Passports and Plum Blossoms Read online

  Passports and Plum Blossoms

  An International Romantic Comedy

  Barbara Oliverio

  Copyright 2016 by Barbara Oliverio. All rights reserved.

  Published by Scolapasta Press, Ltd.™

  Denver, CO

  719.339.6689

  [email protected]

  www.scolapastapress.com

  No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system without written permission from Scolapasta Press, Ltd.™ or Barbara Oliverio, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review.

  All images, logos, quotes, and trademarks included in this book are subject to use according to trademark and copyright laws of the United States of America.

  Smashwords Edition

  Licensing Notes

  This e-book is licensed for your personal use and enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or if it was not purchased for your use only, please visit Smashwords.com and purchase a copy for yourself. Thank you for respecting this author’s work.

  Author Photo Copyright Cliff Lawson

  1. Romance

  2. Comic Fiction

  3. Humor

  Book Design and Cover Design 2015

  E-Book by e-book-design.com.

  See what critics are saying about the novels of Readers Favorite Award Winning Barbara Oliverio:

  “Scintillating and refreshingly original....there is more to this romcom than meets the eye as Oliverio cannily entwines the joys of cooking and love with the sustenance found in the sanctuary of family.”

  Bookviral.com

  “...all the ingredients for the perfect romcom...fascinating characters who spring from the page with their energy... interesting settings that are clearly depicted for us... lots of fun, dollops of anguish, and a well thought out and executed plot.”

  Readers Favorite

  “...a wealth of fantastic and hilarious characters...”

  Novelgrounds

  “This was a good first book from the author, and to top it off we got some authentic recipes provided in the back.”

  Mrs. B’s Books

  “...just the thing to take my mind off the wet, windy, wintry weather raging outside my windows last weekend.”

  BondiBookGirl

  “Great debut. Barbara Oliverio thrills readers with a recipe of humor and a crisp storyline...I loved it, loved it.”

  Chicklitpad.com

  “Reading about the cruise made me want to take another one (it’s been 8 years). The fun, formals and frivolity of a cruise are well-portrayed in this charming book.”

  Window on the World

  “Overall, Barbara Oliverio has again delivered a fun, easy-going and thoroughly enjoyable romantic comedy; I can’t wait to see what she comes up with next!”

  “A Spoonful of Happy Endings”

  Dedication

  For all the little girls who sit on their step reading about faraway places and dreaming about going there – I was you. See, you’ll get there.

  And for Darby. You’ll be in my heart, always.

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Other Books by Barbara Oliverio

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  My overwhelming thanks go, as always to my late parents who gave me my life, my Roman Catholic faith, and my blue-collar work ethic. Thank you to my big brother John who always has been and always will be my champion and who understands that to be an Oliverio means that the truth never gets in the way of a good story. Thank you to my extended family. Thank you to all the readers of my first two books who believe in my ability as a storyteller and want to read more PG-rated books featuring characters that can be witty and current without compromising their values.

  Xie Xie (thank you) to the wonderful tour guides in Xi’an and Beijing who helped Darby and me navigate the beauty and wonder of those cities and to all of the strangers in Singapore and China who loaned bits and pieces of themselves to some of the scenes in this book. (Yes, we did sit family-style with an international mix of people to eat chili crab, but no, there was no flying sauce.) Most of the historical and geographical information in this book is accurate; my apologies for bending any minor facts to fit the story.

  Thank you to the great crews at the coffee shops and sandwich shops in the Denver area who patiently refill my iced tea cups as I sit in the back booths madly typing away on those days that I need to leave my own home office when I am writing my books.

  Thank you to the powerful team that turns my scribbles into real live books: Susan Hindman and Valentina Gyorgy for awesome editing and cover design, and the rock stars that are Polly Letofsky, Andrea Costantine and Gail Nelson. To be an independent publisher is to appreciate the intricate workings of the entire process and the necessity of a good team.

  I couldn’t do what I do without occasionally bending the ear of some great people as I bounce title, plot and other ideas: Thank you Nancy, Krista , Maryanne, Christine, Margaret and other folks that I may have buttonholed all along the way. (Carolyn Clingman and your Book Club – you rock!)

  Finally, the lion’s share of acknowledgement must go to my favorite traveling companion, the man who understands that binge watching the Hallmark Channel is research, the man who doesn’t bat an eye when I come home smelling like men’s cologne from the department store because I’m trying to define a character, the man who understands that I’m not talking to myself but that I’m testing dialogue out loud, the man who patiently packs and unpacks book materials into my car and assists at my table at my book events — my own leading man, Darby.

