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

by Christina Hovland

  Sophie slumped against the wooden wall. “Do you think any of them are good?”

  Velma’s mind drifted to Brek. “I think so.”

  “What do I do?”

  Velma was definitely not the one to be dishing out relationship advice. “Do you love Troy?”

  “I thought I did. Now, I’m not sure.”

  “When you have that thing that makes you want to be with someone, I think you act on it.” Velma brushed away a sticky thought of what that might mean for her in regard to Brek.

  “But how do you know if you really love them?”

  Velma shrugged, the knot in her stomach tightening. “I guess if you have to ask, then the question’s already answered.”

  “I think I fell in love with the wedding.” A sliver of light traced its way across Sophie’s tear-stained face. “I spent months worrying what our guests would want to eat and drink, and I don’t even know how Troy likes his steak cooked.”

  “What?”

  Sophie’s chin trembled. “We’re having steak at the reception, and I’m supposed to marry a man when I don’t know how he likes his steak? What if he likes them well done, and I only like medium well?”

  “Then I suppose you’d compromise,” Velma replied.

  “What if I don’t want to compromise?” Sophie asked, her words serious.

  “Then I guess your decision is made, you know?”

  “Velma? Sophie?” Brek’s panicked voice sliced through the stifling air.

  Velma leaned over the opening. “Up here. I found her.”

  “I’m coming up,” Brek replied immediately.

  “There’s no room.” Velma shook her head. “Give us a minute.”

  “I’m ready. I know what I have to do.” Sophie stood as best as she could in the cramped quarters.

  “We’re coming down.” Velma extended her hand to Sophie.

  Sophie squeezed her hand. “Thank you for listening.”

  “You go down first.” Velma helped Sophie adjust her dress so she could climb down the steps before gathering the shoes and the wine.

  Sophie cleared the opening and Velma checked to ensure she made it down all right.

  “On my way,” Velma hollered. She dropped the shoes. Bottle of wine gripped in one hand, she carefully stepped down the makeshift ladder.

  Brek met her at the bottom and took the wine with raised eyebrows.

  Velma shook pine needles from her sleeves. “Don’t ask.”

  “Let’s head back for the ceremony.” Brek herded them toward the church.

  “No.” Sophie stopped midstride. “Like Velma said, if I have to ask if I love Troy, then the question’s already answered.”

  Velma’s pulse stopped beating for three solid seconds.

  “That’s what Velma said?” Brek’s glare lanced straight through Velma.

  “That’s not what I meant. I meant for me. Not for you.” Velma looked to Sophie and hurried to correct herself.

  “What you said makes loads of sense. I can’t marry Troy. I’m sorry. I’ll be the one to tell him.” Sophie wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, smearing mascara across her temples. She reached for her shoes, slipped them on, and headed for the church.

  Brek turned on Velma. “You told her if she has to ask, then she doesn’t love her fiancé?”

  A sinking feeling settled in Velma’s stomach. “Not exactly like that, no.”

  “It’s their wedding day. She’s stressed and confused. How could you add to that?”

  “She misunderstood—”

  He held up a hand. “You’re done.”

  His words weren’t harsh. They were spoken calmly, but with such a certainty that Velma’s heart ached. “Brek…”

  “I’ve got to figure out how to salvage this.” He shook his head and walked away.

  Brek took in the remains of the chaos that had ensued after Sophie’s declaration that she wasn’t getting married. He wanted to throttle Velma’s pretty little neck. He wouldn’t, because he was wrapped around her beautiful little finger.

  Sophie and Troy sequestered themselves in the pastor’s office to talk. Troy’s perfect exterior cracked when Sophie told him she wasn’t his bride anymore. Brek felt for the guy. Sophie was wrong. Troy did care.

  On damage control, Brek sent the guests to the reception to eat hundred-dollar steaks instead of waiting for a wedding that wasn’t gonna happen. Jase dismantled the orchid archway where the vows were supposed to take place, and Brek waited for Sophie and Troy with the parents of both the bride and groom. He arranged for cars to take them wherever they wanted to go once they finished.

