1. Madeline

"Madeline?" The floor manager's voice echoed up the stairs that connected the bridal salon and the dressmaking studio. "Virginia and Bella Cassano are here for their appointment. They're a few minutes early."

They sure were. And while "early" usually meant "on time" to famously prompt Madeline Wingate, today it meant…trouble. She hadn't expected the man she'd been dating to stop by for coffee and stay this long, and now he'd demand an explanation.

Sitting on the floor behind a mannequin draped in a wedding gown, Madeline leaned to the left. The move hid her face behind yards of Duchess satin, so she didn't see the dark and incredulous look she knew she was getting at that moment.

"Thank you, Cathie," she called. "I'll be right down."

Then she braced for Adam Logan's response.

"Excuse me?" He nearly choked the words out, his cup hitting the table with a thud. "Did she say—"

"I told you I had a potential client coming this morning," Madeline said as she calmly slid a satin-covered button back into a case, keeping herself still blocked from his gaze. "You said you didn't care if I had an appointment at ten. You said you wanted to stop by and enjoy watching me finish a gown and have coffee in the sunny studio. You said…"

Her voice and excuses trailed off as he stood and stepped around the folds of fabric to gaze down at her.

"And you said you would tell me if you had any contact with Ginny Cassano or her daughter."

"Shhh." Putting a finger to her lips, she stood so he didn't loom over her, although he was six-foot-two, so even Madeline had to look up at him. "Sound travels down to the salon. And I said I'd tell you if I got the job to make Bella's wedding gown. I haven't yet—that's what today's meeting is about." She shrugged. "A consult, nothing more."

He stared at her, a million questions in his dark eyes, but they both knew he had the answers already.

"You can't just decide you're going undercover to infiltrate a crime family," he said in a harsh whisper. "I told you I had to give the whole idea some thought and see if I could figure out another way—a better way—to develop a relationship with Nico Cassano."

"That was well over a month ago, Adam." And since he'd told her that the local restaurateur was on the FBI's watch list for statewide illegal activities, Madeline had grown more determined to get involved. "I can't let this opportunity fly by."

"To spy on a criminal?"

"To make a wedding dress for a wealthy client." But they both knew that wasn't all she wanted to do.

He sucked in a breath. "I'm the FBI consultant, Maddie. I'm the former agent. Infiltrating the operation and getting information about what they're doing is my job, not yours."

"Have you?" she challenged.

He closed his eyes with a grunt. "It's not easy. Up here on Amelia Island, Nico isn't running numbers, trafficking drugs, or putting the squeeze on local businesses. He saves that for Jacksonville, Tampa, and Miami."

"You also said he's laundering money through his restaurant—the one that backs up to one of my family's businesses."

"Money laundering isn't contagious, Maddie."

She didn't smile. "The proximity makes it personal. How long until he expands his nefarious activities into Fernandina Beach?" She shuddered to think of the damage someone like Nico Cassano could do to the people she loved and the business-owners she cared about. "I'm sorry, Adam, but I can't sit back knowing that we have mafia in our midst!"

"Look, I appreciate that you want to help, but Amelia Island is his safe place, and he doesn't ‘work' up here, except to clean up his cash. And what he really doesn't do is let strangers get close."

"I'm not a stranger," she reminded him. "I'm a respected local business owner, and I've known Ginny Cassano since they came here years ago and opened Cassano's Restaurant. I've told you that it would be weird if I didn't try to get the job to make her daughter's wedding gown. What better way to get close and have access?"

He threaded his fingers through his clipped salt-and-pepper hair, clearly struggling with the decision that he hadn't loved since she'd suggested it. But he couldn't argue with how smart it was.

"Maddie, if they had any inkling that you—"

"They won't." She put her hand on his arm. "All I will do—in addition to designing and sewing a stunning dress—is listen, remember, and report anything I see or hear during our meetings and fittings. Please, Adam, I want to help you."

"You don't owe me help, Maddie. You don't owe me anything." He closed his hand over hers and gripped her fingers. "If anyone owes a favor, it's me."

