The Witless Protection Program
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Synopsis
Mia Carina has steered her Italian-American family’s Astoria, Queens, catering hall, Belle View Banquet Manor, into becoming the borough’s premiere party site, and nothing could make her happier—except her boyfriend proposing. There’s just one presumed-dead obstacle in the way . . .
A strong, independent woman and respected entrepreneur, Mia never imagined she’d pine for a marriage proposal. Yet lately, with her beloved Shane, she’s on tenterhooks. It’s especially surprising, considering Mia’s first husband, Adam, was a philandering grifter, assumed lost-at-sea after a boating disaster. But everyone knows what happens when you assume . . .
While working a huge wedding expo in Manhattan, Mia is shocked to spot the man who nearly destroyed her life. The one who’s supposed to be sleeping with the fishes. But she loses him in the crowd. And when it happens again the next day, it’s time for an emergency meeting with the family—and the Family. Because if Adam is alive, Mia is still married . . .
Everyone wants Adam dead. Everyone except Mia. She’s dealt with enough police for a lifetime. Mia needs to be a divorcée, not a widow. But someone out there disagrees, and if Mia doesn’t discover who, she may never be free to marry Shane—or anyone else . . .
Italian recipes included!
Release date: March 26, 2024
Publisher: Kensington Books
Print pages: 304
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The Witless Protection Program
Maria DiRico
Tavern on the Green was as lush and elegant as Mia always dreamed it would be. Chandeliers decorated the stunning Crystal Room, complementing fairy lights twinkling in the trees visible through the glass walls that made the space feel like a Victorian conservatory. “I’ve always wanted to come here,” she said to Shane, her ridiculously handsome date. “What’s the occasion?” She crossed her fingers under the table, hoping the occasion was the romantic one she’d spent the last few months waiting for.
Shane reached for Mia’s hand across the table. She uncrossed her fingers, then lifted her left hand from her lap and placed it in his. He laced his fingers through Mia’s and stared at her soulfully. Mia’s spirits lifted. Could it be? Finally?
“No occasion,” he said.
Her spirits instantly dropped.
“My mother, God rest her soul, always told me you never knew when you could be hit by a bus,” Shane continued. “Not that she was ever on one in Florida. I swear, I half expected her to write ‘Bury me in my Cadillac Escalade’ in her will. But she loved to say we should live for now and not save special stuff for fancy ‘occasions.’ ”
Like a marriage proposal, Mia thought glumly.
Around three months earlier, Shane had pledged his love for her in a speech so moving Mia wondered if he was actually proposing to her. After weeks of debating this with friends, she hesitantly broached the subject with her boyfriend. Shane understood Mia’s confusion and set her straight. Yes, he loved her, but no, that spontaneous moment wasn’t an official proposal. “When I ask for your hand in marriage before God and the universe for which He stands,” Shane told her, somehow mashing up a declaration of love with the Pledge of Allegiance, “I’m gonna do it up right. In a big way.”
Mia was the prototype of a strong, independent woman. Since her father Ravello’s recent heart scare—doctors had inserted a stent to unclog an artery blocked by a steady diet of Fettuccine Alfredo—she’d basically been running Belle View Banquet Manor. The catering facility, located on the Flushing Marina, with a lovely view of Flushing Bay and a less lovely view of a LaGuardia Airport runway, was the family business, as well as a Family business, since it was one of the Boldano crime family’s legitimate and completely legal enterprises. Under Mia’s savvy tutelage, Belle View had blossomed into a premiere party site in the New York City borough of Queens.
Lauded by local business organizations as the kind of female entrepreneur Queens could be proud of, Mia never imagined she’d be someone anxious for a marriage proposal. Yet ever since coworker Shane’s florid pronouncement, she’d been on tenterhooks waiting for the ring to drop.
Could it be hidden in the gorgeous bouquet of flowers Shane impulsively handed her one night? Would he pull a small jewelry box from the pocket of his chinos during their moonlight cruise of the Long Island Sound? A romantic weekend getaway to the Hamptons produced an impressive tan but no sparkler.
Mia’s napkin, which her event planner instincts pegged at an impressive 400 count cotton, no polyester blend, slid off her lap. She bent down to retrieve it. When she sat back up, she saw Shane had refilled her champagne glass. He stared at it, frowned, then summoned a waiter. “There’s something in my girlfriend’s drink,” he said, pointing to the glass.
OMG, this is it! Yaassss! Ring in the champagne glass. Classic proposal move.
Mia feigned innocence as she glanced into her champagne glass—where she saw a fly flat on its back, having expired amid the bubbles.
