The Wives of Frankie Ferraro Excerpt from Chapter One

If Frankie had ever seen a Botticelli, he would have thought Miranda reminded him of one. As it was, she reminded him of nothing so much as Walt Disney's Cinderella. She could have stepped out of Frankie's dreams. Her hair was yellow, soft curls escaping from the tortoiseshell clip fastened to the crown of her head. Her eyes were a brilliant blue fringed by long lashes darkened with mascara. It was the only makeup she wore. Her nose was short and straight, her mouth full. Lovely bare shoulders swelled out of the ruffles of a white dress that fell in soft flounces to her calves. The long, delicate fingers of her small hands were tipped with pale pink polish, as were the toes exposed in white sandals. Her ears were the most beautiful ears Frankie had ever seen, set close to her head, small, perfect, like seashells, he thought.
     "Looks like you're not the only one with a cousin in Provincetown," said Dan to Frankie. "A cousin by divorce and remarriage, anyway. Miranda Payson, Frankie Ferraro."
     "Hello," said Miranda, extending a hand.
     "I love you," said Frankie as he took it. She laughed, a little embarrassed, a little pleased by his open admiration. "Marry me," he said.