Going Down On One Knee (A Mile High Matched Novel Book 1)

by Christina Hovland

  “Coming, dear.” Mrs. Winthrop stood and followed Velma.

  He finished placing the chocolate in his hand, glanced up, and…shit-fucking-son-of-a-bitch. The woman had sat on one of the chocolates. And by the look of how her ass was covered, apparently the chocolates had melted. Aspen thought the truffles would withstand the heat. She was wrong.

  His heart stopped. Just quit. Boom. No more beating.

  When the lighting at a show wasn’t just right, his drummer could toss a tantrum better than anyone he’d ever known. When the guitar pick wasn’t the right shade of blue, his bass player had a tendency to lose his mind. Put the whole band together? The energy that made their music top the charts was the same energy that made their fights turn into full-on brawls. But he had a feeling the fit Mrs. Winthrop was about to throw would top anything his boys could’ve imagined.

  And she was headed for Velma.

  He grabbed the dog’s leash and hightailed it to the door. Buttercup kept up beside him.

  Then the scream. The scream that made his blood clot on impact. He yanked open the door and saw that Velma had spilled aspirin all over the Berber carpet tiles in the foyer.

  If fury had a color, it would’ve been the shade of Mrs. Winthrop’s face in that moment—mottled red with splotches of pink, white, and even orange. “My dress.”

  Little white pills crunched under his boots. “Mrs. Winthrop, it’s gonna be fine. We can fix this.”

  How? He had no idea. Nothing would fix this.

  The woman’s mouth opened and closed like one of the goldfish Velma had gotten for the tablescapes.

  Velma’s eyes were massive round orbs. “The chocolate melted.”

  Yeah, he’d gotten that. He snatched up the dog and set him on a nearby table to keep him out of the painkillers. He tossed the necklace box next to Buttercup and started unbuttoning his shirt.

  “Okay, here’s what we’re gonna do.” He pulled his arms out of the sleeves.

  Mrs. Winthrop sucked in a breath.

  He didn’t think it was possible, but Velma’s eyes got bigger. “What are you doing?” she demanded.

  He shoved his shirt to her. “Go take off your clothes.”

  Mrs. Winthrop puffed up like a peacock. “Mr. Montgomery. I don’t know what you’re getting at here—”

  “Velma’s gonna give you her clothes. She’s gonna put on my shirt. I’m going to take your dress to get the chocolate out.” Was he the only coherent one of the bunch?

  He was the one standing there with no shirt, but he had a plan. Still, the women didn’t move.

  “I didn’t sign up for this.” Velma crossed her arms.

  “Excuse us.” He nodded to Mrs. Winthrop and scooted Velma to the side.

  “Look. This lady has the power to ruin Aspen’s business, and she’s got melted chocolate all over her ass. I need you—I’m asking you—to let her borrow your clothes for thirty minutes while I figure out how the hell to get it out.”

  Velma pursed her lips and glared at him.

  “Please.” He wasn’t above begging at this point.

  “Fine.” Shirt in hand, she marched toward the bathroom.

  He let out a relieved breath and dialed Eli. Eli was at the reception hall kitchen, and Brek needed a favor.

  “Hey,” Eli said.

  Brek stared at the bathroom door, listening to his heart try to beat out of his chest, waiting for Velma. “Need a favor.”

  “I have three hundred steaks we’re prepping. So now’s not a good time.” There was a decent amount of pan clanking and activity in the background.

  “Need you to run somewhere and grab me a shirt. I saw a tourist shop on the way into town.”

  There was a long pause.

  “Three hundred steaks,” Eli said again.

  Brek was cutting it short before, but now he was running out of time. “I need to preempt the steaks and call in a favor.”

  “Why do you need a shirt?” Eli was not grasping the intensity of the situation.

  “Don’t ask. How quick can you grab me something?” He glanced down to his bare chest. Aspen would lose her ever-loving mind if she saw him here without his shirt.

  “I’m the caterer not your personal assistant.”

  Enough was enough. “Remember that time you got your ass tossed in jail, and I bailed you out? Callin’ in that favor.”

