'Til Death Do Us Part

By Eliza Watson

FROM USA TODAY BESTSELLING AUTHOR ELIZA WATSON!

A Reviewer Top Pick, Night Owl Romance! "There is definitely not a dull moment between the pages of 'Til Death Do Us Part."

Six months ago, Cassidy Baldwin was among Milwaukee's leading wedding planners, until she became the scapegoat for a corporate scandal. Now the only job she can land is organizing over-the-top themed funerals for her best friend's family business. When the city's most affluent and eccentric philanthropist dies, Cassidy is hired to fulfill the woman's deathbed wish: find a wife for her playboy nephew, Ryan Mitchell.

Ryan has always avoided the spotlight, and he's not thrilled about the media attention spawned by this final decree. However, if he doesn't marry within the year, his aunt's quirky staff will lose their home and livelihoods. Ryan plans to have Cassidy find him a temporary wife, so he can save the estate and his pseudo family. She's determined to find him a soul mate, since marrying off the city's most eligible bachelor would enable Cassidy to launch a new matchmaking career and rebuild her reputation.

After spending time with Ryan, Cassidy believes he isn't the arrogant and insensitive playboy the media makes him out to be. Until she discovers he plans to divorce his perfect match, which might involve Cassidy in yet another scandal! If Ryan is capable of protecting and loving his aunt's staff, will he one day be able to open his heart and marry for love?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Eliza Watson
• Release date: Jul 21, 2022
• ISBN: 9781950786916

Book preview

One

"R emember how Artie used to belch out the National Anthem? said a guy in a Green Bay Packers jersey, standing at the front of the chapel in Thompson’s Funeral Home. He slammed his beer, then proceeded to pay musical" tribute to his recently deceased buddy.

Several men joined in, slapping their foam Cheeseheads or Packers caps against their chests out of respect for Artie Gardner. Although they held nonalcoholic beer cans—Thompson’s forbade alcohol consumption due to liability issues—the contents had undoubtedly been replaced with real beer.

And, unfortunately, if Cassidy Baldwin didn’t turn a blind eye, she’d have to turn away 25 percent of their business.

Planning themed funerals was going to be the death of her. Six months ago, she’d been one of Milwaukee’s premier wedding planners. Now, she was one beer-guzzling, football-themed funeral away from taking a swan dive off the Hoan Bridge.

The tribute ended and the men raised their cans, toasting the deceased as the Packers kicked off against the Seattle Seahawks on the large-screen TV. Go Pack, they roared, plopping down on the recliners and couches, which temporarily replaced the chapel’s folding chairs.

The women congregated around the buffet at the back, removing lids from salad containers and dumping chips into bowls. A woman walked in carrying a large platter. The stench of greasy bratwursts overpowered the scent of the crisp fall day drifting through the window of the Victorian house, now home to the funeral parlor.

Kenny, the funeral director, materialized at Cassidy’s side. He brushed a hand down his Packers tie, his shifty brown eyes twinkling with pride. One of my best makeup jobs ever, he said, referring to the green-and-gold goop on the deceased’s face. Wearing a wide grin, Kenny slithered off.

He was slimier than the gel he used to slick back his hair. If he weren’t married to her friend Lucy, and also her de facto boss and landlord—she temporarily lived with them above the funeral home—she’d tell him so.

The scent of patchouli replaced the stench of beer when Lucy strolled over. She wore a red-and-white-striped dress with a bright blue scarf tied around her neck. The nautical hues—best for the career zone—were part of her plan to feng shui her new business, An Herb a Day Café, to success. Lucy removed her red eyeglasses and perched them atop her blonde bob.

Cassidy glanced over at the men singing Beer Barrel Polka. And I thought getting fired for something I didn’t even do was the low point of my life. One more beer-guzzling funeral and I’m seriously hurling myself off a cliff.

I thought it was the Hoan Bridge?

The cliff is closer, just across the street.

Please wait until after Aggie Cornwell’s funeral.

What? Aggie Cornwell died? The heiress to the country’s fourth-largest brewery was a Milwaukee icon.

Just got a call. She fell out of a tree rescuing a cat. Died instantly.

How ironic. Aggie Cornwell donated loads of money to the Animal Rescue Squad. Her mansion’s guesthouse was a foster home for dozens of cats.

Her lawyer attended the Morris funeral here last month and was totally impressed. When I told him you were actually a wedding planner by trade, that cinched the deal.

Why? Aggie Cornwell wanted to get married at her funeral? Cassidy laughed faintly, but Lucy didn’t.

