“I would die for a ring like that. Philip must be loaded,” Mary Beth gushed as she placed napkins with the name of the bride and groom onto a long cloth-covered table already laden with hors d’oeuvres and empty champagne glasses. A silver fountain was flowing with sparkling wine, the pianist was warming up and the guests, arriving from the church, filtered among the folding chairs in the huge tent that was the center of the reception. Under its own separate awning stood a round table crowned with the tiered wedding cake; to the right was another table laden with gifts. Near the entrance to the main tent an ice sculpture of two entwined hearts was starting to drip. “So what’s he worth? Do you know?” Mary Beth asked.

Tiffany only smiled. The truth of the matter was that she didn’t know and really didn’t care. Money wasn’t her reason for planning to marry Philip.

Mary Beth, ever the gossip, pushed a little further. “The way I hear it, Philip’s in line to inherit all of this.” She gestured widely, her fluttering fingers encompassing the acres of vineyards, stately old brick manor, the winery buildings and the natural amphitheater tucked into the hills where the reception was being held. Vast and well-kept, the Santini winery was one of the most well-known in the region, but Tiffany wasn’t interested in the profit-and-loss statements of the company. Philip’s potential inheritance wasn’t on the list of reasons she’d fallen in love with him.

“You know,” Mary Beth confided in a hushed whisper, “there are two brothers, but Philip’s the good one. The other—” She rolled her eyes. “Big, big trouble. Always has his father in knots or court or worse.”

“Is that right?” Tiffany wasn’t interested.

Mary Beth nodded, her head bobbing rapidly. “Good-looking as all get-out and just plain bad news. Always in trouble with the cops. My mom says that J.D. Santini is all piss, vinegar and bad attitude.”

“Sounds like a real winner.” Tiffany hadn’t heard much about him, didn’t really care. All she knew was that Philip’s brother was quite a bit younger than he and had no interest in the family business. Whenever she’d asked about him, Philip had just shaken his head and sighed. “James is just James. I can’t explain him. Wouldn’t want to try.” Truth to tell, Tiffany wasn’t all that interested in the guy.

She lighted the final candle beneath a silver chafing dish and nearly burned her fingers on the match.

“Are you and Philip gonna have a spread like this?” Mary Beth asked, clearly awed.

“No.” Tiffany shook her head. “He was married before, so we agreed that we’d just have a private ceremony.”

“Bummer. You should at least have a gown and bridesmaids and—Oh, look, here’s the limo.”