  “Sophie is taking some time.” Hands in his pockets, Troy moved along the aisle to where the parents waited. “I saw her to one of the cars. Thanks for arranging that.” He nodded to Brek.

  Brek rose from the chair and moved to Troy’s side. “Really sorry, man.”

  Troy swallowed forcefully. “I didn’t realize she was so unhappy. I’ll go to the reception. Tell everyone the wedding’s off.”

  He left with his parents. Brek moved to the altar to touch base with Jase about the teardown before heading to the reception hall himself.

  “It wasn’t her fault.” Jase climbed down the ladder to stand with Brek.

  “Sophie?”

  “Velma.” Jase replied. “I know you’re blaming her for telling it like it is, but you’re wrong.”

  Velma hadn’t intended sabotage. Still sucked she had talked to Sophie without him.

  “Are you quoting bad rock lyrics to me again?”

  “No, sir. That is a Jase Dvornakov original.” Jase taped a box of flowers closed. “Sophie would’ve walked no matter what. Saw it in her eyes when she couldn’t pick the flowers. Your girl’s taking it hard, though. Thinks you blame her for Sophie walking away. You should go ahead and make that right.”

  “When did you become my conscience?”

  “Fourth grade, when you looked up Catherine Bracken’s skirt on the playground, and I told you not to be a perv.” Jase went back to boxing up another large batch of orchids.

  “Like you never looked up Catherine’s skirt,” Brek huffed.

  “Never got caught,” Jase replied.

  Brek headed for the door. He had amends to make with a certain blonde.

  Sophie’s pissed-off parents stood cross-armed in the foyer. Mr. Winthrop wore a tailored tuxedo Brek estimated cost around five thousand dollars. Maybe more. Mrs. Winthrop still wore Velma’s clothes.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Winthrop.” Brek cleared his suddenly thick throat.

  He’d nearly asked, How are you? But that didn’t seem like the best idea at the moment.

  “May I ask a question?” Mr. Winthrop had the same edge to his voice that guy on that legal show got when he interrogated someone on the witness stand.

  “Absolutely.” The tension in Brek’s shoulder blades strung tight.

  “Do you handle all of your engagements with such an exemplary disregard of decorum?” The fury in his expression countered the saccharine-laced tone of his words as Mr. Winthrop sauntered forward.

  Shit fucked as it was, these people held the connections keeping Montgomery Events afloat. Brek squared his stance. “I’m sorry the day went sideways.”

  Apologize. That was a good start.

  “No. You’re not sorry.” Mr. Winthrop had to look up to meet Brek’s stare. Sometimes height had its advantages. Like, when one needed to reach something off the top of the refrigerator, or when a pompous prick with too much extra spending money had to stretch his neck to make eye contact.

  Winthrop never blinked. “I expect there will be a refund.”

  Brek steadied his deteriorating nerves. “There’s time to discuss all of that once the final numbers come in.”

  “Nothing to discuss. Services were not rendered, due to the willful disruption of this wedding by your staff.” Winthrop hooked his thumbs at his belt, elbows wide.

  “Sir, with respect, your daughter took off before any of
our staff talked to her.” Brek held up his hands. He did not want to argue with this guy. “We’ll go over it all once things have settled.”

  “I’m very disappointed in how this day has turned out. I’m certain you understand there are consequences to actions of this sort. Be prepared for them.” With that, Winthrop headed out the doors to his waiting limousine like the goddamned King of Screw You, his wife on his heels. The only thing missing was her cape.

  Well, shit. The guy had no power over Brek, but he and his wife could make business impossible for Aspen. And fuck if Brek would let that happen on his watch.

  The reception hall was only about five minutes away. He made his way through the packed parking lot and the somber banquet room. Velma stood in the hallway near the kitchen, holding a clipboard against her chest and carrying on a conversation with Troy.

  “Hey, V,” Brek said as he got closer.

