That's Amore (Weddings by Bella Book #4): A Novel

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1

Forever and Ever, Amen

I think what makes our marriage work amid all the glare is that my husband is my best friend. He inspires everything in my life and enables me to do the best that I can. I want to hang out with him more than anyone.

Faith Hill

Every little girl dreams of walking the aisle to marry her very own Prince Charming. My dream came true several years ago when a tall, handsome Texan—complete with mesmerizing twang and scuffed-up cowboy boots—ambled his way into my heart.

Meeting D.J. Neeley was—and is—the best thing that ever happened to me. Merging my all-things-Italian world with his east Texas cowboy-esque persona provided lots of challenges on the road to the altar, for sure, but lots of laughs too. Honestly? I wouldn’t change a thing. A vast array of country tunes might be playing on the radio in my honey’s truck, but That’s Amore rang out in my heart every time he pulled me into his arms. Bada-bing, bada-boom!

Our wedding day was the happiest of my life. The whole thing whirled by in a blip of a moment—truly, the ceremony felt about three minutes long—but I loved every nanosecond of our special day. Talk about life changing! Two worlds collided with a crash and a bang so loud that folks heard the noise all the way across the great state of Texas. Chaotic perfection!

D.J.’s east Texas lifestyle underwent some twists and turns as he settled into our new home on Galveston Island, but my easygoing fella didn’t appear to mind a bit. No, he seemed perfectly content to have married into my large, wacky, over-the-top Italian family, and happier still when our son and daughter made their appearance. By the time we announced pregnancy number three, our lives were marching forward with grace and ease—D.J. was busy with his construction company on the island, and I was coordinating weddings at Club Wed. Typical get back to the business of living stuff for a young couple, and we’d handled it all as well as could be expected. Maybe better.

So imagine my surprise when—all these years after our wedding day—my sweetie proposed . . . again. From out of the blue, no less. Proposal number two took place on a random Tuesday in between loads of laundry and squabbling kids. It would have to happen on a day when I hadn’t brushed my hair or put on makeup. D.J. came home from work for lunch, took one look at our messy house, and declared, We should get married all over again, Bella.

Um, okay. Had my fella completely lost his mind? I coordinated weddings. I didn’t perform in them. But from the cockeyed grin on his face, he wasn’t taking no for an answer.

I stared into his baby blues, completely thrown off by the idea. Surely he was just speaking theoretically. Likely he meant, If we had it to do all over again, I wouldn’t change a thing! He couldn’t possibly mean we should repeat the whole ceremony and reception part.

What do you mean you want to get married again? I reached for a dirty skillet and ran water over it before giving it a good scrubbing.

I just think the timing is perfect, D.J. said. Now that we’ve got the new wedding facility opening in Splendora, I think we should christen it by being the first to walk the aisle. Perfect, right?

Ah. Now it all made sense. We were opening a wedding facility in the town of Splendora this coming winter. We’d been working on the plans for weeks and had involved D.J.’s construction business in the process. He’d answered a hundred questions for me. Perhaps doing so had inspired him.

Still, I couldn’t stop my busy life long enough to plan another wedding ceremony for the two of us. Not now, anyway, and especially not in a town as far away as Splendora. Surely I could make him understand that without hurting his feelings.

I continued to scrub the skillet as I talked. D.J., you said yourself it’ll take months to get the new place up to speed. It’s an old building. It needs lots of work. And have you forgotten that I’m pregnant? I rinsed off the pan, set it in the sink, and turned to face him.

Um, no. He put his hand on my tummy and grinned. That would be hard to forget, frankly. A chuckle followed. "It’s just that I’ve heard you say at least a dozen times that the first wedding in the new place has to be a doozy, one folks’ll never forget. Jordan Singer is coming to write an article for Texas Bride about the grand opening, right?"

Right. But what does that have to do with—

I’m just saying, we can give our guests and Jordan’s readers a ceremony they won’t soon forget, D.J. said. It’s not every day that an expectant bride makes the cover of a national magazine.

Oy vey. First he wanted me to plan a wedding, now he wanted my expectant self to appear on a magazine cover in a bridal gown? Looked like D.J. had spent too much time in the Texas sun. It had messed up his sense of logic.

