“Wow!” Graham Porter exclaimed, his dark eyes shifting back and forth between the two women. “Wow!”
“What’s that mean?” Carina questioned, her eyebrows lifted as she tossed her husband a look. “Why do you keep saying wow like that?” A wave of panic flashed across her face. “You don’t like it!”
He met the look his wife was giving him, holding his hands up defensively. “No... I mean yes... I do! It’s just unexpected,” he said, turning to his father-in-law for assistance. “What do you think, Franco?”
Franco Martelli grinned. “It’s lovely, daughter. But it’s a definite change. And like Graham said, it’s unexpected! I think what your husband is trying to say is that you’ve surprised us, is all.”
“I told you to trust me,” Gianna said as Carina smiled, pulling her hands through the new short length of her hair. “It really does look great!”
“Are you going to cut yours, too?” Franco asked, turning in his seat to stare at Gianna.
The young woman shrugged. “I was thinking about it, but Carina doesn’t want me to.”
“I want us to look different,” Carina said. “Just for a little while. No one will mix us up now.”
Gianna rolled her eyes skyward, tossing the extensive length of her own dark waves over her shoulder. “It’s been forever since anyone last got us confused.”
“Last week at the market, Mrs. Falco thought I was you.”
“Mrs. Falco is half-blind,” Gianna said with an eye roll. “She gets papà and Graham mixed up!”
Graham chuckled as he rose to his feet, moving to his wife’s side. He leaned down to kiss her cheek. “It’s a very flattering style on you, sweetheart. I really like it,” he said softly. “You look beautiful!” He trailed a finger across Carina’s cheek, and she smiled brightly as he leaned in to kiss her lips.
Gianna threw the two a look, the faintest hint of jealousy furrowing her brow. She blew a low sigh. “You two need to get a room,” she quipped. She rose from her seat and moved toward the door. “I’ll be in my office. Some of us have work to do.”
“Speaking of,” Carina said, “I sorted your mail and typed up your notes. And your agent called. She needs to speak with you about the changes in your next contract.”
“I don’t have a next contract. I told you to tell her I’m not interested in what they’re offering.”
“I did, which is why she wants to speak with you.”
Gianna nodded. “I’ll call her,” she said, trying to ignore the gentle caresses passing between her sister and brother-in-law. The couple’s very public displays of affection were often distracting and unsettling, the love the two shared enviable. Gianna couldn’t help but wish that she had what they had. With one last wave of her hand she turned and disappeared from the room.
Behind the closed door of her office, Gianna ran her fingers through her own thick tresses, pulling the wealth of her hair up into a high bun. She found herself wishing that she’d cut her own hair first, motivated by the effort it took to maintain the lengthy locks. That, and she found herself in want of a change. One that might bring a man into her life with a slow hand that glided like silk across her bare skin. She blew a low sigh as she turned to stare out the window to the landscape outside.
The sun was shining brightly, and she had full view of the family’s vineyards. Their family home was situated in the Ombrone Valley, one of the most beautiful stretches of countryside in Italy. She stared out to the Chianti vines, the cornfields and the lengthy rows of cypress trees. In the distance the expanse of chestnut forests reached up to kiss the bright blue sky. The view paid homage to unparalleled art, the land a masterpiece of blessings. For a brief moment Gianna sat staring at the beauty, lost in her thoughts as the morning’s bright rays peeked through the window to kiss the round of her high cheekbones.
She blew one last sigh as she spun around in her leather executive’s chair toward her computer. Powering up the device, she waited for the unit to engage then typed in her password. Minutes later she stared at a blank screen, unable to decide in what direction she planned to take her next story. Writer’s block had suddenly crept in with a vengeance. When nothing came, she swung her chair around to stare back outside.
* * *
Donovan Boudreaux found the pomp and circumstance of the Catholic ceremony somewhat sobering. He was standing at the altar of Saint Patrick’s Church in New Orleans holding his niece, Cecily Boudreaux, in his arms. The infant was being christened, she and her twin brother, Sydney, both receiving the sacrament of spiritual cleansing and rebirth. Light shimmered through the stained glass that enclosed the building’s front turret.
He fought the urge to yawn as Father Charles Dussouy made the sign of the cross in front of one baby and then the other. He stared down into the infant’s sweet face as the priest announced her Christian name, sprinkled holy water over the child’s head and welcomed her into the congregation. She never once opened her eyes, barely shifting her small body when the water saturated her curls. Her brother, on the other hand, screamed at the top of his small lungs.
Donovan grinned as he and his brother Kendrick exchanged a look. Kendrick was rocking young Sydney vigorously, trying his very best to calm the baby down. But Sydney wasn’t having any of it, no ounce of consolation from his uncle and godfather bringing him any comfort. It wasn’t until the matriarch of the family, Katherine Boudreaux, lifted her grandchild from her son’s arms did the little guy finally settle down as she snuggled him against her chest. There was something about their mother’s touch that put them all at ease, and as each of her children watched, it made them all smile.
The private ceremony was over almost as quickly as it had begun. After the priest wished them well and disappeared from the sanctuary, the family stood in a protective circle around the twins, who’d been returned to their parents’ arms.
Mason “Senior” Boudreaux, the family patriarch, cleared his throat, swiping at a tear that lingered in the corners of his dark eyes. “Your mama and I are glad that all you kids could make it home to celebrate these babies,” he said, his tone low. The man’s gaze swept around the circle.
The eldest Boudreaux child patted his namesake’s broad shoulder. “Where else would we be, Senior? You know once you and Mama give the command we follow orders!” Mason Boudreaux III said.
His siblings laughed, their heads nodding in agreement. Donovan leaned to kiss his mother’s cheek, his arms wrapped around her shoulders as he hugged her close. His own eyes roved from one face to the other. There was no escaping the Boudreaux lineage. Their distinctive features hinted of an African-Asian ancestry, with their slight angular eyes, thin noses, high cheek lines and full, pouty lips. Side by side they were a kaleidoscope of colorations that ranged from burnt umber to milk chocolate.
His brother Mason, who could have passed for his twin, stood at his side. The low lines of their closely cropped haircuts complemented their distinctive facial features. Mason’s wife, Phaedra, clutched his elbow on his other side. Then there was his very pregnant sister, Maitlyn, and her husband, Zakaria Sayed. Maitlyn was the second child and oldest girl in the Boudreaux family. Standing beside them was his sister Katrina, who was a year younger than Donovan, with her husband, Matthew Stallion, and their two sons, Collin and Jacoby, or Baby Jake, as he was affectionately called. On his right side stood his younger brother Darryl, and Darryl’s wife, Camryn, who held their newborn baby, Alexa Michelle, in her arms. The twins, Kendrick and Kamaya were next, Kamaya linked arm in arm with their baby sister, Tarah, and Kendrick’s wife, Vanessa. His brother Guy, and Guy’s wife, Dahlia, the twins’ parents, closed their family circle. In that moment, the