Seemed she’d planned her wedding down to the last detail, yet she never married. Guess her funeral is her last opportunity to at least hold the reception. And the perfect chance for you to show your creative planning skills to the city’s elite and get back into the wedding industry. Lucy rattled off ideas for the funeral/wedding. What do you think?

I could use a beer.

Two

Two weeks later, beneath a large, white tent on Aggie Cornwell’s sprawling estate, a black cat missing its tail and an orange tabby with a good chunk out of one ear batted at a stuffed felt mouse perched atop a metal spring.

Lucy studied the cat toy from behind a pair of white sunglasses. Are Aggie’s remains inside the mouse?

God, no, they’re in the base, Cassidy said. Bad enough she was encased in the bronze base with bright-colored fish painted on it. Yet if being in the mouse had been her request, I’d have honored it. I can’t believe she wanted to spend eternity in a cat toy.

Not like they’re using her remains for kitty litter. She wanted to be close to her cats. That’s so sweet. A guy once had his wife’s remains infused in a hand-blown glass vase. He keeps it on the dining room table filled with daisies. Her favorite flower. The corners of Lucy’s mouth twitched, and her eyes misted over. She plucked a tissue from the breast pocket of her red-and-white polka-dotted dress. How romantic.

Lucy sometimes had a strange idea about romance.

Her friend sniffled, discreetly gesturing toward the mayor’s wife chatting with a group of ladies. You know her daughters are in college. Could be getting married before long. Just think of all the prospective wedding clients here.

Too bad Aggie didn’t give me more creative liberty in planning her wedding slash funeral. I could have done wonders with the unlimited budget.

Yeah, but it reflects her personality, which is what people are going to remember. The pigs in a blanket are a hit.

Cassidy nodded faintly. I better go check on the food.

She headed toward the buffet stations, passing by a pictorial montage of Aggie Cornwell’s life covering a large board. Seemed she’d been quite active even in her later years, traveling the world with numerous lovers. She’d done a mule trek through the Himalayas, hang glided over Victoria Falls in Zimbabwe, and scuba dived shipwrecks in the Caribbean. Then she lost her life falling from a tree in her own backyard.

The funeral wasn’t merely a celebration of Aggie Cornwell’s life but of her donating a large sum of money and the mansion’s guesthouse to the Animal Rescue Squad. The five hundred-plus guests were encouraged to bring their pets. Pets and rescued animals had to be on leashes, and dogs were restricted to the pool area, away from the cats. However, Aggie’s own three cats were taking full advantage of their freedom.

A gray Persian lapped up the Cornwell beer flowing down a fountain of crystal champagne glasses. A waiter stood guard next to a buffet where the scent of brats and beer-battered cheese curds wafted from the chafing dishes. Given a choice, Cassidy would have highlighted Aggie’s travels with foods like jerk Caribbean chicken and Nepalese curry dumplings.

Frustrated, she shooed the cat off the fountain. Although the waiters weren’t serving beer from the fountain, she didn’t need to contend with a bunch of drunken felines. Aggie’s staff was drunk enough. Like Fiona, the cook.

The short, plump woman wearing a black velvet dress and black lace veil pushed herself up off a chair. Teetering on her heels, she raised a shiny silver flask high in the air. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, a funeral without whiskey is a bloody bust, she said in a thick Irish accent. She dropped down, missing the chair and landing on the ground with a thud.

Cassidy rushed over and crouched next to her. The woman’s wide eyes and bright red lips were visible behind the lace veil. Her breath was so potent it made Cassidy’s eyes water.

Are you all right? Cassidy asked.

Who took me chair? the woman demanded.

Aggie’s nephew, Ryan Mitchell, materialized out of nowhere and knelt down on the other side of the woman. Fiona, why don’t we go for a walk? he said in a calm, soothing voice.

Cassidy hadn’t yet met Ryan. Her main contact while planning the funeral was his aunt’s lawyer, and while he’d been presenting his eulogy, she’d been dealing with unruly animals. Last year, Milwaukee Beat magazine named Ryan the city’s most eligible bachelor. From the photos plastering the pages of local magazines—in which he was rarely seen with the same woman twice—it appeared he worked hard at maintaining his bachelor status. Photos might capture his blue eyes and silky dark hair, but not the charisma he exuded.

Fiona attempted to suck another drop from the flask. Outta me whiskey, I am. What sort of funeral runs out of whiskey? Ya better have plenty at me funeral, or I won’t be going.

There’ll be plenty, Ryan said. I promise.

Ryan gave Fiona’s shoulder a compassionate squeeze and smiled faintly at Cassidy. A dimple creased his cheek, giving his sexy smile an innocent boyish charm. The type of smile that made a woman want to jump into bed with him while giving her hope he’d still be around come morning. Rather deceiving. From the number of women he dated, it was unlikely he watched a sunrise with any of them. Yet Cassidy went warm all over.