Technically, it’s a Texas-based magazine, not national, and I’m not altogether sure that’s how I want to garner my claim to fame. I dried my hands on a dish towel and then rubbed my tummy, surprised at how quickly the little baby bulge seemed to be growing. Less than three months into this pregnancy and our little monkey seemed to be sprinting toward the goal, size-wise. Weird.

You were a beautiful bride last time and will be even prettier this time around.

Humph. I brushed my messy hair out of my face and sighed. Standing here in faded capris and a T-shirt that read Mama Mia, I didn’t feel like a beauty queen.

How long will it take to get the new facility in shape, though? I asked. I mean, that old building is really worn down. It needs a complete facelift. You really think we can get things up and running before I’m nine months pregnant? I gave him an I don’t think so look, but he responded with a hopeful smile.

Well, shore, Bella. That Texas twang of his was followed by a pout. Are you sayin’ you don’t trust my construction skills? Mock pain filled his eyes. I see how it is.

It’s not that. I just have a full plate already. How could I say this without hurting his feelings? After all, the man wanted me to marry him—again. Diving into a list of all of my prior obligations seemed pretty unromantic. So I didn’t. I didn’t tell him about the backlog of paperwork awaiting me at Club Wed, our Galveston wedding facility. I didn’t tell him about the overload of activities I’d planned with the kids. I didn’t mention that Aunt Rosa and Uncle Laz had asked me to appear on an upcoming episode of their Food Network television show, The Italian Kitchen. I didn’t tell him that I had agreed to serve as research coordinator on Brock Benson’s new Galveston-based sitcom, which would begin filming in a couple of months. And I didn’t tell him about the woes of balancing a pregnancy with an existing family and job.

Whew! Just thinking about all of that made me tired.

We can manage it, Bella.

D.J. gave me that puppy dog look, the one that always melted my heart, and I found myself nodding. I swallowed hard and thought it through. Maybe we could pull this off. And maybe, just maybe, it’d be the perfect way to christen the new facility, as he’d suggested. We would be the first bride and groom to share their big day at the Splendora Town and Country wedding facility, the first to walk the aisle in the new chapel, and the first to say I do with our friends from Splendora looking on. The more I thought about it, the more intriguing the idea sounded.

So, a full-out, walk-down-the-aisle wedding? I moved to the breakfast table and took a seat, then reached for my cup of coffee. With a big reception?

Yep. D.J. sat in the chair beside me and grabbed his can of soda. And a themed one too. He took a swig and set the can back down, then reached for the turkey sandwich on the plate in front of him. Last time was pretty formal. Not saying I didn’t love it. It was great. But now that we’re getting married in the country, we can be a lot more laid-back. Country chic. Isn’t that what you call it? He gave me a little wink, took a bite of his sandwich, and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. See there? You thought I wasn’t paying attention to what you call things in the wedding biz.

It’s shabby chic, actually, and yes, I’ve coordinated that style of wedding before. Is that what you’re saying we should have—the shabby chic style?

Yep. Relaxed. Simple. Perfect for Splendora. Nothing too fancified or hoity-toity. Folks up there won’t hanker to that sorta stuff.

I hadn’t given much thought to what sorts of ceremonies the folks in Splendora might hanker to, frankly. No doubt most would appreciate a variety of themed weddings, just like the people in Galveston. But maybe D.J. had a point. Pulling off a shabby chic wedding would be easier than most. More relaxed, as he’d said. Surely I could do that and still work. And raise kids. And stay healthy during this pregnancy.

I hoped.

"So, tell me about this Texas Bride magazine shoot, D.J. said. When is it scheduled?" He took another bite of his sandwich, followed by a couple of chugs from the soda can.

Well, it’s not exactly scheduled yet, I explained. But I have been giving a lot of thought to when we should open, and I have something in mind. Jordan called me just the other day to ask this very thing.

D.J. gave me a curious look. He and Gabi are back from their honeymoon?

Yes. I couldn’t help but smile as he mentioned my friend’s name. Gabi, a local wedding dress designer, was one of my more recent brides and had rapidly become a good friend and co-worker. I enjoyed featuring her dress designs at Club Wed. "They’re back from their honeymoon, and she’s up to her eyeballs in dress designs. He’s ready to get back to work on stories for Texas Bride. He knows we’re not ready to open for a while, but he wanted me to catch him up on the details."