  Eli heaved a sigh. “Fine. The shirt for you?”

  “Yeah. See if they have a dress or somethin’ for Velma, too.”

  “What the hell is going on over there?”

  “Said not to ask. See you in ten.”

  He clicked off his phone and turned his attention back to the bathroom door. Velma came out with a stack of neatly folded clothes. His shirt barely skimmed past her thighs. The air in the room buzzed in his ears and his mouth went dry.

  He may have had a pissed-off mother of the bride. He may have had a ticked-off Velma. Hell, even the dog was probably mad at him for something. But the way Velma looked in his shirt? None of the rest mattered.

  “Give me your belt.” She set her clothes down and held out her hand.

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m giving my clothes to someone for you, and I’m wearing your shirt that barely covers my tush. I need your belt.” She made a gimme wave with her fingers.

  He pulled the damn thing off. What did it matter at this point, anyway?

  She took the belt and tied it around her waist. “Now at least it sort of passes for a dress.”

  She was right, if one squinted and turned their head to the side.

  “Eli’s on his way.” He snagged her outfit. “He’s bringing us clothes.”

  “I have clothes. You’re just giving them away.”

  Fair point. He tossed his phone to her. “Look up how to get chocolate out of designer dresses.”

  She tilted her head to the side and pretended to be Brek while doing a nearly perfect impression of his sister. “Hey, Velma? Would you be a dear and help me out yet again? I know you’re barely wearing any clothes because I didn’t listen to my sister and pack a wedding planner bag, but would you mind looking something up for me?”

  Clothes tucked under his arm, he moved toward her, settling his hands on her shoulders. “Thank you, V, for rolling with this. I owe you. And I’m going to make this whole day up to you.”

  “See how much nicer that was? You know what I’m going to do for you? I’m going to figure out how to get chocolate out of satin.” She started scrolling through the Internet on his phone.

  He wanted to kiss her—full on the mouth, with tongue, everything, but he also didn’t particularly want to be nutted, so he only squeezed her shoulders. “Thank you.”

  Velma started her search. Mrs. Winthrop changed and left her gown with him.

  “It says we should take the dress to the dry cleaner.” Velma sauntered into the foyer, still swiping through the pages on his phone.

  “There’s no time.” A handful of tissues in hand, he poked at the chocolate.

  It smeared, doubling the size.

  “See, I think that’s why Google wanted us to take it to a dry cleaner.” She was lucky she looked hot in that getup. “Maybe get the tissues wet?”

  He grabbed a vase of flowers, chucked the orchids, and drenched another handful of tissues. Using more force than probably necessary, he scrubbed at the chocolate again. The mess smeared more, this time leaving a wet ring around the edges.

  “Fuck.” Wiping only made it worse.

  “What if we run it under a faucet?” Velma asked. “Hot water might work better than plant-food-infused water?”

  “Good idea.”

  They headed for the bathroom.

  Buttercup made what could only be described as a gagging noise behind him. He turned. The dog had chewed through the box and attacked the pearl necklace. Beads were strewn on the table and fell to the floor among the little white pills.

  No. This day was unraveling faster than he could keep up with. />
  “Oh my gosh.” Velma rushed to Buttercup and pried open his mouth. “I think there’s one in there.”

  Buttercup coughed and gasped. Brek threw the dress on the table and grabbed the little dude, holding him against his chest. The dog coughed again.

  Brek’s whole body went numb and the energy in the room pulsed. He’d never had official CPR training, but he knew the basics of what he was supposed to do on a human. A canine couldn’t be that different. He put his fingers under Buttercup’s ribs, doing his best attempt at the Heimlich maneuver on a teacup poodle.

  Buttercup gagged some more.

  “Maybe stick your fingers in there and see if you can grab it?” Velma sounded as panicked as he felt.

  “That’s not what you do when someone’s choking.” He continued with little thrusts on Buttercup’s chest.

  “He needs oxygen.” Velma’s voice was getting higher and higher.

  Normally, Brek wouldn’t consider giving mouth-to-mouth to a canine, but today his boundaries had gone to shit. One more try. “C’mon, little dude.”