“Oh sir, I’m so sorry.” The waiter whisked the glass away. “I’ll bring you fresh glasses and a complimentary bottle of champagne.”
“Thanks, man. I appreciate it. And if you could bring our dessert now, that’d be great.” Shane turned away from the waiter and leaned in toward Mia. His peridot eyes bored into her crystalline-blue orbs. “I ordered a special dessert for you. Kind of a once-in-a-lifetime treat.”
Mia dared to hope again—especially when Shane excused himself for a moment. He’s not really going to the bathroom. He’s bringing the ring to the waiter to make this a truly “once-in-a-lifetime treat”. Well, technically, twice in a lifetime for me. She glowered, recalling the whirlwind relationship with Adam Grosso that led to their ill-fated nuptials. The conniving adulterer had been declared missing and presumed dead after a powerboat containing the body of his mistress but no Adam washed up on Paradise Island in the Bahamas. With memories of her disastrous first marriage relegated to the never-darken-my-door-again file of Mia’s memory archive, she was ready for a lifetime with . . . dare she say it? . . . her soul mate.
The love of her life’s return to the table coincided with the waiter’s. Shane responded with satisfaction when Mia gasped at the sight of the exquisite small box made entirely of chocolate placed in front of her. “Oh, Shane . . .”
His smile grew wider. “Open it.”
Heart hammering, Mia lifted the lid. She was greeted by the sight of . . . more chocolate. This time in the form of mousse.
“I know how much you love chocolate,” Shane said, practically glowing with pride at his choice. “Especially mousse.”
“Right. Yes. I sure do.” Mia said this as she delicately poked around the dessert with her spoon, hoping for metal to hit metal. No such luck.
“Go on,” Shane urged. “Dig in.”
I’m guessing that means there’s no chance I’ll swallow an engagement ring, Mia thought with an internal sigh. But Shane seemed so pleased with himself, it touched her. She hid her disappointment and took a spoonful of mousse. Her eyes almost rolled back into her head at the taste of it. “OMG, this is incredible. It’s the best mousse I’ve ever had.”
Shane leaned back in his floral-upholstered chair and flashed a smile. “I take care of my girl.”
“You do, sweetie,” Mia said, completely sincere. “You do.”
Mia polished off the mousse, sharing a few spoonfuls with her boyfriend. She debated saving the chocolate box, then inhaled that, too.
Dinner over, the couple left the Crystal Room and stepped outside the restaurant. The twin towers of the San Remo, a spectacular Art Deco confection on Central Park West, loomed in all their elegant glory above the park.
Suddenly, Shane dropped to one knee.
Mia sucked in a breath. She placed a hand on her heart. Now? Of course! It all makes sense. The end of an amazing evening. This incredible view. A horse-drawn carriage clip-clopped up to the front of the restaurant, adding to the ambience. And that! Perfect timing! I want Anne Hathaway to play me in the rom-com version of this moment!
Mia inhaled, then slowly exhaled, trying to calm herself. Shane held up something that glinted silver under the fairy lights. Platinum! she exulted. He remembered I’m a Winter and look best in cool metal tones like platinum and silver, not gold! I love him so much!
“Found a quarter,” he said, triumphantly flashing it.
Mia deflated with the speed of a popped balloon. She stared at the piece of change. The carriage horse let out a loud whinny, then released a giant pile of horse dung. Mia wrinkled her nose as the pile’s noxious scent wafted up from the street to mingle with the warm, late-summer air.
Also perfect timing.
Fellow Belle View event planner Cammie Dianopolis scanned Mia with a critical eye. “You gotta lose the frown, sweetie. We’re selling weddings here, not funerals.”
The two women stood behind a U-shape of tables at the display they’d set up at the massive wedding expo taking place at Manhattan’s Javits Convention Center. In keeping with the bridal theme, they both wore white minidresses. While Mia’s was a sleeveless sheath with swirls of beads decorating the sweetheart neckline, Cammie’s dress sported the poofy sleeves popularized by Princess Di’s wedding gown. Mia’s coworker had found her style in the 1980s and stuck with it.
An array of Belle View food samples ranging from appetizers to mini cupcakes covered the center folding table Mia had coiffed in a peach underskirt with a pale peach lace overlay. Another table showcased a variety of stunning table settings available at the venue. A big-screen TV on the third leg of the “U” showed a compilation video of wedding celebrations interspersed with testimonials ranging from young newlyweds to seniors renewing their vows. Behind the women hung a giant poster showcasing the marina and bay vistas visible from Belle View’s ballrooms, photographed in a way that expertly blocked out the LaGuardia runway.