Perfect! D.J. grinned and pushed his empty plate back a couple of inches. He can come to the wedding and do a big write-up. Cover the facility and our big day, all in one story.

Problem is, he wants a specific date for the article to go live. Think Christmas.

D.J. shrugged. Sounds good to me. That’s nearly five and a half months away. Gives my team plenty of time to renovate the building in Splendora and time for you to get the word out about the facility.

In theory it sounds good. But I’ll be more than seven and a half months pregnant at that point. Baby’s due the end of January, remember?

He finished off the rest of his soda, his gorgeous baby blues twinkling. True, but the last two babies had to be coaxed out, so I don’t think you’re at any risk of delivering early. Right? D.J. rose and gave me a kiss on the forehead, then carried his empty plate to the sink. A girl could fall in love with a fella who took his own plate to the sink. She might even consider marrying him all over again, just to keep from doing the dishes herself.

I tagged along behind him and leaned against the counter as he rinsed his plate off. D.J., I hate to state the obvious, but you realize I’ll be huge in December! Pointing at my not-yet-blossoming belly, I sighed. It’s going to take two wedding dresses to wrap around me, and you’ll have to get a crane to haul me down the aisle. We’ll make the papers all right, but not for the reasons you think. People will come from everywhere just to see Orca the whale dressed in a wedding gown.

This got a laugh out of D.J. Hardly. You’ll be gorgeous.

If I can still walk.

Bella, you’ll do fine. The last two pregnancies were easy, remember? You worked up till the last minute, no problem. I never heard a complaint out of you until delivery day.

That sounded just like something a man would say, but I didn’t comment. Well, this time I have two small children. And two wedding facilities. As I spoke the words, I realized that everything in my life had doubled. Which had, ironically, quadrupled my workload. And you’re talking about doing this during the Christmas holidays, a time when we’re already overloaded with activities.

Well, I’ll be around to help as much as I can, D.J. said. My company will be doing the work on the new facility, so I’ll be able to help you more than ever.

He had a point there. Maybe with D.J. working nearby, I could swing this. Still, the image of my seven-and-a-half-month pregnant self in a wedding dress made me a little nauseous. Or maybe I was just starting to experience morning sickness. Either way, I’d have to really think through that dress thing. Maybe Gabi could help. Her gown designs were out of this world. Not that I had any idea what I would look like in December, but whatever. She could make the dress out of stretchy material.

So, you think the Christmas season is doable? I asked.

I do. He winked and I got the double meaning. Then my sweet husband did the strangest thing. He dropped to one knee—Really? Who does that on a Cheerio-encrusted kitchen floor?—and reached into his pocket. He pulled out a little ring box, which he opened. Inside, a gorgeous emerald-and-diamond ring took my breath away.

I stared down at the amazing jewel shimmering and shining in its little box, and gasped as I realized what I was looking at. D.J., how did you know about this ring? I’d seen it in a local jewelry shop but had never mentioned it to him. Had I? Suddenly I couldn’t remember.

He gave me a knowing look as he slipped it on the middle finger of my left hand, next to my wedding band. You have great friends. Jenna told me about it. And Scarlet mentioned it too. So I figured you must really love it if you told two of your friends the same thing.

I do!

As those two words were spoken, I couldn’t help but giggle. And as my hunky hubby rose and pulled me into his arms, I realized I really would marry him over and over again. Who cared if I was seven and a half months pregnant on the big day? I’d waddle down the aisle toward this yummy cowboy and say I do all over again, even if the guy never washed another dish for the rest of his life.

2

Waltz across Texas

A dead-end street is a good place to turn around.

Naomi Judd

The Saturday after D.J. gave me the emerald ring, we drove up to Splendora, just an hour or so north of Houston, to set a plan in motion for the new facility. It was one of those hot Texas days when the AC in the truck couldn’t keep up with the heat outside. Unbearable didn’t begin to describe it.

In the backseat four-year-old Tres and our toddler, Rosie, bickered and complained about the heat. I didn’t blame them. Beads of sweat covered my forehead and threatened to ruin my heretofore good attitude. Not that the mother of two rambunctious kids was always in the best frame of mind, but I’d managed to hold it together today, if you didn’t count the shoe incident. No biggie. Rosie looked cute in the mismatched shoes, anyway.