  Another thrust and the dog did a gag-cough combo. He vomited kibble and three heirloom pearls all over Mrs. Winthrop’s dress.

  “What in the actual hell?” Eli asked from the doorway. A plastic grocery sack that read Thank You on repeat across the front hung from his hand.

  Funny how as life was fucking you, you noticed the little details.

  Buttercup licked Brek’s chin in apparent thanks for saving his life.

  “Now that’s gonna need dry cleaning,” Velma said on a gasp from behind her fingertips.

  Brek ran a hand over his face. “You at least bring us clothes?”

  “Yes. Yes, I did. The tourist shop I found had a limited inventory, but I managed to get something for each of you.” He held up a nightgown with the words Colorado: The Altitude Isn’t the Only Thing High written across the chest and a T-shirt that read Colorado’s Okayest Tourist over an outline of the state.

  “I’m not wearing that,” Velma announced.

  “Brek, we’ve got an issue.” Jase maneuvered through the door and paused, glancing from Eli’s ridiculous tourist apparel, to Brek without a shirt, to the ruined dress, to Velma’s thighs. “I can come back later.”

  “Just say it.” Might as well get it all over with at once.

  “The goldfish aren’t making it. Not all of them, anyway.”

  Say what?

  “I’m not sure where you got them, but they’re like geriatric goldfish. We’ve got quite a few floaters.”

  Brek glared at Velma. “Where’d you get the fish, V?”

  “From a guy a lady at work knows about. He gave us a great deal.”

  Brek closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. This wasn’t happening. This whole day wasn’t happening.

  “How many goldfish do we have per table? Can’t you just go back and redistribute them?”

  Jase shrugged. “They’ll be uneven.”

  “Does that look like the biggest issue we have today?” Brek gestured around the room.

  “Point made. I’ll see what I can do.” Jase took a look at the Versace gown. “What’d you do to the dress?”

  “Mrs. Winthrop is coming.” Velma snatched up the damn thing and shoved it behind a potted plant. She positioned herself in front of it and crossed her arms.

  She looked like a bride who’d gotten caught doing the dirty with the best man.

  “Mr. Montgomery.” Mrs. Winthrop was red in the face and huffing and puffing as she hurried toward them. “Sophie’s missing. She’s not with her bridesmaids. No one can reach her.”

  His heart jumped clear up to his collarbone. His sister was gonna kill him.

  The phone in his back pocket buzzed. He tugged it out and glanced at the screen.

  Aspen.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Velma?” Brek’s voice echoed through the headset.

  “Still here.” Velma pushed behind a rack of choir robes in her search through the Estes Park Community Church. Sheesh, the place wasn’t huge. How had they managed to misplace the bride in a building this small?

  “Did you check the pastor’s office?” The sharp concern in his voice exposed his nerves.

  “That’s where I am. She’s not under the choir robes. Are you sure she didn’t leave?” Velma adjusted the belt on her makeshift dress. She’d added the ridiculous nightgown Eli had brought her underneath Brek’s shirt, so at least it fell above her knee and didn’t threaten to show the world her underwear when she bent over.

  “Valet’s on alert. No way she could’ve gone that way, and Jase is standing guard at the back door.” Brek sounded out of breath.

  The window creaked open. A small thread of lace flew from the hinge.

  Velma clicked her talk button. “I’ve got a lead. Stand by.”

  “I’ll be right there—” Brek continued speaking, but Velma pulled off the earpiece so it dangled at her shoulder. She climbed onto the bench in front of the window to search outside. Sure enough, a trail of beads and pieces of lace led across the pine needles through the evergreens. Crud-ola. A runaway bride.

  She blew out a long breath. Brek would lose his ever-loving mind.

  He had been on edge since the chocolate fiasco. The Buttercup incident had threatened to push him over. But the last hour since Sophie’s disappearing act? He’d been a total basket case. He’d held it together, but with each second that passed, he moved closer to tumbling over the precipice of his temper.

  Well, Velma didn’t have much of a choice. Heaving a breath, she wrenched her body over the windowsill—one leg, then the other. Her balance precarious, she kicked her low-heeled pumps below, said a prayer, and jumped unceremoniously the six feet to the ground.

