“P asquale, you’ve done well,” Didi said as I materialized in front of her desk.
“Babe, call me Ray.” No one had lived who’d called me by my given name when I’d been on earth, but Didi was different.
I didn’t like the body-disappearing thing, but it beat the alternative, which was me going to hell. I’d been a capo with the mob until I was betrayed by one of my lieutenants and killed. My dying prayer for forgiveness had brought me here to Didi—one of God’s seraphim, some sort of high angel.
The deal I’d cut was to unite in love as many couples as enemies I’d murdered in hate. I was going to be doing this gig for a long time. Madon’, some days it wasn’t half-bad, but Didi had a way of getting on my nerves and under my skin.
And when she was giving me a compliment I certainly didn’t trust her. She’d sent me to earth in a woman’s body one time. Not a hot-looking chick, either, but some old broad.
“There was a reason I was called Il Re on earth,” I said to her. Il re is Italian for “the king.” Yeah, I had the ego and the attitude to carry that off. Didi was always reminding me there was only one king up here, but after successfully uniting three couples, I’d decided to call myself the king of hearts.
“And that reason was…?”
“Don’t be smart, babe. You know it’s because I’m good at what I do.”
“What’d I tell you about calling me babe?”
“Did I call you that? Madon’, I’m sorry, Didi. I know you don’t like it.” I enjoyed giving her a hard time. She looked as if she’d been working in this office too long. Today she was wearing another one of her ugly suits. This one was the color of cooked salmon.
“What’s up next?” I asked.
A large pile of colored file folders appeared on her desk next to the jar of Baci chocolates.
“Pick one,” she said.
So far I’d pulled from the top and the middle of the pile. I reached for a blue folder about three-quarters of the way down and Didi took it from me. The remaining pile disappeared.
“So where am I going this time?” I asked. What I really wanted to know was if I’d be a man. But asking her that made me feel like a babbeo.
She handed me the folder. The location was an island in the Caribbean. Life was looking up. And this couple, Adam Powell and Jayne Montrose, already worked together.
“No problem.”
“Don’t start thinking about your tan yet, Pasquale. This one is different,” Didi said.
Hell, they all were. Didi had yet to give me one assignment that was easy. Matchmaking—Holy Mary!—was hard work.
“How?”
She smiled. My gut tightened. I didn’t trust her when she was acting all happy.
“I’ll be accompanying you this time.”
“Madon’, is this some sort of punishment?”
“No, babe, it’s your reward.”
She disappeared before I could respond. Freakin’ matchmaker to the lovelorn was one thing. Partnered up with a prissy, bossy angel? Oh, merda, this was going to be one hell of an assignment.