by Ginny Baird
Hope did a quick body scan, relieved to see they both had all their clothing on. Although Ava’s hem did look slightly hiked up, and Gavin’s tie was askew.
It was bad enough that she and Brent had caught them making out, but she supposed it could have been worse. Knowing Ava, a lot worse.
“Mom!” Hope yelped.
“Uncle Gavin?” Brent said in mild shock.
Ava cupped a manicured hand over her puffy red lips. “Oh, hi, kids.” She pulled a guileless face and stared at her daughter. “Is it time to toss the bouquet?”
…
By the time the bouquet toss came, it was after nine o’clock and Hope had been on her feet for almost ten hours. She was gratefully barefoot now, having kicked off her shoes shortly after the dancing—and her and Brent’s discovery of Ava and Gavin in the closet. Ick.
She could barely stand to think about it. Why oh why was her mom so constantly out of control? She’d promised Jackie she’d tried to rein Ava in, but she might as well have been charged with roping a bucking bronco. Ava definitely marched to her own tune. She sang to it, too. Hope tried not to grimace while recalling Ava’s serenade.
She was still on tap as the bride and had a duty to appear perky—for just a few more minutes, anyway. Then she could go upstairs and crash. Though from the look in Brent’s eyes, he clearly had other ideas in mind.
He took her bouquet-free hand and gave it a kiss. “Let’s get this part done so we can retire.” His tone dipped toward sultry, and Hope staged a yawn.
“Good plan,” she said, willing herself to look innocent-eyed. “I’m beat.”
Hope peered over her shoulder at the wedding guests gathered on the lawn. Night had fallen, and shadows stretched long across the grass from the muted lighting on the porch, which included strings of tiny lights wrapped around its columns and complementing the dripping lighting display hanging from the surrounding bushes and trees.
When combined with the twinkling lights adorning the tent, the entire backyard looked like a whimsical wonderland. The sound of the surf gently splashing against the cliffs only added to the magic, as did the glint of the nearly full moon against the darkened water.
Hope stood on the highest step of the wraparound porch with her back to the others. A small gaggle of women had collected at the foot of the stairs, all of them shifting awkwardly on their feet. Meredith was among them, and so was Sally.
Though Sally kept trying to creep away, Grandmother Margaret shoved her back into the fray. Hope was grateful at least that her mom hadn’t inserted herself in the group. Yet, that begged the question of where Ava currently was. Hope’s head pounded as she willed herself not to think about it. Especially as Gavin appeared missing in action, too.
“Are we ready?” Hope asked when Eleanor gave her the go-ahead. Even she looked eager to get this done with. It had been an extra-long day for Eleanor as well, and the caterers had begun packing up after setting out a large coffee tureen, cups, and supplies.
Hope was aware there’d be remaining food left out for nibbles, and the bartenders had left chilled buckets of drinks at the ready for any late stragglers to self-serve later.
People behind her roared, a few of them sounding more inebriated than others. Hope had never possessed truly great aim, but she aspired to landing her bouquet on Meredith.
Who better to be the next bride than a woman intent on creating happily ever afters for others?
Sally wasn’t angling for marriage herself, and Hope didn’t know the other hopefuls well, having only just met them. So, Meredith it was. Assuming Hope could make a straight shot.
The countdown began behind her.
Three. Two. One.
But when it was time to let go, Hope just couldn’t. There was too much at stake to leave this to chance, so she spun on her heel and lobbed her bridal bouquet right at Meredith, who caught it as it hurtled toward her like a speeding bullet.
She stared down at the flowers and then up at Hope, her face beet red, and everyone cheered. Everyone but Derrick, Hope couldn’t help but notice, as he set his beer bottle down on the side of the firepit and quietly stole away.
“Looks like that does it,” Brent said, sweeping Hope off the top step and into his embrace. “Now, folks, if you’ll excuse us.”
Onlookers whistled and cheered as Brent bent low, scooping Hope into his arms.
“Brent!” she cried, kicking her heels. “What are you doing?”
