Sydney shifted to let a few members of the tour group pass into the dining room. “Organization is important.”
“Important, yes. A religion, no.”
“You’re right. I guess I should loosen up.” A bit. Organization was a handy tool for maintaining control—not to mention a method for keeping impulses in check. “I just want to make sure that everything goes as smoothly as possible,” she said.
Gracie slipped the neon-pink Princess Diana bag from her shoulder and fiddled with the strap buckle. “I still don’t know why you think you need this chaperoning gig to clinch that full-time teaching spot. You already did a bang-up job as a long-term sub.”
Sydney winced at the term bang-up. It brought back images of the fiasco of a spring play her drama class had unleashed on the public—exploding props, disintegrating scenery. “Thanks. But I—”
“Things’ll go the way they’re going to go, with or without you micromanaging the details.”
“You’re right.” Sydney sighed. “Sorry.”
“I haven’t lost a student yet on one of these Europe jaunts. They’re probably just having an adventure and lost track of the time. Nick’ll take care of them.” Gracie’s face went soft and dreamy. “That man’s one in a million. And the kids love him.”
“Nick, Nick, Nick.” Sydney rolled her eyes. “What is it about that guy that turns everyone to mush?”
“Incredible charm? A great sense of humor?” Gracie tugged the purse strap through the buckle. “And the rear view isn’t too shabby, either.”
“Gracie!”
“Hey, just because I’m married and closing in on middle age doesn’t mean I’m blind. And I’m not the only one indulging in figure appreciation. It’s obvious that Nick admires yours.”
Sydney ignored the tiny buzz of feminine satisfaction and reminded herself to be offended. “Just how obvious?”
“Enough to be flattered. Not enough to duck behind the nearest potted palm.” Gracie lifted the shortened purse strap over her shoulder. “Climb out of the greenery, girl. Give the guy a little encouragement.”
“Even if I wanted to flirt back—and I definitely don’t,” said Sydney, “this isn’t the time or the place. I don’t think indulging in a flirtation would set a very good example for the students.”
“Hmm. Thirty hormonal teens spying on every move. I can see where that might put a damper on things.” Gracie frowned. “Speaking of romantic challenges, Mr. Nine Lives called a few minutes ago.”
“Henry?”
Yes, Sydney reminded herself, Henry. The man who should have been the number one reason to dive into the greenery and avoid mush-inducing Nick Martelli. The fact that Henry hadn’t been the number one consideration was turning out to be problem number two. “Henry called here?”
“Yeah, he did. He sounded pretty disappointed he’d missed you, too. And he asked me to give you a message. I’d rather not, if you don’t mind, since I’m about to sit down to dinner and I don’t want to spoil my appetite.”
“Sorry,” said Sydney with an apologetic smile. “He’s just being sweet.”
“Sweet enough to make my teeth ache.” Gracie shook her head. “What’s up with that guy, anyway?”
“What do you mean?”
“Any man who keeps hinting about marriage the way he does should either cough up a ring or cut you loose to find someone else who will.”
Sydney shifted uncomfortably. “He did.”
“He cut you loose?”
“He proposed.”
Gracie’s gaze cut to Sydney’s left hand. “I don’t see a ring.”
“That’s because I didn’t take it.” Sydney lifted her ringless left hand and made a show of checking the time. “Nick is now officially late.”
Gracie clamped her hand over Sydney’s watch and shoved her arm back to her side. “What was wrong with the ring?”
“Nothing.”
“Then what’s wrong with him? Besides the obvious.”
“Nothing,” said Sydney with an exasperated sigh. She couldn’t understand Gracie’s disapproval. Henry had never been anything but flawlessy polite to all her friends. “There’s nothing wrong with him.”
And these days in Europe would help emphasize that fact. Absence made the heart grow fonder, after all. She was certain she’d gain a fresh perspective on the situation and renew her appreciation for all of his wonderful qualities. He was perfect husband material, after all. “He’s not what you think. He’s…”
She paused, waiting for inspiration. It didn’t strike. “He’s a very nice man.”
Gracie snorted. “Faint praise if ever I heard it.”
“And punctual.” Sydney watched white-jacketed waiters ferrying dinner plates from the kitchen. Henry would never keep her waiting and wondering.
Here was one of those fresh perspectives she’d been hoping for. Compared to Nick Martelli, Henry looked absolutely…
Perfect.
Adolescent voices and the shuffle of oversize feet echoed from around the corner. Sydney sagged with relief. “Here come the boys.”
“Well, well, well.” Gracie waved the latecomers toward the dining room. “Have a few tales to tell?”
“The best, Mrs. Drew.” Zack grinned. “We were in a riot.”
Sydney gasped. “A riot?”
“A rally, not a riot,” Eric said. “Nick took us over to watch some sheiks demonstrating.”
“Sikhs,” corrected Matt. “Sikh separatists, at the Indian embassy.
“But first we stopped for drinks in a pub,” added Eric.
“What?” A big, fat, dull butcher’s knife.
“We only had sodas. Nick had that brown stuff.”
“Ale,” Zack added. “It was gross.”
Sydney’s eyes narrowed. “And how do you know that?”
“He let us each have a taste.” Zack cast an uneasy glance at the others. “Nick says it’s important to experience other cultures.”
“I’ll have to ask Mr. Martelli all about it,” she ground out. “He certainly has some interesting ideas about educational tours.”
“I’ll tell you all about our afternoon, Ms. Gordon,” rumbled a familiar voice from just behind her shoulder. “And even toss in an apology or two, if you’ll join me for dinner.”
She turned to face Nick Martelli. He gazed down at her, his deep-set eyes glittering like obsidian. Impudently they surveyed the scooped neckline of her chambray dress.
Sydney clenched her toes inside her sandals, miffed at the frank appraisal of his gaze and the automatic tingle of her reaction. Then she straightened her backbone and lifted her chin. She refused to become just another serving of mush. “Welcome back, Mr. Martelli. I wasn’t sure you were going to make it.”
“Nick. The only ‘Mr. Martelli’ here is my brother.” He slipped a broad palm around her arm. “Now, how about dinner?”
“Oh, but I—Mrs. Drew and I—”
“Go ahead,” said Gracie with a wave. “The boys can fill me in.”
Nick’s