A Marriage of True Minds: A Sasha McCandless Novella (3 page)

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 hundreds 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.

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.”

Leo felt himself
getting ready to explode, so he clamped down on his temper and managed to spit
out the sentence in a semblance of a reasonable voice.