Together, with a bit of effort, they heaved Fiona off the ground. They each looped an arm through the woman’s, helping her maintain her balance as best they could.

Ryan glanced over at Cassidy. I better get her inside.

She nodded. I’ll help.

Hate to drink alone, I do. Fiona slapped the empty flask against Cassidy’s chest.

She took an imaginary drink.

Fiona snatched the flask from her hand and brought it to her mouth. She let out an annoyed grunt. Ya drank all me whiskey.

I’m…sorry.

Ryan shrugged, shaking his head good-naturedly. Let’s go get you some more whiskey, he told Fiona.

They guided the woman out of the tent and across the lawn, toward the massive stone mansion. She began singing a lively tune. Cassidy struggled to keep a solid grip on Fiona’s arm as she attempted to do a jig.

They started out for the graveyard, all holy and sublime, but found out when they got there, they’d left the corpse behind…

Cassidy exchanged amused glances with Ryan. This was one of the more bizarre funerals she’d planned, but she’d take it over one with beer-belching guys any day.

They approached the terrace where a crowd of people were watching Charlie, a short, spindly man in a black tux, belt out A Six Pack to Go. His chauffeur’s cap rested on his ears, which stuck out from his balding head. He grinned wide at Ryan, his gray eyes twinkling. He was another one of Aggie’s staff. Humphrey Bogart, or rather an actor hired to play the part of one of Aggie’s prospective grooms, joined the man in singing. Bogie, with his white dinner jacket and refined demeanor, looked like a pompous snob alongside the chauffeur, whose enthusiasm was contagious and had everyone singing along. Charlotte, the housekeeper, was dancing the Charleston, dressed in a champagne-colored flapper dress with a matching sequined headband. In her early sixties, Charlotte’s short, black hair had curlicues framing her face. Her blue eyes were big and round despite coats of black mascara weighing down the lashes. Red lipstick was haphazardly smeared across her pouty lips.

Fiona about yanked Cassidy’s arm out of its socket when she tried to detour over to the microphone, singing at the top of her lungs. They steered her past the crowd and managed to walk her up the terrace steps to a set of French doors.

Ryan smiled appreciatively at Cassidy. I can take her from here. Thanks for your help.

Not a problem.

Ryan and Fiona disappeared inside, and she closed the door behind them.

Guess she shouldn’t have been so quick to judge Ryan Mitchell based solely on his playboy reputation. He seemed like a caring man.

After checking the food—in case there’d been a run on chicken wings—she headed over to the pool to make sure the lifeguard wasn’t texting again rather than watching over the dogs. On her return to the tent, she noticed Ryan standing beneath the large oak from which his aunt Aggie had fallen to her death. He peered up into the lush canopy of autumn-colored leaves. Great. Another cat up a tree.

She squinted back the sunlight, gazing up. Where is it?

Ryan spun around, a startled expression on his face.

Sorry, she said, stepping back. Didn’t mean to sneak up on you.

His gaze remained fixed on hers, his expression slowly relaxing. Guess I’m a little on edge.

Thought you might need some help getting a cat down. We worked so well together a few minutes ago.

His mouth slowly curled into a smile. Yes, we did.

She forced her gaze from his gorgeous blue eyes and glanced back up in the tree. I don’t see it.

I was just admiring the memorial someone carved. My aunt would have gotten a kick out of it. He gestured toward the bark.

Last Fall—No More Alcohol

At least she died doing what she loved. He scanned the sprawling lawn filled with towering oaks, a distant look in his eyes. I used to climb these trees as a kid. Had a fort in one over there.

Everyone knew he’d come to live with his aunt at a young age, but Cassidy couldn’t recall ever having heard what happened to his parents.

Must have been a great place to grow up.

Ryan nodded. The best. He peered over at the swimming pool shaped like a beer bottle where a bulldog cannonballed a German shepherd. This is how she’d have wanted it. He glanced over at her. You did a great job with the funeral. Been doing this a while?

No, actually I’m a…was a wedding planner. Only been doing funerals a few months.

He arched an intrigued brow. Wedding planner?

Here it comes. The jokes guys always made. If she couldn’t marry ’em, she might as well bury ’em.

I took this job to help my friends expand their funeral business. I saw it as a challenge.