“Sorry, Cammie. I’ll try to get my happy on.” Mia gave the expo a dispirited scan. Future brides, some with their grooms, some with their mothers or friends, some with their same-sex significant others, packed the cavernous space. Their excited chatter combined with multiple wedding bands blasting music samplings created a headache-inducing cacophony. Mia rubbed her forehead. “To be honest, it’s kind of hard for me to be here. I’ve reached the point where I don’t think I’m ever gonna need any of my own wedding services because Shane’s never gonna propose. I need to face the fact I’m gonna die alone and be one of those old ladies they find partially eaten by her own pets.”
Cammie winced. “Ugh, gross. Look, Shane’s a good guy. I don’t know why he’s taking his sweet time popping the question, but he’ll come around eventually.”
“Maybe. I dunno.”
“Listen to you. When did you get so insecure?” Cammie put her hands on Mia’s shoulders and looked her in the eye. “Stop it. You hear me? Stop.” Mia gave a resentful grunt. Cammie released her. “I blame that chunk of human chum, Adam Grosso. He left you with a bad case of PTRD: Post-Traumatic Relationship Disorder.”
“It takes two to make a mistake like that,” Mia said, sniffling. “And I’m one of them.”
A young woman accompanied by an older woman started toward them. Cammie poked Mia in the ribs. “Mother of the bride alert. Girl looks to be in her late twenties, which means Mama’s probably controlling the wedding purse strings, and mamas like to spend on their baby girls. Force a smile and suck up to them.”
Mia swallowed her feelings and plastered on a smile. “Hello, and welcome to Belle View, where we handle every detail of our bridal ‘belles” incredibly special day.”
She followed this with an exaggerated wink as Cammie navigated her way around the tables to the women. She showed off two of the special promotional items Mia had ordered for the event: tiara headbands with a veil attached. Elegant printing on one veil read FUTURE BELLE VIEW BRIDAL BELLE. Printing on the other veil read MOTHER OF A FUTURE BELLE VIEW BRIDAL BELLE but in smaller print, to fit in every word.
“May I?” Cammie asked.
The bride-to-be eagerly nodded. Cammie positioned the headband on her, then did the same for the girl’s mother. The two squealed and took a flurry of selfies, then handed their phones to Cammie, who took more pictures. The impromptu photo session over, the bride-to-be’s mother’s focus turned to the poster behind Mia. “Oooh. Lovely. We’re from Brooklyn, but it might be worth the trip to Queens for a view like that.”
Mia, used to this attitude, gave a vigorous nod. While Brooklyn and Queens were basically on top of each other, denizens of one borough tended to approach a trip to the other with the same wariness American settlers felt when heading west across the prairies. “You won’t find views like this at the prices we offer anywhere in the city. We also have a bank of windows facing west, so you can see the Manhattan skyline. I always dreamed of my own wedding happening in our very own Bay Ballroom at twilight. You could watch the sunset over the skyline in one direction and the boats lighting up in the marina in the other.” Mia’s lower lip quivered. “It would’ve been beautiful. But it’s not gonna happen. I gotta let go of the dream. Ouch!”
The exclamation of pain was a response to Cammie giving Mia’s foot a warning stomp. Cammie handed the nonplussed potential customers each a mini cupcake. “Have a sample of our famous tiramisu cupcakes. We can talk about our From Wedding Soup to Jordan Almond Nuts Package while my partner here takes a break.”
Mia got the not-so-subtle hint. “Thanks for stopping by our exhibit. And speaking of Jordan almonds. . .” She handed each woman a small gauze bag of the candy-coated wedding treat. “Our card is inside. I hope you give Belle View Catering Manor the opportunity to plan your special, special. . .” Tears Mia had been fighting to control bubbled over her lower eyelids. “Day.” She sobbed out the word and escaped before embarrassing herself further by dissolving into a flood of tears.
She made a pit stop in the ladies’ room, where she splashed cold water on her face. “Get it together, Carina,” Mia muttered to her image in the mirror. She left the ladies’ room and wandered around the exhibition hall, forcing herself to focus. She picked up cards from a couple of DJs and rental companies and listened to a pitch from the operator of a hot-air balloon who swore he could launch it from the Belle View parking lot, begging off the question of where guests would park.
On the way back to the Belle View exhibit, Mia passed Marjan’s Cakes and Desserts, a bakery she’d used in the past to glowing reviews from customers. She and Marjan, a lovely émigré from London, exchanged greetings. “Anything new and exciting in the wedding cake world?” Mia asked.
“We’re doing a lot of displays instead of cakes lately,” Marjan said. “You know, like tiers of different-flavored macarons. For cakes with multiple layers, a lot of couples want a different flavor with each layer. And since carrot cake feels dated, I’ve created a ginger spice alternative. Try it.” The baker pointed to small, frosted squares in paper cups.
