Taming The Beastly MD. Elizabeth Bevarly

sister frowned at her. “Rita,” she said in the scolding tone of voice impatient mothers used with recalcitrant toddlers. “You are going, aren’t you? All the Barones are expected to be there, to show our support for the family and the business. You have to go. You know you’ll never hear the end of it if you don’t.”

      “Yes, yes, I’m going,” Rita assured her sister.

      “And you do have a date for the party, don’t you?” Maria asked further. “Because you know you’ll never hear the end of it if you don’t,” she repeated with a smile.

      Rita closed her eyes and bit back another groan. What Maria said was certainly true. The older generation of Barones was crazy for grandchildren and grand-nieces and grand-nephews, and they weren’t afraid to let anyone—especially the potential bearers of said grandchildren and grand-nieces and grand-nephews—know it. Whenever a Barone of marriageable age showed up at a family gathering without a date, they were set upon by the older generation, wanting to know how they expected to get married and have children if they remained alone.

      With Rita, though, who never brought dates to such events, it was becoming a problem of epic proportions. Naturally, it wouldn’t have been a problem had she entered the Sisters of Charity as her sister Colleen had. Religious conviction was the only acceptable excuse for such longstanding abstinence from a social life. And even trying to use Colleen as an excuse these days didn’t wash, seeing as how she had left the Sisters of Charity not long ago and was now engaged to her college love.

      “Um, actually…” Rita began. But she couldn’t quite make herself finish the revelation.

      “Rita,” Maria said again in that same motherish tone, “you haven’t even invited a date yet?”

      “I forgot, all right?” Rita said.

      “And you probably don’t have anything to wear, either, do you?”

      “Well…”

      “Fine,” Maria said in a voice of put-upon patience. “I’ll take off early Monday and we can go shopping. I wouldn’t mind picking up something new myself. The date, though…” she added, letting her voice trail off meaningfully.

      “I know,” Rita said. “I’ll take care of it. I promise.”

      Though how she was going to keep that promise was beyond her. This event was going to be a stellar, five-star, formal event. It called for someone suave, someone debonair, someone who was tall, dark and handsome, and sophisticated, distinguished and well-connected. Someone like…