She shook her head and smiled. "I forgave you, as you well know."

His whole expression softened, his face transforming from stern and concerned to reflect the warmth she liked so much.

"And I'm grateful for that forgiveness every day. But I hate the idea that you might step into a viper's nest and take a risk." He lifted their joined hands to his lips, holding her gaze. "We've come so far. I don't want to lose…this."

She wasn't sure what "this" was, except…oh, so very nice. In the past month or so, they'd spent hours together, getting comfortable and familiar, falling into feelings as strong as the first time they'd met and loved each other, twenty-five years ago.

Back then, he'd been the one infiltrating a business—the company where she'd worked—and he'd used their romantic relationship to bring down her boss. But Madeline hadn't known the young man who worked at a fabric manufacturer was really an FBI agent wooing her to gain access to an embezzler.

When he disappeared without an explanation or goodbye, it hadn't just broken her heart. Adam's betrayal wrecked her faith in men and changed her life. She'd been pregnant at twenty-four, but he didn't know that, and she'd subsequently endured a miscarriage in miserable solitude. And, thanks to the pain of that experience, she'd chosen to stay alone for the second half of her life.

Until now.

Adam had reappeared, explained exactly what had happened in their past, and genuinely apologized. Two and a half decades hadn't diminished their attraction, and within weeks, they were back on the precipice of a relationship she suspected could last a long, long time.

Maybe forever.

And, at just about fifty years old, Madeline had never dared to dream she could have…a forever.

"I won't lose this," he repeated, the storm in his eyes making her suspect he'd just taken the same trip down memory lane and come to this same place—the possibility of true love.

"We're not going to lose anything, except a dressmaking job if I don't go downstairs right now," she said, playfully tapping the cleft in his chin, because it was one of her favorite things about him—one of many.

"Maddie, I can't—"

"Let this be my test, Adam. You listen from outside the salon and decide if I have what it takes. If I get the job—and Ginny's going to be a tough sell, because I know she wants to impress people by going with a big New York designer—then we'll take it one day at a time. One meeting, one fitting, one drop of information. If it helps, great. If not, then I'll make a beautiful dress and a lot of money."

He searched her eyes, clearly uncertain and worried.

"Okay," he finally said on a sigh of resignation. "This is your test. But Maddie, they can't even slightly suspect—"

She put her fingertips on his lips. "Trust me."

He moved her fingers, lowered his head, brushed her lips with a kiss. "Then go get 'em, tiger."

Cathie wason the phone in the back office, and the salon that took up the first floor of Madeline Wingate Designs was strangely empty. When Madeline looked around, there was no sign of the two Cassano women, just the pink glow of a bridal boutique that featured glorious wedding gowns she created from nothing but her imagination and capable fingers.

Original, handmade dresses in every shade of cream, white, and blush hung on display along the walls, some on mannequins, some artfully arranged in groupings. None were wrapped in plastic or stuffed into racks, not at this exclusive boutique.

At the center of it all was the bride's stage, surrounded by velvet sofas and chairs, and flanked by mirrors angled to offer the most stunning full-length views.

Design books were scattered on end tables, all containing Madeline's own sketches. Each offered a range of styles and ideas for custom-made gowns that sold for many thousands of dollars to the most particular of brides—and, more frequently, their mothers.

"Hello? Mrs. Cassano? Bella?" she called softly. Had they left while she was hashing this out with Adam? That would be tragic and frustrating.

Suddenly, a petite woman in her late fifties stepped out from behind a ball gown display, where she'd been hidden by a cloud of tulle.

"Well, it ain't Paris," she muttered. "But it's not bad."

"Mrs. Cassano." Madeline recognized the slender brunette, who always looked wired, like she lived on coffee and high-strung nerves. Probably because she was a…mafia wife. "Thank you so much for coming in today."

"Madeline." She smoothed her short hair, attractively styled to emphasize her big brown eyes and high cheekbones.

An expert in the art of making women beautiful, Madeline recognized the fine touch of a Botox needle and some well-placed filler, but Ginny wore it—and four-carat diamond studs in her ears—quite well.