“You don’t have to tell me twice.” Mia picked up a sample and took a bite. “OMG, Marjan, this is fabulous. So much better than boring old carrot cake.” She polished off the sample and took another. “I love how the frosting is a blend of spices. Yum.” She spoke with her mouth full as she inhaled a second sample. “I’d hire you for my own wedding, but it looks like it’ll take some kind of divine intervention for Shane to put a ring on it.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Mia reached for a third sample. “But if you don’t mind leaving some samples for potentially paying customers . . .”
Mia retracted her hand. “Right. Got it.”
She continued her wander back to the Belle View display, casting a disconsolate glance at the bridal gowns on parade as part of a runway show. An ear-splitting screech of joy distracted her. She craned her neck to see who released it. A tall blonde she pegged to be around twenty-five jumped up and down as she pointed to a particularly elaborate sequined, beaded, and rhinestoned bridal gown. She let out another screech. “Ahh! That’s it! That’s the gown I told you about, baby! The one I wanna get married in! It’s so bee-you-tee-ful! I’m dying!”
The baby in question, a man about the same height as the bride-to-be, turned to see the dress. He locked eyes with Mia. A wave of nausea coursed through her. For a moment, she thought she’d pass out.
The Miami police presumed her husband was lost at sea. Mia took great comfort from knowing her cheating spouse literally slept with the fishes. But in an instant, what she’d long feared had come true.
Adam Grosso didn’t sleep with the fishes. He wasn’t dead. He was there. At the bridal expo.
And Mia was looking right at him.
Mia stood frozen in place, locked in a staring contest with the man who’d come close to destroying her life. She’d spent months after his disappearance in Miami PD’s crosshairs as their primary person of interest. Given her father’s position as a lieutenant who ran illegal gambling games for the Boldano Family and the occasional incarcerations of her dad and brother Posi Carina—who was currently finishing a stint at the Triborough Correctional Facility for indulging in his habit of stealing luxury sports cars—Mia found herself enduring the kind of notoriety usually trained on celebrities. Public interest in her eventually faded but left her battle-scarred, to say nothing of the emotional toll her relationship with Adam had taken on her. But finally, almost two years later, Mia’s life was on track. A great job. A nice home in Astoria she shared with her grandmother Elisabetta. And a boyfriend who would hopefully propose to her before senile dementia set in for one or both of them.
But now, this. This!
A cluster of attendees sauntered by, blocking her view of Adam. They passed, revealing an empty spot where he’d been standing. Mia shook off her temporary paralysis and ran through the crowd searching for him. Given her petite height of five foot four, she ran on her toes for the extra height that might help her catch a glimpse of his familiar head. It didn’t help.
She raced back to the table, where she found Belle View executive chef Guadalupe and sous-chef-slash-dessert chef Evans replenishing the samples table. “Oh, thank God, tall people!”
“Huh?” Evans, who leaned toward taciturn, only needed the one word to express his confusion.
“I saw Adam Grosso.”
Cammie gasped. “What?! No. Adam?! The Adam?”
“Yes. Adam Grosso. My husband. He’s here. With a fiancée.”
“Fiancée?” Evans sounded even more confused.
“No time to drill down on this. I need you to help me find him. You remember what he looks like? Average height and weight, bald spot shaped kind of like a starfish?”
Guadalupe nodded. “Your dad turned a picture of him from the newspaper into a dartboard. My image of him has a lot of holes in it, but it’s still pretty good.”
“Good. Go. Hurry!”
Guadalupe, who’d spent years as an army cook in Iraq, gave Mia a salute. “Yes, ma’am.”
She, Evans, and Mia took off in separate directions, leaving Cammie to man the exhibit. Mia scoured her section. Her heart raced when she was sure she spotted him from the back, but when the man turned around, he proved to be a bride’s father and a good twenty years older than Adam.
After wasting an hour searching the expo for the phoenix that was Adam Grosso, Mia called it quits. The crew reconvened at the Belle View exhibit. “Any luck?” Cammie asked.
“Nope,” Evans said.
“’Fraid not.” A dark look crossed Guadalupe’s face. “Better for him I didn’t find the S.O.B. If he wasn’t dead then, he would be now.”
“Same here if I found him,” Evans said.
Cammie raised her hand. “Dibs on taking him out first.”
“You guys, stop.” A darker look than Guadalupe’s colored Mia’s face. “Taking him out is my job.” She swiped one of the napkins from the table-setting display and used it to mop perspiration from her brow. A dollop of strawberry frosting sat glued to where it landed on her dress when she collided with Marjan, who had stepped out from behind her exhibit to hand out cake samples. “But he’s gone. I swear, that moron does a better job of disappearing than a magician.”
