It Had To Be You

  “I … I think so.” Scrambling around in my purse, I finally came up with it. I held it up in the air, and he grinned.

  “You’re gonna need that, Bella Bambina.”

  Suddenly, I could hardly move fast enough. I scrambled out of the cab and practically ran to the front door. But when I got to the porch, I stopped, taking in the wonder of it all. The porch swing caught my eye at once, as did the pristine white railings surrounding the porch. And the windows! They were spectacular.

  D.J. gestured for me to use the key in the door, which I did. My first step inside took my breath away.

  “Oh, D.J.!” The expansive foyer had ceilings ten feet high at least. Maybe higher. And the stained-glass piece in the front door was breathtaking. Not to mention the polished wood floors. “How in the world did you …” I couldn’t finish the sentence over the lump in my throat. I wanted to take in the rest, but the tears in my eyes prevented me from seeing everything at once.

  First he showed me the downstairs powder room just off the foyer. I especially loved the pedestal sink and the mirror above it. Next D.J. showed me the dining room—a large expanse of a room with the biggest table I’d ever seen, next to the one at my parents’ house, of course. I shook my head, unable to speak. We rounded the corner into the living room completely decked out with Mediterranean furniture.

  “How did you know that I wanted …” Again I couldn’t say the rest because of the catch in my throat.

  “I’ve been paying attention to everything you’ve ever said about home decor, Bella,” he said. “Right down to colors and styles. I hope you like it.”

  Like it? I loved it! But how—and when—did he accomplish this? He must’ve worked through the night for weeks to get this done so quickly.

  We turned down a small hall, finally landing in the kitchen. It took my breath away. There was a large island in the center, and the tiled backsplash was perfect. Very Italian.

  “I actually have a real Italian kitchen,” I said with awe. “Now I just have to figure out what to do in it.”

  “We’ll figure it out together. I’m not bad with a spatula myself.” He winked, and my heart fluttered—this time in a good way. “Ready to look upstairs?”

  I wanted to say yes but still found myself speechless, so a nod would have to do. I followed him up the stairs, marveling at the smooth railing on the banister. Surely he had done this work himself. Primo!

  At the top of the stairs we entered a wide hallway. Typical Victorian layout. He showed off the guest room first, and I was stunned to see my old bedroom furniture inside, along with the same comforter I’d slept under for years. The tears started in earnest at this point. Next came the hall bath, a nice-size room for an older home. Newly renovated, clearly. Then we moved on to the room I felt sure would be my favorite—the master bedroom.

  I gasped as I saw the spacious room with its king-size bed and rich Mediterranean dresser. No wonder Mama had spent so much time asking my opinion when we went furniture shopping for Laz and Rosa—she’d had a few tricks up her sleeve. Why, this was the very bedroom suite I’d picked out for them!

  D.J. led me into the master bath, and I almost cried tears of joy and relief when I saw the garden tub. Was it possible all of this was really mine? I could almost envision myself in that tub now. Put a whole new meaning to the words “beside the still waters.”

  “Now, I have one more room to show you.” D.J.’s eyes twinkled. “I think it’s going to be your favorite. I hope so, anyway.”

  “How anything could top this is beyond me,” I said, still captivated by the room we were in.

  “Just wait and see, Bella.”

  Down the hallway we went, to a door at the end. As he pushed it open, my gaze landed on a fabulous desk and a wall filled with bookshelves and built-in cabinets.

  “What in the world?” I stepped inside this wonderland, smiling as I read the sign on the desk: Club Wed. Bella Neeley, Wedding Coordinator.

  “I know you have your office at the wedding facility,” he said. “But I thought it might help to have an office at home too.”

  “What about you?” I asked. “You need an office more than I do.”

  “I’ll get around to that,” he said. “There’s a room over the garage I plan to renovate. Till then, maybe you could share your space with me.”

  “Oh, honey, I’m happy to share my space—and my life— with you.”

  I looked in the corner of the room, noticing for the first time the little dog bed, just right for Precious. D.J. had thought of everything. Absolutely everything.