"And where is our beautiful bride-to-be?" Madeline looked around for Bella.

"She just took a call outside," Ginny explained, thumbing toward the front of the store. "You'd think selecting a wedding dress would be at the top of her priorities, but my girl is a chip off her father's block, which is why we're here and not where I want to be."

Which would be Paris, if Madeline had overheard Ginny's murmuring correctly. Of course. New York wouldn't be impressive enough for this woman.

"Let me guess," Madeline said. "Where you'd like to be is Maria Luisa Mariage, and you'd be sitting down with Elise Hameau or Margaux Tardits right now designing your daughter's dress."

Narrow shoulders sank as if Madeline had read her mind. "At least you know your competition."

"They're only my competition if you want to spend thousands on airfare, and even more for the French name sewn into a dress."

Ginny lifted one well-drawn brow as if to say yes, spending thousands on travel and labels to wow people was precisely what she wanted to do.

"She's my only daughter, my only child," she said, as if that explained throwing money away. "And, God willing, this will be her only wedding."

"I completely understand, Mrs. Cassano. But be prepared for a version of the dress you buy somewhere else to be worn by at least a dozen other brides this season. I will create a gown exclusively for your daughter, named for her, and preserved for your granddaughter to wear, should you be so blessed."

The other woman sniffed, turning to the ball gown. "I like that princess look, but if I know my daughter, she'll want something a little more…" She slid her hands over her hips. "Form-fitting to show off her exquisite figure, if you get my drift."

Madeline got it. She'd spent plenty of time combing through Bella's and Ginny's Instagram pages, carefully reviewing anything they'd "liked" in the wedding department. It was clear Bella favored deep-V tops and booty-hugging skirts, but her mother leaned toward classic and elegant.

Madeline had an idea for how to make them both happy, but she'd have to get there carefully.

"How much time do we have until the big day?" Madeline asked.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Six months, if you can believe that. We have the Eight Flags Country Club booked for September, so…"

"So, you'd never get a dress in time from Paris."

Ginny shot her a look. "You can get anything at any time if you're willing to pay for it." She dropped onto a settee and draped her arms over the back. "Show me what you have, Madeline, but don't be mad if I end up—"

"Hold everything!" The exclamation came as the front door swung open so hard, it was a miracle it didn't fly off. "We have a change in plans!"

Bella Cassano sailed into the salon, a phone in one hand, a coffee in the other. Madeline cringed at the cup, fighting the urge to remind this customer that the only drinks allowed were champagne, water, or club soda. She'd make an exception.

"What do you mean?" Ginny asked, standing and looking concerned.

"I mean we just lost three months." Bella threw back some long black hair over tanned shoulders. That "exquisite" figure was currently poured into a tank top and skin-tight jeans with more threadbare holes than actual fabric. When would that awful trend end?

A five-thousand-dollar Prada bag hung from her shoulder, sliding over a rose tattoo that completed a look that Madeline couldn't hate more if she tried.

"Three months?" Ginny shrieked. "What are you talking about?"

Bella flung herself on a chair, the coffee cup teetering perilously in her hand as she kicked up chunky platform shoes and clunked them onto the edge of the stage. "Theo just moved the date to June! That man! If I didn't love him so much, I'd kill him."

"This June?" Madeline asked, carefully keeping the happy excitement out of her voice.

Three months would seal the deal for her, because there wasn't a salon in Paris or New York or even Miami that would be able to custom-make a dress that quickly.

"Does he think I can just snap my fingers and get the country club to change dates again?" Ginny demanded, sounding disgusted.

"Of course you can, Mom." Bella tossed the bag on the chair next to her, eyeing Madeline. "So, are you a salesgirl or a seamstress?"

She responded with a smile that masked any reaction. "Hello, Bella. I'm Madeline Wingate, the designer, and please accept my most heartfelt congratulations on your upcoming nuptials."

"Thanks." She held her left hand in her right, as if the well-wishes forced her to look at the blinding solitaire on her ring finger. "I'm happy, but running out of time. I guess I have to buy off the rack?" She made a face. "If you can pull off custom in three months, you've got the job."

