The Next Mrs Russo - Jana Aston Page 0,3

shoulders, prepared to make a deal that doesn’t involve me going on a bad date with some guy who can’t get laid in a scheme set up by his mother.

And then, out of the corner of my eye, I spy Gary. Slinking his orange overweight body through the basement doorway with… oh, God. So much for that humane mouse trap I spent thirteen dollars on. Rest in peace, little fella. Except… is it still moving?

Can I get a break? Just one?

You know what? A bad date never hurt anyone. It builds character. Someday it’ll make a funny story.

I need Mrs Bianchi out of my store five minutes ago. I slide my arm behind her back and guide her quickly towards the front door before my best relationship from the internet betrays me and drops a live mouse in front of my potential big sale.

“Does your son live in your basement, Mrs Bianchi?”

She laughs. “Of course not. He has his own place. And a job. A really good job.”

Great. He’s definitely buying dinner.

“What exactly did you have in mind?”

Chapter Two

There’s no sign of a kidnapping van when I approach the meeting location. Or Mrs Bianchi. I only managed to get her out of my store with a quick negotiation and an agreement to meet at the gates across the street in an hour. In a stroke of complete idiocy I didn’t ask her where we were going, or, honestly, much of anything.

She made too good an offer for me to worry about pesky details like getting kidnapped or where exactly we’re headed today. I told Miller to call the police if he can’t find me tomorrow and he said sure thing and, well, that’s that.

And really, statistically the chances of this woman being part of a kidnapping ring are low. So it’s probably fine, but I’m definitely not getting into her car if it’s a white van with black windows.

I cross Eagle Street with the dress neatly hanging in a garment bag draped over my arm. I told Mrs Bianchi I’d bring it with me as I rushed her out the door while my cat slowly paced the shop behind us with his new buddy.

Alive and well, I should add. Gary dropped him as soon as I turned around and then held him down with a paw while staring at me with a look that quite honestly could only be described as disdain. I’m not sure if he’s mad about the accommodations we’re living in or he was simply questioning my ability to provide for him, but we’re going to have a talk about his attitude later.

Anyway, I’m at the gates. The front gates of the governor’s mansion, more exactly. You’d think the governor’s mansion would be someplace cool like the Hamptons, but nope, good old Albany. No foresight on the behalf of our Founders on that one. Niagara Falls would have been good, for tourism at least. Poughkeepsie would have been cool, just because it’s fun to say Poughkeepsie.

Why are state capitals always the most random, unlikely cities? Like the state capital of Illinois is Springfield. Dumb. Everyone who didn’t pass the state capital quiz in grade school thinks it’s in Chicago. Mostly because Chicago is the only city anyone’s ever heard of in Illinois, but still. That entire quiz is one big trick question, if you ask me. How is the state capital of California not Los Angeles? Ridiculous. St Augustine, Florida, is the oldest city in America but sure, let’s confuse grade schoolers forever by putting the capital of Florida in Tallahassee. Is that even a real place? There’s Miami, there’s Disney World, there’s St Augustine and a bunch of beaches and then there’s… Tallahassee.

I bounce my foot on the pavement.

I’m probably a minute or two early since I allotted five minutes to get here when it’s all of a thirty-second walk. I’d be fine with Mrs Bianchi bailing—getting stood up by someone’s mother for a setup won’t even make the shortlist of crappiest dates I’ve had in my lifetime. That’d be fine. Bailing on paying for this dress? Not fine. Plus, we came to an agreement a little more elaborate than this dress. So here I am, prostituting myself for fashion.

Not literally, of course. I mean it wasn’t entirely obvious but I clarified. No kissing required.

This poor guy, am I right? Needs his mom to set him up on a non-kissing date. He must be tragically unattractive or socially awkward. Mrs Bianchi swore he doesn’t live in