  He pulled me into his arms and kissed the top of my head. “So, here’s the deal. We moved all of your stuff over here. Your clothes. Everything.”

  “What? Already?”

  “Yep. This is your home now. Jenna is coming over when she gets off of work to spend the night with you. Tomorrow night—after the rehearsal—Sophia and Norah want to have a slumber party here. They thought you might like that.”

  “Of course! They’re my bridesmaids!”

  “I’ll be at the condo with Sal from now till the wedding day. You, um, you heard about Sal, right?”

  “No. What about him?”

  D.J. smiled. “He’s been talking with me about the Lord. A lot. Started with something Guido said and went from there.”

  “No way.”

  “Yep. He’s had a lot of questions, but I’ve done a fair job of keeping up with them, I think. He’s making progress, Bella. I totally see that God is doing something amazing in his life.”

  “D.J., that’s awesome!”

  “Interesting that the Lord could use a bird to evangelize his owner,” he said. “Makes you believe anything’s possible.”

  “Oh, trust me, I do believe we have a lot to learn from Guido. These past few days, I’ve been singing ‘Amazing Grace’ over and over again, realizing for the first time in years just how much I need that grace he’s been singing about. Never realized how much till the past few days.”

  “Oh?” D.J. stepped back and gave me a curious look.

  “Yes. I need God’s grace, but I need to grace myself sometimes too. I think I’ve been too hard on myself. Been running in performance mode to prove my worth—to myself and others. But this week I had a reality check. God wants me to stop and smell the roses. To enjoy the people in my world and to remember how much more important they are than the projects. To thank him every day for my health and to take better care of myself.”

  “You learned all of that from a bird?” D.J. asked, drawing me close once again.

  “Well, not all.” I laughed. “But I don’t think it would be a stretch to say that Guido reminded me that I once was blind, but now I see. God has given me a lot of insight over the past couple of days. A whole new way of looking at things.”

  “And what do you see?” he whispered.

  “I see potential for a true happily ever after, as long as we keep him at the center of our relationship and keep our lives in balance. Not too much work. Not too much play. Lots of family time. Lots of joy. Lots of swing dancing. Great food.” I threw in the food as an afterthought, but I realized just how important it was, at least in the life of the Rossi family. Food was the uniting factor. That thing that drew us to a common table for genuine fellowship.

  “So, you’re saying I have to swing dance to be in a good relationship with the Lord?” D.J. gave me a dubious look.

  “Well, it doesn’t hurt.” I laughed, and he took my hands in his, then spun me around in dramatic fashion.

  “All right, then,” D.J. said. “Put on your dancing shoes and let’s get going.”

  With his hand in mine, we did just that.

  29

  It Had to Be You

  For years, I’d heard brides say that their wedding day was a blur. That it seemed to pass in the blink of an eye. That all of the prep work, no matter how difficult or cumbersome, faded to the background as the whole thing whizzed by.

  I found every word of that t
o be true.

  On Saturday, the 14th of February, I married the love of my life, D.J. Neeley.

  The whole thing was a whirlwind. I vaguely remembered how beautiful Sophia, Jenna, and Norah looked in their bridesmaids’ dresses. How handsome my brothers and Bubba looked in their groomsmen attire. I noticed the bouquets of red roses that Norah and Jolene had put together. The fabulous buffet, a wonderland of foods prepared by Rosa, Laz, Jenna, and Bubba. The exquisite reception hall, decorated by Mama and her team of ladies. The gorgeous programs, printed by Bonnie Sue. The sound of Gordy’s band, playing some of our favorite country and Italian tunes. I had some memory of Joey taking pictures and the taste of Rosa’s incredible cake, though I didn’t get nearly enough of it. And I definitely remembered the wedding dress, which fit perfectly. Turned out the alterations lady had hand-delivered it when she heard I was in the hospital.

  Funny, though. None of that mattered. After all of the planning, after all of the chaos, after everything everyone had done, only one thing mattered. D.J. Neeley and I were husband and wife. I was his, and he was mine.

