying a house or property there definitely took big bucks, but her sister’s husband worked for the Associated Press as a photo-journalist so she knew they’d be able to afford it, if they were lucky enough to find a house they both could agree on.
Leo