Yeah, right. Her old company had been involved in a scandal and used her as the scapegoat. The owner’s daughter had substituted designer wedding dresses with knockoffs and pocketed the difference. Cassidy had unknowingly purchased several dresses for clients, making it even easier to be framed. After stealing many of Cassidy’s creative ideas, the company had the nerve to accuse her of stealing money. She hadn’t had any evidence, or funds, to prove her innocence. Even though the scandal had stayed out of the media, local wedding planning companies heard the rumors and wouldn’t touch her. The only event planning job she could get was themed funerals.

Ryan gave her a curious look. Yes, well, I’m actually in need of a wedding planner.

Milwaukee’s most eligible bachelor was off the market? Strange, she hadn’t read about his engagement. Why hadn’t he hired her old company? All the rich, prominent citizens used To Have and To Hold.

When are you getting married?

Soon.

You haven’t set a date?

Nope, the sooner the better.

How refreshing. A man who loved a woman so much he couldn’t wait to spend the rest of his life with her. After all the women he’d dated, he’d finally found the one.

Cassidy smiled. You better set a date soon or all the best venues and caterers will be booked.

After I find a fiancée, I’ll nail down the details.

Find a fiancée? Just have the sudden urge to marry?

My aunt wanted me to.

That’s sweet you want to fulfill your aunt’s dying wish, but she was obviously a hopeless romantic. She wouldn’t have wanted you to marry someone just to be married.

Guess she wanted me to marry for love and money, since I won’t receive my inheritance until I tie the knot.

Cassidy did a mental eye roll. He was at his aunt’s funeral, scheming to get his inheritance. As if he even needed it. He was supposedly some sort of financial guru, and his black designer suit probably cost more than she made in a month.

She plastered on a perky smile. I’m sure you won’t have a problem finding a wife.

Actually, the will stipulates that I hire a matchmaker and my aunt’s staff approves my fiancée. Aggie never liked my taste in women.

The women he dated looked like they’d just walked off a Paris runway or out of a Beverly Hills plastic surgeon’s office.

It’s none of my business, but why not take your aunt’s wish seriously? You just might get lucky and fall in love. Getting lucky on a regular basis was undoubtedly why he preferred being a bachelor.

He held up his hands in defense. Hey, even if we only stay married at least a year as the will stipulates, the woman is getting a helluva deal. I get my inheritance, and she gets a half-million bucks. And I’m really a millionaire, not misleading her like that TV show.

So you plan to divorce after a year?

He shrugged. There’s a fifty percent chance it would happen anyway. It’s a reality. You’re a wedding planner. You only see people’s fantasies.

Why did everyone assume wedding planners were sappy, delusional romantics?

So, do you want to find me a fiancée?

I’m a wedding planner, not a matchmaker.

Find me a bride and you can plan the wedding. Aggie’s lawyer was quite impressed with your credentials. I trust his judgment. And you did a great job with the funeral. I’ll give you an extra twenty-five grand for playing matchmaker.

Her heart raced. She could hire a lawyer to prove her boss had been crooked, clear her reputation within the industry, start her own wedding planning company…

Make it thirty-five if I’m engaged within a month.

Holy crap! That would definitely clear her name!

If you’re not interested, I’m sure I can find a wedding planning company happy to provide the extra service.

Her old company, no doubt. She would almost do it for free just to see the look on her former boss’s face when he found out Cassidy landed the wedding of the decade. But she needed funds to start her own planning company.

Fifty grand if I find her within twenty-one days, plus my planning fee.

He arched a brow. Kind of steep.

Steep? You’re willing to give some woman a half mil to stick with you a year. And by the time you hire another company and they get started, you’ll have lost days, maybe weeks. I can start now. I’m discreet, reliable—

You’re hired. And I’ll give you a ten-grand advance.

She clamped down on her lower lip to keep from squealing with delight. She would make fifty thousand dollars in three weeks and reveal her old boss as a lying backstabber!

I want to get married within a month after the engagement.

December. Ideas for a holiday wedding flooded her mind.

I’ll need more money.

His gaze narrowed. More than fifty grand?

No, money for deposits. The venue, caterer, all that. If everything isn’t already booked for holiday parties. I need to—

Fine. Use the same venue for the ceremony and reception. I want it fast and easy. My lawyer can iron out the financial details with you.

A security guard at the front gate radioed through on her earpiece, advising her of a fur-bearing woman trying to scale the front gate, demanding entrance. Forget the fact that invitations explicitly stated no fur allowed—it was seventy degrees out. Much too warm for a mink. But it wasn’t about being practical, it was about appearance. How could a woman think she looked good when she was sweating off all her makeup and on the verge of heatstroke?

She responded into the tiny microphone attached to the mandarin collar of her green satin embroidered dress. "If she refuses to leave, tell her she can speak to the police commissioner. He’s in the tent enjoying a highball with