Of course, the kids argued about a host of other typical preschool things too. Words like He hit me with a toy! and She’s touching me! rang out over a dozen times as we made the drive. Lovely. I managed to keep the noise to a dull roar by vacillating between bribing them with the promise of a trip to the beach when we got back home to Galveston and threatening to ban them from their electronics if they didn’t cut it out. Turned out the electronics threat was enough to do the trick. Toddlers and their modern-day toys. Sheesh.

From the seat next to me, my Yorkie-Poo, Precious, snored like a chain saw taking down pine trees. I couldn’t really blame the noisy little mongrel. She was getting old now. We all were. Well, not that a woman in her midthirties was considered old, but I felt my age more than ever, especially with this pregnancy. I didn’t bring it up—didn’t dare—but I secretly wondered if I’d gotten in over my head, supervising the renovation of a new facility while expecting a baby. Oh well. I’d survived tougher things. I’d get through this too.

As we drove, D.J. chatted about the new facility, the smile never leaving his face. On and on he went, talking about how beautiful it would look once the construction team did their work. How perfect it would be for our vow renewal service, which he’d taken to calling our wedding in the country. I still hadn’t acclimated myself to the idea that we were going to have an actual ceremony with guests, reception, and the whole thing, but D.J. had his heart set on it. In Splendora, the town of his birth. Maybe he just wanted to reminisce about the old days in the piney woods of east Texas.

As we turned off of Highway 59 onto the access road leading to Splendora, I noticed the American flags and a sign left over from last week’s Fourth of July parade. The whole thing reminded me of another trip I’d taken to Splendora years ago, for my first-ever Fourth of July party at the Neeley homestead. Of course, these days his parents spent more time in Galveston than Splendora, but as I gazed at the flags, my thoughts flashed back to that infamous holiday picnic when D.J. and I had strolled across his parents’ property. He’d kissed me underneath the pine trees. What a lovely day. Sweet people. Sweet tea. Sweet kisses from my Texas cowboy. Oh, and yummy peach ice cream. These were my memories of Splendora.

Now, as the flags faded from view behind us, I tried to recapture those feelings. There was so much to love about small-town living. Simplicity. Quiet. Quaint homes and businesses enveloped by the forest, tucked away in the comfort of the towering pines. I closed my eyes and whispered up a little prayer of thanks that God had merged my crazy, loud world with this beautiful, rustic silence.

Okay, so it wasn’t so silent right now, not with the kids in the backseat going at it and D.J.’s country music station blaring on the radio. And the snoring coming from the dog didn’t help either.

With D.J. at the wheel, we wound our way down a lovely country road underneath a covering of trees, passing the sign for Rigas Roses, a local nursery. I’d be visiting the nursery later today to chat with Jasmine and Lily, two new friends. They would—I prayed—prove to be very helpful to me in the coming months.

Right now, though, we had a wedding facility to look at. D.J. had made the purchase of the building without me, but I trusted his judgment. He continued to drive down the narrow, tree-lined road until the building—Is that it?—came into view.

I couldn’t help but sigh, and not in a good way, as I looked at the dilapidated, old wood-framed building, a onetime community center. The paint, what little one could still make out, was a chipped mess. And the windows—most, anyway—were cracked or completely broken. I’d seen photos online, but they didn’t look like this.

I couldn’t tell if the front door was still usable, but the whole place looked like a scene from a creepy movie. I half expected to hear the Deliverance theme song playing when we got out of the car, such was the state of disrepair and deterioration. The building looked as broken down as I felt as I stared at it. It would take an act of God to whip this place into shape, especially in just a few short months. Then again, I’d seen the Lord move in miraculous ways before. If he’d done it then, he could do it now.

D.J. pulled the truck into the driveway, the tires crunching their way across the gravel below. Well, here we are. Home sweet home. His voice carried the same excitement I’d heard on the day of his proposal. Glancing down at my emerald ring, I convinced myself to take a few deep, cleansing breaths.

Hmm. I stared at the worn-out building in front of me and wondered if perhaps we’d lost our minds by agreeing to purchase this place. Could we really turn it into a thing of beauty in such a brief time? As I took in the rotting wood, the shattered windows, the broken shutters, and the sagging porch, I had my doubts.