  In that moment, as I contemplated that vast and yet-unknown truth, I realized something. My work as a wedding planner was to offer assistance to the bride, of course. To keep things going so she wouldn’t have to. But ultimately, I did what I did so that she could enjoy the one thing I couldn’t do—fully devote herself not to the wedding but to her new life.

  That day, wedding planning was the farthest thing from my mind. On Saturday, the 14th of February, I was fully a bride in every sense of the word. The cake could have toppled over, and I would have found it humorous. The programs could have been printed upside down, and I would have stood on my head to read them. The bridesmaids’ dresses could have been hideous, and I would have found something wonderful to say about them. In short, none of that mattered. All that mattered—all that would ever matter—was watching God at work, joining a quirky Italian girl with a slow-drawlin’ country boy. Watching two lives merge into one.

  As D.J. and I shared our first dance, I finally had a chance to whisper a few things in his ear. I needed him to know how much the last few weeks and months had meant to me, and how excited I was about sharing the rest of my life with him.

  The band played the first few notes of “Then,” one of Brad Paisley’s most poignant hits. It was a song that exemplified our love for each other in every way. D.J. and I took a spin around the dance floor with all of the people we loved looking on. In that moment, I wondered how I could possibly be any happier.

  “How are you feeling today, Mrs. Neeley?” D.J. asked as he held me close.

  “Never better, Mr. Neeley,” I responded. “And I have all of you to thank for it.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes.” I paused, pushing back the tears. “D.J., I’m so grateful to you. You planned this wedding, and it’s everything I ever dreamed it would be and more.”

  “Well, if I’m going to be completely honest, I’d have to say the ladies did most of the planning. I was more on the sidelines.”

  “Not true. Mama told me you were right there in the thick of it. Guiding them every step of the way. You knew just what to tell Bonnie Sue about the programs. You oversaw the flowers and the food. You knew just what to tell Gordy about the music. I heard you even helped put the cake together. Sounds like you pretty much coordinated everything.”

  “Well, shoot,” he drawled. “That was the easy part.”

  “Easy?” I gazed into his beautiful eyes, completely captivated.

  “Well, sure, Bella.” He kissed me on the cheek, and we continued to dance. “My only real job was to know you—and know you well. That way I could give the same instructions I knew you would have given. You’ve had your wedding planned since you were a little girl. All I did was listen.”

  “Well, you did a fine job, let me tell you that. And it means the world to me that you know me so well. Better than anyone.”

  “And I’m going to go on knowing you for the rest of my life.” He waggled his brows, and I laughed, realizing he was talking about a differing kind of “knowing” now.

  He pulled me into his arms and kissed me with both the tenderness of a gentleman and the forcefulness of a cowboy. Wowza! I heard the cheers of our families off in the distance and realized they were egging him on. Not that I minded. No, I would be happy kissing this cowboy … for the rest of my life.

  30

  Thanks for the Memories

  When I awoke in the hotel room the morning after my wedding, I rolled over in bed to catch a glimpse of my husband. The whole “I’m married now” thing still seemed surreal, especially the “waking up with a man in your bed” part.

  As for the wedding night … well, there was really only one way to describe it: bada-bing, bada-boom! I finally understood all of the anticipation. There was something incredibly special about sharing your wedding night with a man who’d waited for you—in every sense of the word. I wouldn’t trade that for anything.

  For a moment, I lay still, just watching D.J. breathe. My thoughts drifted back to our first meeting—how I’d fallen for him as he ambled up the driveway in those boots of his. Now his boots would have a permanent residence in my home … and my heart.

  After a few minutes, I woke my D.J.-turned-deejay cowboy hubby. He yawned and pulled me into his arms, whispering, “Good morning, Mrs. Neeley.”

  “Good morning, Mr. Neeley.” I kissed his cheek, and he responded by drawing me close. For a while we lay there cradled in each other’s arms. So this was what it felt like to wake up next to the man you loved. I liked it. Very much. I had a feeling I would go on liking it for the rest of my life.

