My Super-Hot Fake Wedding Date

“What’s Red Lobster?” Sienna asked.

“Never mind. The point is, she’s freaking out. I need to divert her attention. Hey, is there any chance that you can get pregnant soon? Like, this weekend?”

My sister snorted. “It’s not in the plan. We’re taking next year to travel and then we’re talking kids. Remember, I’m younger than you.”

I stuck my tongue out at her. “Thanks a lot.”

“Back to the wedding—what’re you thinking?”

“What about a destination wedding?” I asked. “I always thought that would be sort of fun, and it will at least be smaller than if we had the ceremony in the States.”

“Yes.” Sienna clapped her hands together. “There won’t be any press coverage and I can work on my tan.”

“I don’t know. What would be better? Italy? The Caribbean?”

“Definitely the Caribbean.” She nodded knowingly. “Everyone loves going to an island, and Mom and Dad can foot the bill. It’ll be a free vacation—rich people love free vacations!”

“I’ll have to talk to Bob about it.” I put the dough into the pie plate and carefully pinched the edges, following the instructions on Mrs. Palmieri’s written notecard. I took the containers of ricotta out of the refrigerator and poured them into a large mixing bowl, then cracked an egg and added it in.

Sienna looked non-plussed. “There’s no way in hell I’m eating that.”

“Good thing I’m not making it for you.” I scowled at her.

“Girls, girls. What is all the fuss about?” My mother sailed into the kitchen, a gauzy rose caftan fanning out behind her. She stopped dead in her tracks when she saw me at the counter with an apron on, adding more eggs into the ricotta mixture.

She put her hand over her heart. “Dear God, what’s gotten into you?”

I laughed in spite of myself. “I’m making Ricotta Pie, Mom. It’s a Palmieri tradition.”

My mother’s lips curled. “You’re planning on serving that to our guests?”

I kept stirring so I didn’t smack her. “Yes, I am.”

Sienna and my mother shared a horrified look that I pretended not to see. “So.” Aileen claimed the barstool across from me, then she looked around. “I don’t think I’ve been in the kitchen in years.”

Sienna nudged her shoulder. “That’s what I said!”

My mother watched me stir. “You know, darling, sometimes these things are best left to the experts. Like Lucy, our longtime chef. Remember her?”

“She’s right over there.” I pointed to the large stove on the far side of the enormous room, where several of the kitchen staff were working and giving us a wide berth.

“Yes, yes, I thought I recognized her.” Aileen waved in the stove’s general direction. “Lucy is an excellent pastry chef as well as an accomplished cook. Pryce already went over the menu with her. It did not include cellulite pie.”

I stopped stirring. “It’s not cellulite, Mother, it’s ricotta. Ricotta-freaking-cheese.

And I am making this pie.” I started mixing with renewed vigor.

“I can see that.” My mother cleared her throat. “While I have you, let’s talk about this wedding business.”

Sienna rubbed her hands together. “Maddy was just saying she’d like to do a destination wedding.”

“I said I might like to do one. Might.”

“What an excellent idea.” Aileen’s eyes sparkled as she warmed up to the theme. “I’m seeing private cabanas on a white sand beach. Hundreds of twinkle lights as the sun sets. All of our guests, barefoot, with sun-kissed cheeks. And Roberto in a pair of Bermuda shorts and a rather tight-fitting tank top, his muscles bulging—”

“Mother.” I almost threw my wooden spoon at her. “That’s enough.”

She fanned herself. “Of course, dear. I’m just saying, I can picture it nicely. Very nicely.”