The Disobedient Virgin

“At my place. Our place,” Jake said, taking Cat’s hand.

Cat nodded and wove her fingers through his. “The ceremony before that wonderful fireplace in the living room, and with the doors to the library flung open for the reception.”

“Perfect.”

That was it, then, Jake thought—but his women had launched into female-speak. It didn’t take him long to realize he’d never understand the language.

“Who’ll do the flowers?”

Who’ll do the flowers? What was there to do? You phoned the florist, ordered a corsage. Two corsages. Okay, two corsages and a boutonnière. Okay, yeah, and maybe a bouquet for the mantel.

“And the caterer. Of course it depends on the time of day. Brunch is always nice.”

Brunch? Brunch was definitely a word in female-speak. No man Jake had ever met could make sense of a meal that was neither breakfast or lunch.

“And musicians,” Sarah said. “Three pieces, perhaps. A pianist, a violinist, a cellist. And of course you’ll have to find the right gown.”

“Honey?” Jake cleared his throat. “I thought we were going to have a small wedding.”

“We will,” his mother said, answering for Catarina, “but that doesn’t mean it can’t be beautiful. Isn’t that right, Catarina?”

Jake looked at Cat. Her eyes were shining; she had the same little smile on her lips as the one on that Italian lady in the portrait that hung in the Louvre.

“Well,” she said softly, “flowers and some music would be nice. What do you think, Jake?”

What Jake thought, as he gazed at the woman he loved, was that he was an idiot. His Cat had spent years in the austere surroundings of a convent school. If she wanted a wedding with all the trimmings, by God, she’d have one.

Smiling, he put an arm around each of his women.

“I think all of it would be nice,” he said bravely. “The gown, the musicians, the caterer, the flowers. Everything you want, sweetheart.”

Cat touched her hand to his face. “I already have everything I want,” she said softly. “I have you.”

Sarah Reece, who had watched her son go from troubled boy to determined man, who’d watched him earn the millions that had changed her life and his, knew that what she was seeing now was all that mattered.

Her Joaquim was happy.

She held back until the lovers had kissed her goodbye and left. Then she let the tears come. After a while, she sighed, put on her coat and went to a little church nearby. There, in its comforting silence, she lifted her face to the vaulted darkness and sent a message to a man she hated for abandoning her and loved for giving her Jake.

“Enrique,” she said softly, “wherever you are…thank you for finally doing something right.”

They were married a month later, before the fireplace that was garlanded with white and pink roses.

Sarah had arranged everything, with Belle’s help. A handful of Jake’s friends—friends who now were Cat’s—attended the ceremony and the brunch that followed.

The bride was beautiful, the groom handsome. Most people thought they were crazy to head north to the Adirondack Mountains for their honeymoon. The winter, everyone pointed out, was an especially snowy one; didn’t they want to go where it was warm and sunny?

“We like snow,” Jake said, and Cat blushed and buried her face in his shoulder.

The day after they returned home a letter was hand-delivered to Jake’s office. The vellum envelope, bearing a Brazilian stamp, was marked “Private” and “Confidencial.”

Jake felt a tightness in his throat when he saw it—he had not heard from Javier Estes since he’d phoned him with news of his marriage to Catarina—but he waited until he got home that night to open it.

He wanted his wife with him.

They sat before the fireplace in their bedroom. Jake took a deep breath and tore open the envelope.

He wasn’t sure what he’d expected to see below the now-familiar name of Javier Estes. The attorney had promised Jake a meeting with his brothers, but perhaps he’d changed his mind. Perhaps he’d simply sent two names, two addresses and telephone numbers.