Well, that might explain why all the Serenghettis were in town—Mia from New York, where she was based, and Rick and Chiara from Los Angeles. They were here for a wedding—as well as to throw moral support behind Camilla and bear witness to Sera’s on-screen chemistry with the family’s baddest bad boy.
“That is some stealthy maneuvering, Serenghetti,” Sera said in her sternest voice.
“It was Mom’s idea.”
“What!”
“She suggested I bring you to the wedding instead.” Jordan shrugged too casually. “Because I was planning to fly solo.”
“She makes a good accomplice,” Sera muttered.
Jordan gave a short laugh. “She’s desperate.”
“For ratings, or to get you paired up with a woman who likes to use her brain?”
“Maybe both.” Jordan schooled his expression. “You have to come with me to the wedding. I’m too injured to find a date.”
“Please. You’d be able to find a date even from a hospital bed.”
“You’re giving me too much credit.”
“Modesty. What a refreshing change for you,” she teased. “So I’m a last resort?”
He looked like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “And a first.”
She searched his expression, saw only earnestness and then felt warmth suffuse her.
She didn’t want to be number one in Jordan’s book—did she?
Ten
The last place Sera wanted to be was at an event with more Serenghettis—and yet here she was.
She’d been to enough get-togethers at Marisa and Cole’s house or Serg and Camilla’s to know the Serenghettis welcomed everyone and anyone. But once a social event ventured into cousin or—heaven help her—even second-cousin territory, like today’s wedding, she knew she was in deep. In fact, she’d just met another of Jordan’s second cousins, Gia Serenghetti, so now she knew the family’s inside joke about the rhyming Mia and Gia “twins.”
Still, Sera had to admit the colonial mansion outside Springfield, Massachusetts, was a picture-perfect setting for a June wedding. She’d decided to wear a sleeveless shimmering emerald sheath dress for the evening affair, and she’d caught back her hair in a jeweled clip for a low ponytail.
Jordan’s gaze lit as it settled on her again from across the lawn, where he stood chatting with some fellow guests during the postceremony cocktail reception, while the bride and groom, Constance Marche and Oliver Serenghetti, posed for picturesque photos on the lawn. His perusal was a slow burn, full of promises and possibilities as it skimmed her curves.
As she took a sip of champagne, Sera could almost read the thoughts chasing through his mind. She was a flame dancing in the warm breeze of his appreciation. Wow.
Still, she felt like a phony. An impostor. She wasn’t really Jordan’s girlfriend or even his date. She was here as a fill-in, to avoid a cooking lesson that had been asked for on air. And to help Dante. And...nothing more.
She was so far from getting married herself, she might as well have been in a different galaxy. Neil had seen to that. And it wasn’t as if she and Jordan would ever walk down the aisle. Her heart squeezed, nevertheless. She’d gotten misty-eyed at the exchange of vows earlier. It had been so beautiful, so perfect. The couple caught in the beams of the evening sun behind them and outlined by a trellis with climbing flowers. She couldn’t think of a better arrangement if she’d been planning her own ceremony—not that it was in the cards.
On top of it, Marisa kept shooting her quizzical looks—as if her cousin, too, was puzzled about what to make of today and Sera’s agreement to appear on Jordan’s arm, especially since Sera had sworn that there was nothing romantic between her and Jordan. An appearance on Jordan’s mother’s show was one thing; a family wedding was another. That’s serious. Her cousin’s words echoed in her head.
Jordan approached, and Sera noticed again how he filled out his dark tailored suit. Only her well-trained eye could detect any lingering unevenness in his gait, since they were now more than two months postsurgery. In the past couple of weeks, since the cooking show, he’d grown stronger and more able with each physical-therapy session. Even she had been impressed at his progress. She knew from experience that there could be many unexpected stumbling blocks to recovery.
“I should never have agreed to this,” Sera murmured as Jordan stopped by her side.
He took a sip from his champagne. “Relax. It’s not as if we were caught having sex in the closet under the hall stairs.”
“There’s a closet under the stairs?” she squeaked. Why was she turned on? She wanted to fan herself and instead took another fortifying sip from her glass.
Jordan gave a strangled laugh. “Every old mansion has one.”
“There’s already open speculation in your family about what the status is between the two of us. I can read the looks on their faces, and they don’t even know—”