Curvy Bride Claimed by the Mafia Don: He Made the Men Who Laughed at Her Kneel novel · Chapter 3 of 24

Chapter 3: His Lobby, His Neighbors

Deirdre confronts Braden in his Ventnor lobby, makes him say he signed her name, and sees his mother's text: keep the cake in the marker until Monday.

I drove to Ventnor alone.

I didn't want a single Ranieri man in the car when I saw Braden.

Harbor Point was a glass building on Dorset Avenue.

A doorman in a maroon jacket stood in a lobby full of potted palms.

Braden lived on the fourth floor.

I knew because he had told the whole Shore Point brunch.

The doorman stood up when I came through the revolving door.

"Miss Keogh? Mr. Tully isn't expecting you."

"He will be in a minute," I said. "Would you call up for me?"

He picked up the house phone, and I watched his face while Braden answered.

The doorman's eyebrows went up, then down.

"He says to come up, miss."

"I'm not going up," I said. "Tell him to come down."

Two women in yoga clothes stopped beside the palms.

A man with a dog on a leash slowed down by the mailboxes.

Braden came out of the elevator in gym shorts and a Shore Point polo.

His hair was still wet from the shower.

He smiled when he saw me.

It was the same easy smile he had used on the first night we met at his mother's Christmas party.

"Deirdre. Babe. Come on, don't make a scene in front of the neighbors."

"I'm not making a scene, Braden. I'm asking you a question."

"Ask it upstairs."

"Here is fine."

He put his hands in the pockets of his shorts and looked around the lobby.

"Fine," he said, loud enough for them. "You want to talk about money, Deirdre? Let's talk about it."

"You can't even fit in the seat at the Lido without a booster."

The woman in the yoga pants covered her mouth.

The man with the dog said, "Hey, that's not cool."

Braden didn't even look at him.

"Nobody's going to book a cake this size for their wedding, babe," he said. "Nobody wants a bride who needs her own table."

I felt the heat come up my neck and into my face.

I let it come.

I did not turn around and leave, which was what he expected.

"Say it again," I said.

"Say what?"

"The part about the cake."

"It's a cake, Deirdre. Everybody's laughing. Look at them."

"Nobody's laughing, Braden. That man with the dog is looking at you."

The doorman had his hand on the phone, ready to call somebody.

His eyes were on the floor.

I took the copy of the marker out of my bag and held it up under the lobby lights.

"You signed this, didn't you?"

Braden looked at the paper for a long second.

Then he laughed, short and mean.

"Mom said you'd fold. She said a girl like you can't afford to say no."

"Did you sign my name?"

"Yeah, I signed your name. Who's going to care about a fat girl's signature?"

The yoga women gasped.

The man with the dog took his dog out the front doors without another word.

"Say it so the doorman hears it," I said. "Say you forged it."

"I forged it."

"Say you did it for your mother."

"I did it for my mother, okay? Are you happy?"

I felt something colder than anger.

It felt good to be cold in a room full of people who had heard him say that.

"Thank you," I said. "The doorman heard you."

I turned around and walked toward the revolving door.

Behind me, Braden's phone buzzed in his shorts pocket.

I heard him swear and pull it out.

He read the message in the middle of the lobby, and the color drained out of his face.

I stopped with my hand on the glass door and looked back at him.

He held the phone up so I couldn't see the screen.

I could still read the first line in the bright light.

"Good," it said. "Keep the cake in the marker until Monday."

It was from his mother.

She had sent it at 9:14 that morning, while I was still pinning a hem.

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