A D'Angelo Like No Other
By: Carole Mortimer
St Gregory’s Church, New York.
‘WEREN’T THE THREE of us sitting together in a church very like this one just a few weeks ago?’ Michael spoke mockingly to his youngest brother Gabriel as they sat in the front pew of the church crowded with wedding guests, their restless brother Rafe seated on his other side.
‘I believe we were, yes,’ Gabriel confirmed dryly. ‘Except on that occasion you and Rafe were my best men, and now we’re Rafe’s.’
‘How many weeks ago was that, exactly?’ Michael arched derisive brows.
‘Five wonderful, glorious weeks.’ Gabriel smiled at the thought of his own recent marriage to his beloved Bryn.
‘Hmm.’ Michael nodded. ‘Did I ever tell you of the conversation I had with Rafe that day, in which he assured me, most emphatically I believe, that he didn’t believe in this “one love of a lifetime” thing, and certainly had no intention of getting married in the immediate, or even distant, future?’
Gabriel glanced at their brother Rafe, holding back a smile as he saw the tension in Rafe’s white face as he waited for his bride to arrive at the church. ‘No, I don’t believe you did...’
‘Oh, yes.’ Michael settled more comfortably on the pew. ‘It was as we were standing outside the church together, when you and Bryn were posing for photographs. I seem to remember that Rafe had just received a call from one of his women, and—’
‘And this is hardly the time, or the place, for you to so much as mention any of that!’ A tense Rafe turned on them both fiercely, his brief relationship with the Parisian, Monique, having ended several months before he had even met his future bride.
The three D’Angelo brothers owned and ran the three prestigious Archangel galleries and auction houses, in New York, London and Paris. Until recently they had run those galleries on a casual two-to-three-month-rotation basis, depending on what exhibitions or auctions were taking place in each gallery, but Gabriel’s marriage to Bryn now meant that he was based mainly in London, Rafe would be spending most of his time in New York once he and Nina were married, leaving Michael in charge at the Paris gallery.
‘Nina is now five minutes late,’ Rafe muttered after another glance at his wristwatch, the tenth such glance in almost as few seconds.
‘It’s the bride’s prerogative to keep the man waiting,’ Gabriel dismissed unconcernedly. ‘A case of “how the mighty have fallen”, don’t you think?’ he calmly continued his conversation with Michael.
‘Oh, most definitely.’ Michael nodded. ‘From what I’ve observed, he’s been totally off his head since the day he met Nina.’ He grinned unabashedly in the face of Rafe’s scowl.
‘Love does that to you.’ Gabriel nodded wisely. ‘It will be your turn next, Michael.’
His humour instantly faded. ‘I don’t believe so,’ he assured with grim certainty.
‘Famous last words...?’
‘Fact,’ Michael corrected tersely. ‘I can’t imagine ever willingly allowing any woman to get me into that state.’ He gave a pointed glance in Rafe’s visibly agitated direction.
‘When you two have quite finished!’ Rafe’s hands had clenched into fists, his expression one of pained tension as he turned to glare at his two brothers. ‘Nina is late, damn it!’
‘We heard you the first time...’ Michael arched one dark brow. ‘Do you think she might have changed her mind about marrying you?’
Rafe’s already pale face seemed to take on a greyish tinge as he groaned. ‘Oh, God...!’
‘Stop teasing him, Michael,’ Gabriel chided affectionately, his five-week marriage to Bryn having completely mellowed him. ‘Personally, I’m longing to see the beautiful matron of honour!’ He smiled at the thought of his wife.
Michael shrugged broad shoulders. ‘Calm down, Rafe. Nina will be here,’ he assured his brother dryly. ‘For some strange reason the woman is in love with you!’
‘Ha ha, very funny.’ Rafe scowled.
‘The limo is probably having trouble getting through the New York traffic, that’s all.’ Michael grimaced.
