The Mistletoe Wedding

by Izabella Brooks

  Yeah. I guess that’s my cue. I think fast. The five-star joint where we had dinner the night before is probably open. They had big bathrooms. Maybe someone can bribe them into letting us use them to clean up.

  “Boys,” I bark as I push past Cozzie and Arla. “Let’s go. You’re not going to bother explaining. I don’t want to hear it. None of us do. What you are going to do is get yourself cleaned the fuck up in the bathrooms in that place over there.” I point at the restaurant. “I mean clean. Suits straightened. Blood wiped away. You’re going come out of there with your happiest of happy faces on. You’re going to put aside whatever pissing match you got into and get your heads out of your butts.” I turn my hand to indicate a still sobbing Arla. “Look at her! This is her wedding! This is her day! She’s gorgeous. The prettiest bride ever! Look at what you’re doing to her!”

  Jake rushes at Arla, but Cozzie practically snarls at him and he stops dead.

  “Just go get cleaned up.” I’m pretty much reduced to begging now. “Please.” There. I even asked nicely. “You have ten minutes. Fix each other up and get back out here for pictures. We’ll take care of Arla.”

  Save for a bit of shuffling feet, none of them move.

  “Now!” I snap.

  Jake finally takes the lead. Karsyn follows while Trell grabs Bryn and hauls him away. Thankfully, the husband from the photo team trails after them. I hope he can straighten them out. The wife starts unpacking their gear and getting everything ready, dutifully ignoring the biggest wedding meltdown that’s likely ever happened. Or maybe not. Maybe they’ve seen just about everything. I’ll go with that.

  “Here.” I reach for the tote I brought with me.

  It has three pairs of flats for the reception, one for each of us, and all the makeup that the surprisingly adept makeup team gave us. I have to admit, they came prepared. Arla found just the right crew. They were able to do my makeup and Cozzie’s makeup without any weird, awkward foundation fiascos.

  Cozzie steps back, and while Arla dabs at her eyes with the soggy tissues, I step up. I’m not great with makeup, but in a minute flat, I have most of whatever damaged was caused by the few errant tears that Cozzie wasn’t quick enough to mop up touched right up.

  “You’re fine, sweetheart,” I soothe. “Your hair is fine. Your dress is fine. Your veil. Everything. Your makeup is as good as new.”

  “I-I don’t care about any of that,” Arla hiccups. “I care about Jake. I want to know what happened.”

  “Boys being idiotic boys, that’s what,” Cozzie chimes in. “That’s what happens when they’re practically brothers. They act like it. Lose their heads like it.”

  “Is Bryn drunk?” Arla snaps.

  “I don’t know,” Cozzie admits. “Like I said, boys being boys.” There’s something all wrong about her face, but Arla is too distressed to notice and I’m not going to comment on it and unleash holy hell. We have enough to worry about.

  My stomach does tighten though, and a ball of something gross rises up in my throat, clogging my airway. There is definitely something going on between Bryn and Cozzie and my guess is that it’s not good. All I can do is make a mental note to ask her about it at a better time, which I already know is going to be never, because how do you ask one of your best friends if her relationship is on the rocks?

  Cozzie and I step back together and quickly do a once-over of Arla, just to be sure nothing is out of place. She’s stunning, as we knew she would be. She picked out a classic dress, like something from the sixties. I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s plain white and fits her like a glove. It’s long sleeved and streamlined, cut in the back to expose most of her back, and where the cut ends at her lower back, a train of gauzy white starts. It’s not overdone, just long enough to reach the ground, and it’s hella gorgeous. For a veil, Arla chose a gauzy number that drapes from her shoulders down.

  She’s seriously a vision in the most unique dress I’ve ever seen. I’ve never even seen anything like it online. Her hair is done up in a beautiful updo and her makeup is tasteful and barely there, highlighting her natural beauty.

  Jake should have fallen flat on his face when he saw her. Well, he almost did, but that was for other reasons entirely.

  I clasp my hands at my sides and bite the inside of my cheek to keep from saying something stupid. Arla and I both turn to stare down the beach at the ocean. It’s beautiful. Calming. Tranquil. Exactly what’s needed at the moment.

  “Here they come,” Cozzie says a few minutes later. She points off in the direction of the restaurant.

  “I’m afraid to look,” Arla wails.

  “It’s okay,” Cozzie sighs. “They somehow worked magic.”

  Arla and I spin at once. She looks right at Jake, but of course my attention is drawn straight to Karsyn. Like always. Maybe Arla was right. Maybe nothing has changed. I’m still pathetic. I still look for him first in a crowded room when I know he’s going to be there. I still look for him last, wanting to savor each and every single second I can get.

  I want to hate him. I want to hang on to that resentment and bitterness because it’s the only defense I have against him, but I feel it slipping away. There’s something about a man in a tux that is completely disarming.

  Especially when that man is Karsyn. Dark. Gorgeous. Raw. Ruggedly beautiful.

  “I’m sorry,” Jake mumbles when he reaches Arla. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

  She lets out a little shuddery breath and launches herself at him. He catches her, sweeps her up, and twirls her around. When he sets her down, she’s laughing. He tilts her face and kisses her shamelessly right there in front of everyone.