  She looked at him, her eyes void of emotion. “Hi. I, uh, had the bartender put away the champagne, and he said he will give a refund on the other unopened drinks. The guy who runs the hall understood our situation and said he’ll give a partial refund, as well. That’ll at least take care of some of the costs.”

  Troy dropped his shoulders. “I’ll head off now. Sounds like you’ve got everything under control.”

  “Yeah,” Brek replied. Even though he had nothing under control. “We’ll handle it.”

  “Troy?” Velma pulled a crumpled note from her pocket and handed it to him. “Sophie gave this to me. It’s addressed to you. Given everything, she’d still want you to have it.”

  Troy took the paper and stared blankly. He stuffed it in the pocket of his tuxedo jacket without glancing at the words. “Thanks.”

  “There’s an exit that way,” Velma suggested.

  Troy nodded and slipped out through the kitchen.

  Velma pinched her bottom lip under her teeth. Brek’s lungs squeezed tight. Velma hadn’t said anything that shouldn’t have been said. Sophie would’ve left anyway, with or without their conversation.

  “I haven’t talked to the band about money. I figured that was your department. But I asked them not to play right now. Not until you gave them direction.” Velma paused. “I’m so sorry, Brek.”

  Brek tucked a stray hair behind her ear, his fingertips lingering there. “I’m sorry I blamed you for Sophie. Wasn’t fair. Wasn’t right.”

  She slumped to one of the benches lining the hallway. “I screwed up.”

  “Not our place to force someone to get married. She walked out long before your conversation. I’ll talk to Aspen about everything. She wouldn’t have pushed Sophie, either.”

  Velma hugged the clipboard close. “They picked cheesecake. What do you think that means?”

  “That they’d never make it down the aisle, apparently.”

  “Sophie worried she’d be making a huge mistake by marrying Troy.”

  Velma hit him with those gray eyes of hers, and his pulse stumbled over itself.

  “I understand the whole not-making-mistakes thing,” she continued.

  “What mistakes have you made, V?”

  “I have a professional knack for dating horrible men.” The back of her head dropped against the wall.

  “That’s because you want them to paint their fingernails.” Brek laid his hand across the back of the bench and leaned in.

  Velma was silent. The only sounds came from Eli’s catering staff in the kitchen.

  Brek glanced away to the empty bulletin board along the wall.

  Her hands went limp against her lap.

  He slung his arm across her shoulder and pulled her into his side. She fit perfectly. “I get it. You know what I think?” He inhaled the scent of her hair.

  “I bet you’re going to tell me.”

  She leaned into him, her hand against his chest. Fuck, that was nice.

  “You’re trying to control things that are out of your control instead of embracing what can be.”

  “Are you shrinking me?” Arching back, she caught his gaze.

  “Nah. But I get it. You’re scared as shit to move forward with anything other than what you already know.” The hair along her temple practically begged to be touched.

  “Are you using your mind powers to manipulate me?” Her hand was still on his chest.

  “Silly girl, I don’t have mind powers.”

  “Brek?” she asked.

  “Velma?” he replied.

  “You keep touching me,” she pointed out.

  He ran his thumb along her jawline. “You’re very touchable.”

  She gurgled a frustrated sound. “We’re professionals.”

  “You’re touching me, too.” He wrapped his hand around hers—the one on his chest—and moved his mouth to her ear and whispered, “Do something different. Something crazy. Get a tattoo. Your plan hasn’t panned out, so do the opposite.”

  “Mistakes cost. Planning works. It just takes time.”

  He set her clipboard aside and settled his hand against her waist. “Or...we could make out in the hallway and see where that takes us.”

  Her eyes went wide, but a nearly imperceptible smile ticked the corners of her lips. He focused there and settled in, his lips brushing lightly against hers, testing the waters before diving in headfirst.

  She responded, opening her mouth and gripping his triceps with the pads of her fingertips, hanging on because she spent her days scared as hell that life would continue tossing her like a rag doll. Their tongues met, and she made the little squeak of a sound he felt in his dick. He wanted her.