D.J. had just turned off the engine when my cell phone rang. I glanced down, surprised to see Brock Benson’s number. I’d known the Hollywood superstar for years, ever since he served as best man in a wedding I’d coordinated. Still, it wasn’t like he called me every day. I did my best to shush the kids, who continued to squabble in the backseat, before answering. Doing my best to act calm, cool, and collected, I took the call, starting with a cheerful Howdy!

Well, howdy to you too. Brock’s happy-go-lucky voice rang out from the other end of the line. You busy?

Just arrived in Splendora.

Ah. Working on the new place already?

Yes. I stared at the rotting building in front of me. It’s going to be . . . amazing. Hmm. Maybe amazing wasn’t the right word.

Everything you and D.J. touch turns to gold, Bella. Brock went off on a tangent, singing our praises.

This almost worked to boost my confidence. Almost. Then I looked at the building once again.

If you see the Splendora trio while you’re there, give ’em my love, Brock continued. I miss those ladies.

Now I couldn’t help but smile. The women he referred to—Twila, Bonnie Sue, and Jolene—were three of my favorite people in the world. Just knowing they were nearby, all three of them Splendora residents, made me breathe easier. I’ll be sure to give them your love, I said. But Brock hadn’t called to talk about them. I felt sure of it. Might as well get to the point. Is everything okay on your end?

Yes. I’ve been in meetings with the producer of the new sitcom. Filming is going to begin in a couple of months, and Erin and I will be looking for a place to stay while we’re on the island.

I grinned when he mentioned his wife’s name. I didn’t know her very well but loved her already, based on our short time together and the smile I saw on Brock’s face whenever he looked at her.

Maybe someplace with a one-year lease? Brock asked. Or maybe we’ll buy a vacation home and hang on to it for a while.

That sounds great, Brock. I’d like to think that you and Erin and the baby will be around awhile.

Me too. I know she’s anxious to get to know you better.

I’d love that too.

Well, I just wondered if you had any leads about housing before I contact a Realtor.

Better let me put this call on speakerphone so D.J. can chime in. I’d be willing to bet he does.

I changed the settings on the phone, and seconds later, after Brock and D.J. said their hellos, they dove into a conversation. I know the perfect home on the west end of the island, D.J. said. We just finished renovating it for a client who lives in Houston. He’s anxious to rent it out, but I think it’s going to eventually be a lease-purchase deal. It has an elevator and a great deck that runs the full length of the house. It’s right on the water. Just far enough from town to give you some privacy and yet close enough that you won’t have to drive far to get to work.

This led to a lengthy chat about the upcoming sitcom, which would be filmed in part on the Strand, Galveston’s most famous historic street.

In the backseat, Rosie and Tres went at it again. I finally got busy setting them free from the confines of their car seats, then waited with them in the parking lot while D.J. finished the call. The kids took off running toward the yard, and I called out, Watch out for snakes! which only got Tres more excited.

A couple of minutes later, D.J. joined me. He handed me back my phone and I dropped it into my purse.

I think Brock and Erin will love that house, he said. It’s going to be just what the doctor ordered.

Just what the doctor ordered. I stared at the house—er, community center—in front of me and did my best not to groan aloud. Surely if D.J. and his men could work on a high-end property in Galveston, one fit for a Hollywood star, they could turn this money pit into a thing of beauty. I hoped.

As if reading my mind, D.J. slipped his arm over my shoulder and pulled me close. I know the building is in rough shape, Bella, but I promise we’ll get it looking better than it ever did, even in its glory days.

Was it here when you were a kid? I asked.

Yep. I think it was here when my mom was a kid, actually. Lots of history here.

Wow. Didn’t realize it was that old. Not that I was calling his mom old. These days his motorcycle-wheelin’ mama seemed younger than ever.

This community center was always a part of my upbringing. I went to many a party here—it was the go-to place for birthday celebrations and anniversaries. Lots of great events took place in this spot. Celebrated my parents’ twenty-fifth anniversary in this very building.

Aha. That explained it. He wanted to renew our vows in the very place where his parents had celebrated their anniversary. I’d sure married a sentimental cowboy. Not that I’d trade him for all of the white-collar office workers in the great state of Texas. Give me a cowboy any day.

Ready to go inside? he asked.

Ready as I’ll ever be.

Let me check it out first. D.J. walked a few steps ahead of me. He took a tentative step up on the first stair, and his boot-covered foot went straight through the rotting piece of wood. Ow! He yanked his foot back out and groaned aloud.

"Are