“Or . . .” Cammie paused. She exchanged a look with Guadalupe and Evans.
Mia crossed her arms in front of her chest. She pursed her lips. “I saw that look, you guys. Or what?”
“Maybe you thought you saw Adam,” Cammie said.
Mia bristled. “Uh, hello. I think I know the man I shared a bed with for five long, miserable years.”
“Still doesn’t mean it was him,” Guadalupe, always matter-of-fact bordering on blunt, declared.
“I’m telling you, it was Adam,” Mia insisted.
“If you say so,” Evans said in a tone indicating he, too, didn’t believe it.
“You know what, just forget it.”
Mia stomped behind the table. She bent down to retrieve a sparkling water from a cooler stashed under it and wet the napkin. Fueled . . .
Shane reached for Mia’s hand across the table. She uncrossed her fingers, then lifted her left hand from her lap and placed it in his. He laced his fingers through Mia’s and stared at her soulfully. Mia’s spirits lifted. Could it be? Finally?
“No occasion,” he said.
Her spirits instantly dropped.
“My mother, God rest her soul, always told me you never knew when you could be hit by a bus,” Shane continued. “Not that she was ever on one in Florida. I swear, I half expected her to write ‘Bury me in my Cadillac Escalade’ in her will. But she loved to say we should live for now and not save special stuff for fancy ‘occasions.’ ”
Like a marriage proposal, Mia thought glumly.
Around three months earlier, Shane had pledged his love for her in a speech so moving Mia wondered if he was actually proposing to her. After weeks of debating this with friends, she hesitantly broached the subject with her boyfriend. Shane understood Mia’s confusion and set her straight. Yes, he loved her, but no, that spontaneous moment wasn’t an official proposal. “When I ask for your hand in marriage before God and the universe for which He stands,” Shane told her, somehow mashing up a declaration of love with the Pledge of Allegiance, “I’m gonna do it up right. In a big way.”
Mia was the prototype of a strong, independent woman. Since her father Ravello’s recent heart scare—doctors had inserted a stent to unclog an artery blocked by a steady diet of Fettuccine Alfredo—she’d basically been running Belle View Banquet Manor. The catering facility, located on the Flushing Marina, with a lovely view of Flushing Bay and a less lovely view of a LaGuardia Airport runway, was the family business, as well as a Family business, since it was one of the Boldano crime family’s legitimate and completely legal enterprises. Under Mia’s savvy tutelage, Belle View had blossomed into a premiere party site in the New York City borough of Queens.
Lauded by local business organizations as the kind of female entrepreneur Queens could be proud of, Mia never imagined she’d be someone anxious for a marriage proposal. Yet ever since coworker Shane’s florid pronouncement, she’d been on tenterhooks waiting for the ring to drop.
Could it be hidden in the gorgeous bouquet of flowers Shane impulsively handed her one night? Would he pull a small jewelry box from the pocket of his chinos during their moonlight cruise of the Long Island Sound? A romantic weekend getaway to the Hamptons produced an impressive tan but no sparkler.
Mia’s napkin, which her event planner instincts pegged at an impressive 400 count cotton, no polyester blend, slid off her lap. She bent down to retrieve it. When she sat back up, she saw Shane had refilled her champagne glass. He stared at it, frowned, then summoned a waiter. “There’s something in my girlfriend’s drink,” he said, pointing to the glass.
OMG, this is it! Yaassss! Ring in the champagne glass. Classic proposal move.
Mia feigned innocence as she glanced into her champagne glass—where she saw a fly flat on its back, having expired amid the bubbles.
“Oh sir, I’m so sorry.” The waiter whisked the glass away. “I’ll bring you fresh glasses and a complimentary bottle of champagne.”
“Thanks, man. I appreciate it. And if you could bring our dessert now, that’d be great.” Shane turned away from the waiter and leaned in toward Mia. His peridot eyes bored into her crystalline-blue orbs. “I ordered a special dessert for you. Kind of a once-in-a-lifetime treat.”
Mia dared to hope again—especially when Shane excused himself for a moment. He’s not really going to the bathroom. He’s bringing the ring to the waiter to make this a truly “once-in-a-lifetime treat”. Well, technically, twice in a lifetime for me. She glowered, recalling the whirlwind relationship with Adam Grosso that led to their ill-fated nuptials. The conniving adulterer had been declared missing and presumed dead after a powerboat containing the body of his mistress but no Adam washed up on Paradise Island in the Bahamas. With memories of her disastrous first marriage relegated to the never-darken-my-door-again file of Mia’s memory archive, she was ready for a lifetime with . . . dare she say it? . . . her soul mate.