  Chapter One

  “More champagne?”

  “Just leave the bottle.”

  The well-trained waiter barely hesitated as he unwrapped the white linen from the bottle of bubbly and set it on the impeccable tablecloth in front of me, but I did detect a slight smirk as he turned to walk toward the bar to retrieve another bottle and continue his journey around the room.

  The four pairs of eyes surrounding my table were not as careful in concealing their judgment.

  “What?” I challenged as I refilled my flute.

  “Nothing,” said one of my tablemates, Elizabeth, the nonconfrontational
type who couldn’t even be drawn into a discussion earlier of whether the vinaigrette or the honey mustard was the better choice for dressing. She quickly turned to her husband. “John, I see Wallace over there. Shall we go say hello?”

  They were up and moving across the floor, swallowed in the group of laughing wedding guests as the dance band played yet another reception favorite.

  “And you two?” I faced my brother and sister-in-law. “Shouldn’t you be sliding electrically or something?”

  “Annalise,” Nicky began, in that older brother tone, which was ironic considering I was the older by a staggering two years.

  “Don’t start with me,” I waved him off. “Even you have to admit this is the cherry on the cake’s icing. Coming to this wedding of this couple, only to hear that this bride has just been offered a position with that company. It’s just too much, Nicky!”

  The echoes of this perfect storm of chaos were still abuzz in my ears.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” the adoring groom had begun moments before as he pulled his beloved to the microphone after the traditional toasts, champagne flutes in hand. He looked dashing in his mourning coat. Tails, of course. She in a creamy, off-the-shoulder, intricately embroidered gown that called to mind Jackie Onassis or Princess Kate.

  “Ladies and gentleman,” he had repeated. “I am so proud to call this beautiful woman my wife. But this amazing lady continues to astound me. During the planning of this wedding, she managed to not only interview for but land a job with one of the top marketing firms in Denver. Please raise your glasses to the youngest director of marketing at the BCB agency!”

  The room burst into applause.

  Except for me. The only other person who had been a candidate for that marketing position.

  “We didn’t know he’d make that announcement, sweetie,” said Nicky’s wife, Amanda, as she pulled my thoughts back to the moment. “Look, no one else knows that she beat you out for the job.”

  “Oh, I’m sure it will get around,” I said and clumsily leaned my chin onto my fist with my elbow propped on the table. I was not one to drink much, so my one glass of champagne had quickly gone to my head.

  “Let’s just take that before you hurt yourself,” Nicky said as he gently pulled the champagne bottle from my hand and replaced it with a wedding cookie.

  “What’s this?” I frowned.

  “You know that Nonni would tell you to eat something and then everything will be better.”

  I couldn’t help but giggle. Our late grandmother had been old-school Italian and believed that any problem could be solved with a heaping plate of pasta. My good mood passed quickly, though.

  “Nicky—” I began, but just then our parents returned from their circuit of table visits and began chattering.

  “Well, isn’t this a nice wedding!” my mother said as she sat importantly. “The ceremony was beautiful, even if it is in a mountain resort hotel instead of a church.”

  “Marie,” said my father as he dabbed perspiration from his brow, “the bride’s people are not our people. You know that if it had been Annalise’s wedding—”

  He stopped, glancing at me, realizing his error.

  “What, Pop? Another reminder that I’m still single?”

  “No, darling, it’s not that ...” He looked to my mother for assistance.

  “Annalise ...” My mother’s tone was practical rather than soothing. “You know your father was just pointing out a simple fact and not trying to hurt your feelings. If and when it’s your turn, it will be your turn and that’s that.”

  If? Thanks for the vote of confidence, Ma.

  “Well. I guess there has to be at least one single girl to try to catch the bouquet,” I quipped.

  “Speaking of which, I think they’re getting ready to do that now,” Amanda said. “The wedding planner is gathering people together. Gosh, she’s pretty enough to be a model.”

  I glanced over at the wedding planner, who managed to look stunning in her professional navy suit with her sleek blond hair caught up in a smart chignon.

  “Her husband manages this resort,” Nicky said, pointing to the tall man with tousled brown hair and sapphire eyes who was consulting with the captain of the dining room crew.

  “I hear they met when she managed an event on a cruise ship where he was the director,” Ma said.

  Great, I thought, even the event planner at this wedding managed to have a fairy-tale romance!

  “I’m not going out there to try to catch that particular bouquet,” I crossed my arms and pouted, my own hazel eyes blazing.