  Unfortunately, we didn’t get to relish this experience much longer. A glance at the clock told me it was time to get moving. We had to be at the airport in two hours. At least that’s what D.J. had said last night. I still didn’t know where we were going, though I had my suspicions. He’d planted a few clues along the way.

  D.J. and I hit the road less than an hour later. With every mile north we headed on Interstate 45, my curiosity grew. Likely he was taking me to Cancun, I reasoned. Or Cozumel. Or Jamaica. Regardless, we would have the time of our lives, and all the more now that I got to wake up in his arms every morning.

  The trip to the airport was spent in nervous chatter on my end. Just passing the time, of course. Secretly I was dying to know what he had up his sleeve.

  We arrived at the airport, and D.J. parked in the extended stay parking. Then we boarded the shuttle, exiting at the international terminal. My antennae went up. Why the international terminal? Most flights to Mexico went out of one of the other terminals, right?

  Hmm. I wasn’t so sure. Only when we stepped into the line for Lufthansa did it hit me.

  “We’re going … to Europe?”

  He grinned, looking quite proud of himself. “Maybe.”

  “Where?” My heart rate quickened, and for a moment I thought I would faint, but I pushed that idea out of my head. There was no time for fainting today. We had a flight to catch!

  “We’re flying to Rome, then staying ten days in Italy, doing our own personal tour. Laz and Sal set me up with a map and all sorts of places to visit.”

  “No way.”

  “Way.” He smiled. “There was never a doubt in my mind about where we should go, Bella. Your family is from Italy. Your roots are there. If I want to know you—if I want to know them—I have to go to the place you’re from.”

  “That’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard!” I paused, my eyes filling with tears.

  “One day we’ll go to Scotland,” he said. “That’s where my mom’s grandparents came from. But for now, it’s all things Italy. We’re going to go boating on the Mediterranean and swim in the indigo waters.”

  “D.J… .” I shook my head, words failing me. “How can I ever thank you for this?”

  “Well, actually, you can thank Francesca. At least in part.”

  “W-what?”
br />   “She and Emilio have a country home outside of Napoli. When I told them about my plans, they gave me a key. We can stay there and use it as our hub. And anytime we get tired of driving, we’ll just head back home to our Italian villa for a few days of rest and relaxation.”

  “Among other things,” I teased.

  His cheeks turned pink. “Well, that too.” A mischievous smile lit his face.

  The line inched forward, and we finally arrived at the ticket counter to drop off our luggage. Half an hour later, we were standing in line to board the plane. Once again, the languages of those nearby overlapped. English and Italian were predominant, but there were a few other unrecognizable ones as well. And talk about a crowd. Looked like everybody and their brother wanted to go to Italy!

  Our turn finally arrived. We made our way down the ramp toward the plane. The flight attendant nodded and greeted us with a smile, which I returned. Then D.J. and I located our seats—the second row in the business section. D.J. put my carry-on in the overhead compartment, and we settled into our seats. I leaned over and gave my husband a kiss, then whispered, “I’m married to a cowboy.”

  “Yep.” He extended his arm, and I cuddled up next to him. “You are married to a cowboy from Splendora.”

  “Who would have dreamed?” I giggled.

  “Me,” he said, suddenly looking quite serious. “You really are like a dream come true, Bella.”

  “In spite of my quirky family?”

  “Not in spite of,” he said. “They’re part of you, Bella. They make you … you. Things just wouldn’t be the same if I’d met you in Splendora. God took me out of my comfort zone, not just by moving me to Galveston, but by bringing me someone so different from myself. You balance me out, Bella. You’re exotic and fun-loving and—”

  “Wait. Exotic?” I had to laugh at that one. I’d pictured myself a great many things, but never exotic.

  “Well, sure,” he responded. “You’re Italian. You’ve got the most wonderful voice in the world. I love listening to you talk.”

  “Wow.” I paused to think about that. “That’s so ironic, D.J., because your voice was the first thing that drew me to you. I fell in love with your voice over the telephone before I ever met you in person. That deep Texas drawl just did me in.”