The love of her life’s return to the table coincided with the waiter’s. Shane responded with satisfaction when Mia gasped at the sight of the exquisite small box made entirely of chocolate placed in front of her. “Oh, Shane . . .”
His smile grew wider. “Open it.”
Heart hammering, Mia lifted the lid. She was greeted by the sight of . . . more chocolate. This time in the form of mousse.
“I know how much you love chocolate,” Shane said, practically glowing with pride at his choice. “Especially mousse.”
“Right. Yes. I sure do.” Mia said this as she delicately poked around the dessert with her spoon, hoping for metal to hit metal. No such luck.
“Go on,” Shane urged. “Dig in.”
I’m guessing that means there’s no chance I’ll swallow an engagement ring, Mia thought with an internal sigh. But Shane seemed so pleased with himself, it touched her. She hid her disappointment and took a spoonful of mousse. Her eyes almost rolled back into her head at the taste of it. “OMG, this is incredible. It’s the best mousse I’ve ever had.”
Shane leaned back in his floral-upholstered chair and flashed a smile. “I take care of my girl.”
“You do, sweetie,” Mia said, completely sincere. “You do.”
Mia polished off the mousse, sharing a few spoonfuls with her boyfriend. She debated saving the chocolate box, then inhaled that, too.
Dinner over, the couple left the Crystal Room and stepped outside the restaurant. The twin towers of the San Remo, a spectacular Art Deco confection on Central Park West, loomed in all their elegant glory above the park.
Suddenly, Shane dropped to one knee.
Mia sucked in a breath. She placed a hand on her heart. Now? Of course! It all makes sense. The end of an amazing evening. This incredible view. A horse-drawn carriage clip-clopped up to the front of the restaurant, adding to the ambience. And that! Perfect timing! I want Anne Hathaway to play me in the rom-com version of this moment!
Mia inhaled, then slowly exhaled, trying to calm herself. Shane held up something that glinted silver under the fairy lights. Platinum! she exulted. He remembered I’m a Winter and look best in cool metal tones like platinum and silver, not gold! I love him so much!
“Found a quarter,” he said, triumphantly flashing it.
Mia deflated with the speed of a popped balloon. She stared at the piece of change. The carriage horse let out a loud whinny, then released a giant pile of horse dung. Mia wrinkled her nose as the pile’s noxious scent wafted up from the street to mingle with the warm, late-summer air.
Also perfect timing.
Fellow Belle View event planner Cammie Dianopolis scanned Mia with a critical eye. “You gotta lose the frown, sweetie. We’re selling weddings here, not funerals.”
The two women stood behind a U-shape of tables at the display they’d set up at the massive wedding expo taking place at Manhattan’s Javits Convention Center. In keeping with the bridal theme, they both wore white minidresses. While Mia’s was a sleeveless sheath with swirls of beads decorating the sweetheart neckline, Cammie’s dress sported the poofy sleeves popularized by Princess Di’s wedding gown. Mia’s coworker had found her style in the 1980s and stuck with it.
An array of Belle View food samples ranging from appetizers to mini cupcakes covered the center folding table Mia had coiffed in a peach underskirt with a pale peach lace overlay. Another table showcased a variety of stunning table settings available at the venue. A big-screen TV on the third leg of the “U” showed a compilation video of wedding celebrations interspersed with testimonials ranging from young newlyweds to seniors renewing their vows. Behind the women hung a giant poster showcasing the marina and bay vistas visible from Belle View’s ballrooms, photographed in a way that expertly blocked out the LaGuardia runway.
“Sorry, Cammie. I’ll try to get my happy on.” Mia gave the expo a dispirited scan. Future brides, some with their grooms, some with their mothers or friends, some with their same-sex significant others, packed the cavernous space. Their excited chatter combined with multiple wedding bands blasting music samplings created a headache-inducing cacophony. Mia rubbed her forehead. “To be honest, it’s kind of hard for me to be here. I’ve reached the point where I don’t think I’m ever gonna need any of my own wedding services because Shane’s never gonna propose. I need to face the fact I’m gonna die alone and be one of those old ladies they find partially eaten by her own pets.”
Cammie winced. “Ugh, gross. Look, Shane’s a good guy. I don’t know why he’s taking his sweet time popping the question, but he’ll come around eventually.”
“Maybe. I dunno.”
“Listen to you. When did you get so insecure?” Cammie put her hands on Mia’s shoulders and looked her in the eye. “Stop it. You hear me? Stop.” Mia gave a resentful grunt. Cammie released her. “I blame that chunk of human chum, Adam Grosso. He left you with a bad case of PTRD: Post-Traumatic Relationship Disorder.”