  Their mouths pressed together, forcing a jolt of desire straight through him. He traced his hand to her neck and rubbed his thumb behind her ear. She moaned into his mouth. He took the kiss deeper, drinking in all she had to give.

  “Fuck, you can kiss,” he said against her mouth.

  Her response was to kiss him again, pressing her tits against his stupid tourist T-shirt. The wedding was already fucked. Maybe the wedding planners getting caught fooling around in the hallway wasn’t the worst thing that could happen at this point. He moved his fingers to unbutton her shirt.

  “I love it when mommy and daddy make up.” Jase’s voice sliced through the moment, severing Brek’s reality and bringing him back to the present.

  Velma pulled away and pressed the back of her hand to her mouth. Her cheeks flushed a deep red.

  Jase officially had the absolute worst timing.

  “Hope he apologized for being a dick to you earlier.” Jase sauntered by and paused at the doorway to the kitchen. “Don’t put out right away. He needs more time to grovel. Tell him to buy you more flowers first.”

  Brek prepared to beat the shit out of his best friend.

  “Don’t mind me.” Jase lifted his hands in defense. “I’m just the poor schmuck trolling for leftovers and finding my best friend and his girl in a clinch.”

  “Get your dinner, asshole,” Brek hissed, holding Velma so she wouldn’t take this as an opportunity to run.

  “Roger that. Enjoy your evening.” Jase gave a two-finger wave and disappeared into the kitchen.

  “He thinks I’m your girl?” The little creases between her eyebrows deepened.

  “Seein’ as my tongue was in your mouth and you were squeaking, he’s got a point.”

  She wiggled in his grasp. “I don’t squeak.”

  “V, I haven’t had lots of time to explore the interior of your mouth. But both times I’ve had the pleasure, you squeaked.”

  “I did not,” she huffed.

  “It’s adorable.” He brushed his lips over hers once more. “One of my favorite things about you. Makes me wonder what noises you’ll make when I’m inside you.”

  She gasped. “You need to go talk to the band.”

  “Yeah.” He traced her lips with the pad of his thumb before he stood and offered his hand to help her up.

  She took it.

  The length of her pressed against him. “V, you’re all kinds of
fucked up when it comes to what you think you want. But we’re gonna make some mistakes and sort you out.”

  “What mistakes?” she asked cautiously.

  “The naked kind.”

  She stilled. “Oh.”

  “Either that or we get you a tattoo. Your call.” Brek headed to the stage.

  “What tattoo should I get?” she asked his back.

  “Whatever you’ll regret most,” he replied without glancing behind.

  Chapter Twelve

  Countdown to Claire & Dean’s Wedding: 4 Weeks

  Velma continued to mull over Brek’s proposal. She had said no, but the more she thought on it, the more she did want to do something out of the ordinary. Different. Crazy. The world was moving along, and she was getting left behind.

  The sales lady emerged from the back room of the bridal shop with a garment bag. “The designer got started on the concept we discussed. They’ll take it in this week. There will be a few more fittings afterward.”

  Velma frowned. When they were kids, they’d talked about wearing their grandmother’s gown in their own weddings. Their mother had worn it, too. Every once in a while, their grandmother let them try it on and pretend to be brides. Velma loved that dress.

  Their grandfather, Pops, had given the gown to Claire for her wedding.

  Claire was updating it. Making it modern.

  Velma paused, blinking away the dryness clouding her vision.

  They could still let it out again someday when Velma got married. Put it back the way it was. That would be okay.

  Not all changes had to be permanent.

  “Let me get the room set up for you.” The sales lady ducked into the dressing room marked with a glittery number two on the door.

  “This is exciting.” Claire lifted her plastic champagne flute in illustration, but her enthusiasm was absent. “Trying on dresses. Drinking fake champagne.”

  Claire had been off all day. Distracted. Not chatty.

  “Everything okay?” Velma asked.

  Claire released her breath as the sales lady dropped the tape. “Everything’s peachy.”

  “She hasn’t been herself all week,” Heather called from the dressing room where she tried on yet another option for their bridesmaid and maid-of-honor dresses.