"Bella!" Ginny did not sound happy. "We can't decide that yet. We can't even meet with Vera Wang for two weeks."

"Who takes one year, minimum," Madeline said, sensing the power play between these two, which was quite common in this salon.

"This is ridiculous, Bella," Ginny whined. "Why does the date keep moving up?"

"You know why," she said, lifting a very meaningful brow.

"Stop," Ginny whispered, flicking a hand toward Madeline. "This woman will think you're pregnant."

"I'm not," Bella said. "But we do have…considerations. Business considerations, mostly, but—"

Madeline held up a hand. "Not to worry," she said calmly, so proud of herself for setting that tone of someone who simply couldn't care less about those considerations. "I can most assuredly custom create you a dress in three months."

Both women stared at her.

"In fact," she said, lifting one design book for Ginny, and then another for Bella, knowing the totally different sketches inside both, "I can make you two."

"Two?" Ginny almost choked.

"Lots of brides wear two, Mom," Bella said, flipping open the cover. "One for the formal stuff, another to party hard."

"In there," Madeline said, gesturing toward Ginny's book, "are the ball gown styles. Yards of fabric, massive skirts, lace, frills, and all the hand-sewn embellishments you could want."

"Ohhh." Ginny flipped the page and landed on a sketch of a dress that looked like it was made of glitter-bombed cotton candy. "This is pretty."

"Of course, we'd customize that bodice for our bride, taking the square neck to a V, which would so suit her delicate features and…" Madeline gestured toward the deep cut of Bella's tank top. "Flawless décolletage."

Ginny sighed and stared at the dress, so Madeline turned to Bella, who was drooling over a mermaid gown that left absolutely nothing to the imagination.

"And after the formal dance with your father, the cake-cutting, and the toasts…" Madeline tapped the page. "You emerge with that and let the real party begin."

Bella looked up with fire in her dark eyes. "Theo will bust right out of his pants."

Madeline managed not to roll her eyes. "I'm sure he'll be enchanted."

"You could customize these, for real?" Ginny asked. "You're not taking something already hanging around and sewing it up to fit Bella?"

"You select every piece of fabric and lace, every button, bow, and jewel, and I fit it to Bella's body and no one else's." Madeline perched on a chair across from them, sensing that she had this in the bag, but only because of the date change.

No matter. A win was a win.

Ginny flipped the book closed. "I don't know. I really want to tell people we went to Paris, Bella."

Once again, Madeline refused to react with any kind of judgment, except to remember that trip to Paris was funded by money that was laundered down the street at Cassano's. And that was wrong.

"Of course, it's your decision," Madeline said. "And you should have everything you want for your daughter's big day. Perhaps you could postpone for a year?"

Bella snorted. "Perhaps not." Bella took the book Ginny had closed and thumbed through the ball gowns. "Oh. Oh. Ohhh. These are like a fairy tale."

"You like them?" Ginny sounded surprised, proving she didn't really know her daughter after all, or the allure of being a princess bride.

"I love this giant skirt and, oh, it's so Cinderella!"

Every time, Madeline thought. Cinderella was a gift to the wedding industry.

"Oh, that's pretty," Ginny agreed.

"Yes, that's exactly what I want to walk down the aisle in and—" Bella muttered a curse and shoved her hand into that pricey bag to pull out her ringing cell, glancing at the screen. "Hang on, it's Dad."

"Now?" Ginny scoffed. "Can't he ever leave you alone?"

"Business, Mamacita. I'm his protégée, remember?"

She was? No doubt that would interest Adam.

"Hold tight." Bella stood and walked a few feet away, pressing the phone to her ear.

As much as Madeline wanted to listen to every word of the exchange, she knew she had to engage Ginny and close this deal. And not seem remotely interested in Bella's conversation.

"If you don't want to do two dresses," she said softly, "I bet we could agree on an A-line that could capture the elegance you want with a customized bodice to give Bella the femininity she wants."