  “Gypsy.” My father put his arms around my shoulders and gathered me to him, using the pet name that only he was allowed to use. “My sweet Gypsy. If you don’t want to, you don’t have to. It’s not important.”

  I looked into his hazel eyes that mirrored mine and decided, what the heck, it’s just a silly wedding custom. Sliding back my chair, I smoothed down my olive green lace cocktail dress to join the other laughing singletons.

  “One ... two ... three!” the bride laughed and hiked the bouquet over her shoulder. As if it were aimed, it passed directly over my outstretched hands to the woman behind me who had barely even reached for it.

  Yep. I should have known that would happen. Even though she hadn’t planned it, this woman had unwittingly taken everything I wanted. Including my boyfriend, whom she had lured, snatched away, and, just today, married.

  Chapter Two

  “Annalise, are you up here?”

  The voice of my best friend, Rory, echoed as she climbed the stairs to search for me in my childhood bedroom at my parents’ house.

  “Where else would I go?”

  For days following the wedding, I had made very few forays any further than my room. My mother had managed to get me cleaned up enough to attend Sunday Mass—no one stays home from Mass in Maria Fontana’s house—but otherwise I had a very limited circuit within the house that included my bedroom, the bathroom, and the kitchen for supplies of comfort food. My very traditional mother also insisted that I eat dinner with the family every night, but the minute I could escape, I slumped back upstairs, my bunny slippers making a sad flapping noise with every step.

  Rory bounced into the room, then immediately halted when she saw me. The scene was obviously a lot worse than what she expected.

  “Annalise?” Her tone was hushed, as if she had entered a hospital room.

  “Huh?” I answered without looking at her, one of my arms wrapped around a tub of Rocky Road ice cream while I used a Double Stuf Oreo as a very effective and edible scoop. Cookie crumbs decorated my cheeks, and I’m pretty sure there were even some embedded deep in my hair, which at that moment did not shine with its usual natural deep chestnut glow. My outfit for the day (week?) consisted of a pair of Nicky’s old Batman pajama bottoms, decidedly saggy at the behind, topped with a tattered hooded sorority sweatshirt generally reserved for yard work or house painting.

  When she didn’t respond, I looked up and saw her face, which was aghast at my appearance.

  “So, did my mother summon you from New York to try to talk some sense into me?” I asked, crunching extra loudly. After college graduation, Rory pursued her journalism studies with a fellowship at Columbia University in Manhattan, and followed that with working at the trendy It’s Fashion! magazine where she was currently an associate editor. At the same time, I had landed an opportunity in the marketing department of a multinational corporation whose US headquarters happened to be in the Mile High City. We managed to keep our childhood friendship alive and shared our experiences—large and small—via phone, text, Skype, and as many visits across the country as possible.

  Rory hesitated but opted for the honest approach.

  “She did call me, but honestly, you’ve been so out of touch recently that her call came only about a split second after I had already booked a flight home.”

  Moving the detritus from the foot of my bed, she plopped down cross-legged and waited. Many y
ears of friendship had taught her that if she pushed, I would just crawl into an uncommunicative shell, so it was just best to wait for me to speak.

  I put my ice cream tub on my nightstand, wiped my hands on my sweatshirt, leaned back, and burst into tears. Rory jumped over to my side and hugged me.

  She let me cry until my tears slowed, then said finally, “All right now, use your words.”

  “I ... he ... she ...” I began helplessly.

  Rory rocked me and said, “Well. That’s a start, I guess. Pronouns are always good.”

  I sniffed loudly.

  “C’mon, Annalise, let’s have it.” Rory searched in vain for a tissue box on my nightstand and finally leaned over to find the roll of toilet paper that I had been using to mop up tears for the past several days. I pulled off a length and blew my nose.

  “Well, you know how I was totally over the fact that Dylan and I broke up and that he was with Martie Williamson?”

  She was silent.

  “What?” I dared her to contradict me.

  “Um. So you’re finally admitting you are over that?”

  “Didn’t I have to be, being as how they were ... oh, I don’t know ... GETTING MARRIED?”

  She rolled her eyes.

  “Well ... Annalise, sure, you might have been able to tell other people that, but you forget that I’ve known you since we were in kindergarten in Sister Frances’s class. I’ve seen you more than once blink those big eyes innocently while you were lying your behind off. You weren’t over him as quickly as you told people.”

  I blew my nose and unsuccessfully began, “Well ...”

  “Well, nothing. Come on, admit it. You two may have broken up quite a while ago, but when she moved here three months later and you found out that they were dating, you weren’t exactly calm about it.”