  I have to look away because watching them hurts something deep inside of me that I’m not ready to think about. Unfortunately, my eyes are pulled right to Karsyn, like a magnet. He’s already studying me, his glacier gaze hot and intense, doing that seeing right through me thing. He has a cut on his cheek right below his right eye. There’s a spot of blood on his white shirt that couldn’t be scrubbed out, though it’s mostly hidden by his tie. There’s also a bruise forming along his jawline, but he tilts his head, giving me the other side, the flawless side, the side with dimples when he grins, and winks at me.

  Bastard.

  It’s not exactly warm out and the small burgundy lace bridesmaid dress I have on isn’t cutting it. There isn’t much wind, even near the ocean, thank god, but I could still use a sweater. I have to hand it to Arla. She wasn’t one of those brides that didn’t want to be outdone. She picked gorgeous dresses—scalloped lace flowers line the bust that is cut dangerously low and pretty sexy. The dresses flow in little pleats and rivers right down to the knee. She bought Cozzie and me gorgeous emerald green pumps to go with the dresses. Red and green. Christmas colors. I would have bugged Arla about it, but she rolled her eyes when she handed us the box after our hair and makeup and told us that it was Barbara’s idea.

  Of course it was. I’m starting to wonder how much of the wedding Arla actually got to plan. Not that she cares. She just wants it over with. She’s there for Jake and Jake alone. The rest of the world should take a page out of their playbook. I don’t know that I’d be so forgiving if my groom showed up to his wedding beat black and blue and bloody right before pictures. They could have at least saved that shit for after.

  “Breona? You coming?”

  I turn to Cozzie and give her a thumbs-up. I notice that she hasn’t gone to Bryn to ask what happened or to see if he’s okay. He still looks half drunk, even though I’m sure the guys rammed a few glasses of water down his throat. He wavers all over the beach and Trell, thank god, walks behind him, ready to hold him up.

  “Yeah. Just going to get a sweater out of my bag. One sec.”

  Cozzie flashes me a thumbs-up and trails after the rest of the party. I kick my pumps off and gather them up in my hand. I should have done it before. The sand is impossible to walk in. Freaking beach photographs. Probably also Barbara’s idea. I can’t wait to see her
expression when she takes in the mess that is her son and his friends. Her perfect, can do no wrong, one in a million, darling boy.

  I duck my face so no one will hear my snort of laughter. I drop my tote and dig in the top, pulling a thin black cardigan out while the waves crash in the distance. The group moves on and I know I’m going to have to run, and hopefully not get sweaty, to catch up.

  As I go to pop my shoes into the top of the tote, my phone bumps against the side of the big black bag, dislodged from my sweater. The screen flashes on and I notice a text from my mom.

  I can’t help myself. I pick it up, because the first thing I read is,

  Baby, I went into your account…

  Yeah, I still have a joint account with my parents. They can only see the checking account and I keep most of what little funds I have in my savings. They’ve always made a deposit every single month to help me with school and rent and they’ve kept doing it even though I’m working now. It’s not much, and I didn’t want to accept it at first, but I realize that they wanted to do anything they could to help me out since they never had a savings plan set up for my education.

  I swipe my thumb across the screen and click on the message. It looks like a freaking novel, but that’s just my mom for you.

  Baby, I went into your account to give you an early Christmas present. I was going to put a payment on your student loan, an extra one for next month so you wouldn’t have to, but there’s something wrong. There must be a mistake. The loan is showing a zero dollar value. You need to call the bank. I know you won’t be able to do it for a couple days since it’s the holidays, but I thought you’d want to look into it. Can’t wait to see you tomorrow night. XOXO Mom.

  That’s weird. As far as I know, sixty thousand dollars of debt doesn’t just disappear, and I’m sure the bank wouldn’t show an error like that. So what the hell is going on?

  My name filters down the beach and I glance up as I stuff my phone into the bag. The group is way too far ahead and the photographers are already lining them up for group shots. Probably trying to get the few good angles that still exist after the guys beat each other to a pulp.

  I don’t have time to worry about my student loan or anything else. I hike my bag up on my shoulder and tear off into a sprint that is probably kicking sand all up the back of my dress and maybe even into my hair.

  By the time I reach the rest of the party, they’re just about all lined up. Cozzie between Bryn and Trell, who are angled, just like I thought, to try to hide the welts and bruises on their faces. Jake and Arla together, of course. Karsyn stands to the side. Alone. Lonely.

  “Sweetheart, can you jump in there? Right next to the handsome gentleman?”

  Amy is obviously the director out of the pair. Her husband is already lining up with his camera, ready to get some candid shots. Hopefully they’re good at photo shopping out bruises and scratches.

  I set down my bag, strip off my sweater and throw it on top, and nod. I move silently, quickly, but reluctantly. When I reach Karsyn, he grins at me like he didn’t just take part in nearly fucking up a whole wedding. He extends an arm.

  “Yes, that’s great. Just tuck in there,” Amy instructs, a big smile on her face.

  Please kill me now. In what world did I think I could get through this?