"I can afford two dresses," Ginny said flatly. "What I can't afford is to hear the wedding consultant scream at me. But, fine, we'll buy two."

Madeline smiled, trying not to cock her ear to the other conversation. "I have a feeling that would go a long way to helping you two see eye to eye on this process."

Ginny nodded, and flipped the sketchbook open again to the cotton-candy cloud. "I really like this one, too. But I need to see it. I guess that's impossible with custom, huh?"

"I have a very similar dress in stock," Madeline said, standing up. "Give me one second."

As she walked past Bella, she heard, "I'll take care of it, Dad. That shipment is due and Serifino can pick it up. Jamie can't screw around anymore and not pay us back on that loan, either. We know how to get it out of him."

Madeline pretended to be focused on a dress hanging to the side, rustling the fabric so Bella never imagined she'd been overheard. But while Madeline carefully took down the dress, she committed every word to memory.

Shipment. Serifino. Jamie. Loan.

Maybe they meant nothing, but she wanted them burned into her brain.

Shipment. Serifino. Jamie. Loan.

She freed the dress and draped it over her arms, walking back to where the two women now sat side by side, poring over another book.

"Now, this isn't custom," Madeline said. "But it will give you an idea of the skirt style and possible fabric."

"I can tell you right now I want a dress exactly like that, period, no more discussion," Bella announced after one glance. "It will make my daddy cry because I look like an angel. Then I'll take something super-hot that will make my fiancé drool because I look like…not an angel. Can you really do that?"

Shipment. Serifino. Jamie. Loan.

"Yes, I can," Madeline promised her, sitting on the other velvet settee. "And I can do them both in under three months."

Bella and Ginny shared a look, and a silent decision.

When no one committed, Madeline leaned closer. "But we'd have to start this week."

Bella picked up her coffee for a gulp that Madeline prayed didn't splash as Ginny groaned and started to argue.

Bella cut her off with a raised hand as she swallowed. "Mom, Paris is overrated. Two dresses, this place, wedding in June. Let's get out of here so you can go throw money at the country club." She stood up and gave a tight smile and reached for Ginny's hand, making it clear who called the shots in this relationship. "Come on, I have to go scream at someone. We got a problem."

Madeline took the ladies to the counter to schedule the fabric and design meeting and when they left, she sank into the empty settee. On a long exhale, she blew out a breath it felt like she'd been holding since they'd arrived.

A slow golf-clap forced her to look up…right into the impossibly brown eyes of a man she adored.

"Yeah?" She sat up straight. "I get applause?"

"You were good," he said, clearly reluctant with the compliment. "We even confirmed she's Nico's protégée."

"Then I got the job?"

"Maddie." He sat next to her, looking large on the feminine settee. "These are not Wingates, you know. This family is rough around the edges and can be ruthless."

She stared at him. "Are you telling me…no?"

"I'm telling you that this might seem like fun—"

"There's nothing fun about a client like Bella Cassano," she said dryly.

"—or exciting or like something out of the movies."

"That's not why I want to do this, Adam. God knows I'm no thrill-seeker."

"Then why do you?" he asked.

"Because I care about right and wrong," she said, frustrated that he didn't see that. "Because I love this town, and my family owns darn near every business on this street, and because people's lives are wrecked by criminals like Nico Cassano."

He closed his eyes. "Yes, they are. And I don't want one of them to be yours."

"I'm just eyes and ears. And, by the way, I have some information for you."

"You do?" He inched back. "I didn't hear anything."

"Because you weren't six inches from Bella while she talked to her dad about someone named Serifino. And Jamie. And a shipment. And a loan." She sighed and studied his expression as it transformed into surprise.

"Serifino? She said the name Serifino?"

"Mean anything to you?"

His jaw loosened. "One of the agents investigating the Cassanos mentioned the family had brought in a new guy and they were trying to get to him."

So Serifino was good information. "Then did I pass my test?"

"With flying colors," he whispered, taking her hand. "Welcome to the dark side, Madeline Wingate. But you will do nothing until we meet with the FBI for clearance."

She couldn't resist a smug smile, which he wiped away with one kiss.