  She slipped on her shoes. Her headset crackled against her shoulder. She ignored it. Best she find Sophie and get her bum down the aisle before Brek went bananas.

  Stiletto footprints led to a clearing where Velma discovered the white silk Louboutins abandoned. Carefully, she picked them up and wiped dirt from the heel. The dang things, which retailed for over a thousand dollars—half Velma’s mortgage, for goodness’ sake—were tossed aside because a bride had short-circuited in the eleventh hour.

  She hurried around the building, following the tracks Sophie had left in the soft dirt. Mountain air wasn’t generally this hot in the summer. Today was the exception. Brek had been certain Sophie wouldn’t leave the building—not decked out in a ten-thousand-dollar wedding gown. Apparently, Sophie had other ideas.

  Velma held the headset microphone to her lips. “Brek?”

  “Do you have her?”

  “She’s outside. I’m not sure where. Looks like she went toward the road. You go north, I’ll head south.”

  Brek cursed a slew of colorful words. Velma dropped the headset to her shoulder again and trudged forward, moving aside branches and calling Sophie’s name.

  “Sophie,” she called again, her voice scratchy from all the hollering.

  Velma paused for a moment to catch her breath. She glanced around. Nothing but an older white house across the road. Sophie couldn’t have gotten far with bare feet. Velma pulled the headset on and pressed the button. More nothing. Apparently, Brek had trekked past the limit of reception. Fantastic. She hurried to the tree house Brek had built near the ceremony arch. A distinct sniffle came from inside.

  “Excuse me,” she called. “I’m looking for a bride. Have you seen her?”

  Silence.

  Louboutins in hand, Velma carefully climbed the boards nailed to the tree as footholds.

  “Sophie?” she asked as she came through the opening to the primitive tree shack. The place was beyond cramped. Sophie had squeezed herself into the corner, a half-full bottle of sauvignon blanc in hand. She’d dropped the designer shoes but kept the wine? Sophie definitely had her priorities mixed up.

  “May I join you?” Velma didn’t wait for an answer as she heaved herself into the tight space.

&nb
sp; Tears trailed down Sophie’s cheeks, smearing her meticulously applied eyeliner and blush. First thing when they got back to the church, Velma would grab the makeup artist. Hopefully she had something in her bag of tricks for red eyes and tear-stained cheeks.

  “This is cozy.” Velma squeezed next to Sophie.

  Sophie offered her the wine, and Velma took it, setting it aside with the shoes.

  “Everyone’s really worried about you.” Velma adjusted her legs beneath her.

  Sophie doodled a fingertip along the beads of her dress. “I’m making a mistake.”

  Considering the two of them were shoved into a tree house while several hundred guests anxiously waited for their pineapple-topped steak dinners, Velma agreed with Sophie’s assertion.

  “You told me you love Troy when we were picking tablescapes.” A trickle of perspiration dripped down the center of Velma’s back. “You love him. He loves you. That’s what today is about.”

  “It’s not about love. It’s about Dad showing off to his friends. It’s about Troy being inducted into their boy’s club. I wrote him a note and went to slip it under his door at the church.” Sophie hiccupped and handed the crumpled piece of paper to Velma. Velma unfolded it and smoothed the crinkles—a love note that was absolutely none of her business. “Do you know what he said?”

  Velma handed it back, but Sophie shook her head. “He and Dad were talking behind the door. They didn’t know I heard them. Dad told Troy once the marriage certificate is signed, then he’ll have paperwork ready to make him a full partner.” Sophie paused. A new onslaught of tears slid from her eyelids. “That’s why Troy’s marrying me. Not because he loves me. He’s marrying me so he can be a partner.”

  That explained so much.

  Velma tucked the note into her pocket.

  “Have you ever been married?” Sophie asked.

  Velma shook her head. “No.”

  “Engaged?” Sophie continued.

  “Nope. I’m holding out.” For a man like the one who got away—straight into the arms of my sister. “There was someone once, though.”

  “What happened?”

  Dull pain settled under Velma’s ribs. “Turned out he was really into my sister.”