  I step in like she asked, realizing too late that I don’t have my shoes on. I try to break away and go back to my tote, but Karsyn’s arm snakes around my waist. Firm. Unyielding. So warm that it nearly destroys me.

  Andrew is still setting up the shot. Amy gives us all a once-over. I turn to Karsyn, trying to keep it cool. Trying to pretend like my body isn’t running hot and cold all at once. Trying to keep the shivers tracing their way up my legs out of my spine and shoulders. I’d die for real if Karsyn felt it. If I gave anything away.

  I don’t know what makes me say it, but the idea just comes to me and I can’t keep it in once it’s there. “You wouldn’t know anything about my student loan showing up defunct when I checked my bank account, would you?”

  He blinks at me, his face a gorgeous, sensual mask. His lips are so close. So. Close. I can’t stop looking at them. They’ve always been so perfectly shaped. Studying his lips makes me think about that kiss. Correction. I haven’t stopped thinking about it. Looking at his lips makes me want to kiss him again. To taste him. To see if that kiss was just a fluke. A one off.

  Karsyn’s lips part and a slow, easy smile turns them up. He’s smirking at me. His cheek dimples in, but for once my knees don’t go weak over it. I’m too busy, too enchanted, too enthralled, watching his lips move from this angle. I haven’t been this close to him in over a decade if you don’t count the other night, and my body is going into a state of shock that I can’t control.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  He turns his face just a little, to Andrew, who is barking out somewhat polite, a whole lot exasperated, commands while Amy scuttles around with lighting props and stuff that I don’t know anything about.

  “Please look over here,” Andrew commands. “We’ve already lost quite a bit of time and I don’t want to lose the sun on top of everything.”

  Jake groans. Arla calls out an apology. Cozzie mumbles something in the back of her throat and Bryn grunts while Trell makes a choked noise at the both of them. Karsyn doesn’t say a thing at all. He just keeps staring straight ahead, still smiling, his face angled to hide the bruise on his jaw.

  I can see it though. I can see it and I want to put my lips there and ease the pain away.

  I don’t know that he did it. I have zero proof. It’s probably just a bank error and on the twenty-seventh, when people actually go back to work, I’ll likely wake up to find it’s been fixed and I’m hella poor again. Why would Karsyn have anything to do with it anyway? He couldn’t. I probably just asked him the most embarrassing question of my life. Now he knows that he’s one up on the scorecard between us, because even if he didn’t mess with my loan, I just asked if he did, and that’s just about the same thing.

  His hand tights around my waist and I finally turn my head to our photographers before they have a meltdown about me staring at Karsyn like he’s the damn sun. He might have been that for me once, but I’m not falling into that trap again. I’ve already learned that looking at the sun gets you nothing but burned.

  Chapter 8

  Karsyn

  I did it. I paid off her student loan. I didn’t expect her to find out so fast. Who the hell checks their bank account in the middle of a wedding? Then again, it’s Christmas and everyone is probably neurotically checking their bank account and bemoaning their terrible lack of funds after they had to buy a butt ton of gifts for people they don’t even like.

  None of that matters at the moment. Not the fact that I had someone pull a bunch of strings to get that loan paid off. Not the massive chunk it ate of the inheritance my douchewad of a father finally, out of guilt, paid me. A settlement of sorts for being such an epic piece of shit parent. Not the photographers barking orders at all of us. Not the fact that I was just involved in a brawl in the back of a limo. None of it.

  Because at the moment, I have my arm wrapped around Breona’s waist. She’s relaxed back into me, for the sake of the photos of course. She’s warm. If heaven had a smell, it would be hers. It would have her picture on the bottle. She’s gorgeous in a flowy dress that pushes her breasts up so a dark swell of cleavage is exposed, not too much, but enough to make sure my cock will likely never deflate again. The rest of the dress ensures a perma-boner too. It flows over her curves, somehow outlining her slender waist and her shapely ass and the best set of legs I’ve ever set eyes on. She’s warm, her body heat leaching through her clothes, and I’m more than happy to soak it up.

  Whoever did her hair and makeup did an amazing job. Her curls are all contained, tucked up on top her head in a pretty pile with a burgundy feather clip thing fastened into the side to match her dress. Her makeup is understated. Barely there excep
t for the mascara which makes her eyelashes look huge and a dash of red lipstick on her lips which fully emphasizes how lush and kissable they are.

  Her bottom and hip are pressed dangerously close to getting a firsthand show of exactly what my cock thinks about her outfit. I manage to keep her angled away, but my raging erection is just another reason that wearing a suit is a pain in the ass. The pants leave absolutely nothing to the imagination.

  In short, Breona is like a poem. She’s always been like a poem to me. I never wrote poetry. Just about everything else, but never that. Never because I thought I’d be laughed at or called a pussy for it, even though I probably would have. It was because I only ever wanted to write poems about her and I don’t think they’d come close to doing her justice, so I didn’t see the point.

  While Andy and Amy rattle off demands and commands, all I can think about is getting Breona alone and making her listen to me this time. I don’t know how I’m going to do that exactly but I’ll find a way.