“It takes two to make a mistake like that,” Mia said, sniffling. “And I’m one of them.”
A young woman accompanied by an older woman started toward them. Cammie poked Mia in the ribs. “Mother of the bride alert. Girl looks to be in her late twenties, which means Mama’s probably controlling the wedding purse strings, and mamas like to spend on their baby girls. Force a smile and suck up to them.”
Mia swallowed her feelings and plastered on a smile. “Hello, and welcome to Belle View, where we handle every detail of our bridal ‘belles” incredibly special day.”
She followed this with an exaggerated wink as Cammie navigated her way around the tables to the women. She showed off two of the special promotional items Mia had ordered for the event: tiara headbands with a veil attached. Elegant printing on one veil read FUTURE BELLE VIEW BRIDAL BELLE. Printing on the other veil read MOTHER OF A FUTURE BELLE VIEW BRIDAL BELLE but in smaller print, to fit in every word.
“May I?” Cammie asked.
The bride-to-be eagerly nodded. Cammie positioned the headband on her, then did the same for the girl’s mother. The two squealed and took a flurry of selfies, then handed their phones to Cammie, who took more pictures. The impromptu photo session over, the bride-to-be’s mother’s focus turned to the poster behind Mia. “Oooh. Lovely. We’re from Brooklyn, but it might be worth the trip to Queens for a view like that.”
Mia, used to this attitude, gave a vigorous nod. While Brooklyn and Queens were basically on top of each other, denizens of one borough tended to approach a trip to the other with the same wariness American settlers felt when heading west across the prairies. “You won’t find views like this at the prices we offer anywhere in the city. We also have a bank of windows facing west, so you can see the Manhattan skyline. I always dreamed of my own wedding happening in our very own Bay Ballroom at twilight. You could watch the sunset over the skyline in one direction and the boats lighting up in the marina in the other.” Mia’s lower lip quivered. “It would’ve been beautiful. But it’s not gonna happen. I gotta let go of the dream. Ouch!”
The exclamation of pain was a response to Cammie giving Mia’s foot a warning stomp. Cammie handed the nonplussed potential customers each a mini cupcake. “Have a sample of our famous tiramisu cupcakes. We can talk about our From Wedding Soup to Jordan Almond Nuts Package while my partner here takes a break.”
Mia got the not-so-subtle hint. “Thanks for stopping by our exhibit. And speaking of Jordan almonds. . .” She handed each woman a small gauze bag of the candy-coated wedding treat. “Our card is inside. I hope you give Belle View Catering Manor the opportunity to plan your special, special. . .” Tears Mia had been fighting to control bubbled over her lower eyelids. “Day.” She sobbed out the word and escaped before embarrassing herself further by dissolving into a flood of tears.
She made a pit stop in the ladies’ room, where she splashed cold water on her face. “Get it together, Carina,” Mia muttered to her image in the mirror. She left the ladies’ room and wandered around the exhibition hall, forcing herself to focus. She picked up cards from a couple of DJs and rental companies and listened to a pitch from the operator of a hot-air balloon who swore he could launch it from the Belle View parking lot, begging off the question of where guests would park.
On the way back to the Belle View exhibit, Mia passed Marjan’s Cakes and Desserts, a bakery she’d used in the past to glowing reviews from customers. She and Marjan, a lovely émigré from London, exchanged greetings. “Anything new and exciting in the wedding cake world?” Mia asked.
“We’re doing a lot of displays instead of cakes lately,” Marjan said. “You know, like tiers of different-flavored macarons. For cakes with multiple layers, a lot of couples want a different flavor with each layer. And since carrot cake feels dated, I’ve created a ginger spice alternative. Try it.” The baker pointed to small, frosted squares in paper cups.
“You don’t have to tell me twice.” Mia picked up a sample and took a bite. “OMG, Marjan, this is fabulous. So much better than boring old carrot cake.” She polished off the sample and took another. “I love how the frosting is a blend of spices. Yum.” She spoke with her mouth full as she inhaled a second sample. “I’d hire you for my own wedding, but it looks like it’ll take some kind of divine intervention for Shane to put a ring on it.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Mia reached for a third sample. “But if you don’t mind leaving some samples for potentially paying customers . . .”
Mia retracted her hand. “Right. Got it.”
She continued her wander back to the Belle View display, casting a disconsolate glance at the bridal gowns on parade as part of a runway show. An ear-splitting screech of joy distracted her. She craned her neck to see who released it. A tall blonde she pegged to be around twenty-five jumped up and down as she pointed to a particularly elaborate sequined, beaded, and rhinestoned bridal gown. She let out another screech. “Ahh! That’s it! That’s the gown I told you about, baby! The one I wanna get married in! It’s so bee-you-tee-ful! I’m dying!”
The baby in question, a man about the same height as the bride-to-be, turned to see the dress. He locked eyes with Mia. A wave of nausea coursed through her. For a moment, she thought she’d pass out.
The Miami police presumed her husband was lost at sea. Mia took great comfort from knowing her cheating spouse literally slept with the fishes. But in an instant, what she’d long feared had come true.
Adam Grosso didn’t sleep with the fishes. He wasn’t dead. He was there. At the bridal expo.
And Mia was looking right at him.
Mia stood frozen in place, locked in a staring contest with the man who’d come close to destroying her life. She’d spent months after his disappearance in Miami PD’s crosshairs as their primary person of interest. Given her father’s position as a lieutenant who ran illegal gambling games for the Boldano Family and the occasional incarcerations of her dad and brother Posi Carina—who was currently finishing a stint at the Triborough Correctional Facility for indulging in his habit of stealing luxury sports cars—Mia found herself enduring the kind of notoriety usually trained on celebrities. Public interest in her eventually faded but left her battle-scarred, to say nothing of the emotional toll her relationship with Adam had taken on her. But finally, almost two years later, Mia’s life was on track. A great job. A nice home in Astoria she shared with her grandmother Elisabetta. And a boyfriend who would hopefully propose to her before senile dementia set in for one or both of them.
But now, this. This!
A cluster of attendees sauntered by, blocking her view of Adam. They passed, revealing an empty spot where he’d been standing. Mia shook off her temporary paralysis and ran through the crowd searching for him. Given her petite height of five foot four, she ran on her toes for the extra height that might help her catch a glimpse of his familiar head. It didn’t help.
She raced back to the table, where she found Belle View executive chef Guadalupe and sous-chef-slash-dessert chef Evans replenishing the samples table. “Oh, thank God, tall people!”
“Huh?” Evans, who leaned toward taciturn, only needed the one word to express his confusion.
“I saw Adam Grosso.”
Cammie gasped. “What?! No. Adam?! The Adam?”
“Yes. Adam Grosso. My husband. He’s here. With a fiancée.”
“Fiancée?” Evans sounded even more confused.
“No time to drill down on this. I need you to help me find him. You remember what he looks like? Average height and weight, bald spot shaped kind of like a starfish?”
Guadalupe nodded. “Your dad turned a picture of him from the newspaper into a dartboard. My image of him has a lot of holes in it, but it’s still pretty good.”
“Good. Go. Hurry!”
Guadalupe, who’d spent years as an army cook in Iraq, gave Mia a salute. “Yes, ma’am.”
She, Evans, and Mia took off in separate directions, leaving Cammie to man the exhibit. Mia scoured her section. Her heart raced when she was sure she spotted him from the back, but when the man turned around, he proved to be a bride’s father and a good twenty years older than Adam.
After wasting an hour searching the expo for the phoenix that was Adam Grosso, Mia called it quits. The crew reconvened at the Belle View exhibit. “Any luck?” Cammie asked.
“Nope,” Evans said.
“’Fraid not.” A dark look crossed Guadalupe’s face. “Better for him I didn’t find the S.O.B. If he wasn’t dead then, he would be now.”
“Same here if I found him,” Evans said.
Cammie raised her hand. “Dibs on taking him out first.”
“You guys, stop.” A darker look than Guadalupe’s colored Mia’s face. “Taking him out is my job.” She swiped one of the napkins from the table-setting display and used it to mop perspiration from her brow. A dollop of strawberry frosting sat glued to where it landed on her dress when she collided with Marjan, who had stepped out from behind her exhibit to hand out cake samples. “But he’s gone. I swear, that moron does a better job of disappearing than a magician.”
“Or . . .” Cammie paused. She exchanged a look with Guadalupe and Evans.
Mia crossed her arms in front of her chest. She pursed her lips. “I saw that look, you guys. Or what?”
“Maybe you thought you saw Adam,” Cammie said.
Mia bristled. “Uh, hello. I think I know the man I shared a bed with for five long, miserable years.”
“Still doesn’t mean it was him,” Guadalupe, always matter-of-fact bordering on blunt, declared.
“I’m telling you, it was Adam,” Mia insisted.
“If you say so,” Evans said in a tone indicating he, too, didn’t believe it.
“You know what, just forget it.”
Mia stomped behind the table. She bent down to retrieve a sparkling water from a cooler stashed under it and wet the napkin. Fueled . . .
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The Witless Protection Program
Maria DiRico
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