“Carrying you upstairs,” he said with a sexy grin. “Thanks, everyone, for coming!” he shouted across the lawn. “Stay as long as you want!”
…
Hope stared at Brent, wide-eyed, as he carted her through the den. “You’re not seriously going to carry me all the way upstairs?”
“Oh, no?” he said with a determined air. “Watch me.”
Hope panicked over what was going to happen next. He was taking her up to their bridal suite, where he was expecting them to get to know each other—as man and wife.
Think. Think. Think.
She had to do something to ward off his attempts to take her to bed.
All the kissing had been bad enough. She definitely wasn’t crossing that line.
Aha. Their early flight might be good to bring up.
“What an exhausting day… Exhausting but great.” She staged another yawn. “Shame about that morning flight. I suppose we’ll have to get up early.”
His eyes glimmered in a predatory fashion. “Yeah, but we can always nap on the plane,” he said, and she bit her lip.
Okay, that tactic failed. She had to try something else.
Brent reached the upstairs landing, and the door to the bridal suite lay dead ahead.
No time like now.
Hope dramatically dropped her arm against her forehead. “Oh. Ooh. Oh, oh-no.”
His brow creased as he opened the door. “Sweetheart, what is it?”
“I think I might be coming down with another headache.”
“Poor baby.” He frowned. “Did it come on suddenly?”
“Yeah. No. I mean, I felt a little twinge earlier. It’s probably been brewing all day.”
“I wish you’d said something earlier.”
“I didn’t want to ruin the party.”
Brent carried her over the threshold, and Hope moaned miserably.
“You really are feeling terrible, aren’t you?” He set her down on the bed with a concerned look. “Maybe you should lie down for a while.”
“Yes. No.” She started to recline, then immediately popped back up, hopping off the bed.
Brent and beds were a bad mix. Bad, bad, bad.
“What I mean is, I better take some meds first.”
“I have acetaminophen in my suitcase,” he offered.
Hope’s suitcase sat on a stand in the corner. “That’s okay,” she said, rummaging around inside it. “I have a prescription. The only thing is…” she said, thinking fast. “It makes me really, really sleepy.”
She pulled a face, and Brent’s eyebrows rose. “Oh.”
She could tell he was trying to figure out his next move. He poured her a glass of water from the pitcher on the table. There was wine and a cheese plate, too. She grabbed gobs of stuff from her suitcase, like her toiletries bag and more comfortable clothing. She was designing a plan.
Arghhh. Hope wanted to kill Jackie for putting her in this predicament.
She also wanted to have her own head examined for going along with it.
She’d married her sister’s fiancé. Well, actually—on paper—her husband.
Downright married him—with rings, I dos, and everything.
Not to mention that fiery kiss.
One way or another, Hope was going to survive this.
Somehow, Jackie and Brent would, too.
Then it would a
ll be okay. Sure it would.
Still, in the back of Hope’s mind, a gazillion doubts were crowding in.
How could things be okay, when Brent had fallen in love with her instead of her sister? What about the mess Hope had made by falling in love with him? And not just him—his entire family? Nobody could ever know the truth. Not with the tangled web she and Jackie had weaved.
The only way to get out of this now was to power through until tomorrow.
Somehow. With Brent.
And without having him land in the same bed.
Hope’s tension spiked.
Oh, sure. That’s sounds totally doable.
Brent tried to hand her the water, but she dashed away from him. “I think I’ll go and change first.”
“O-kay.” Poor Brent almost looked like he’d been experiencing whiplash. Good thing he hadn’t been privy to the manic thoughts in her brain.
She glanced around the room, wondering where the bathroom was.
He seemed to read that thought, at least, because he pointed to a door. “That way.”
Chapter Twenty
Brent sat in a chair by the table, feeling a little stunned. He’d poured himself a glass of red wine and served himself a few chocolate-covered strawberries for no other reason except that they looked delicious. He honestly wasn’t hungry, but he figured he should eat something in case he needed the energy later. This was their wedding night, so he was hoping that things would improve so he and Jackie could enjoy it. If it didn’t, though, they would always have Bermuda, and then—happily—the rest of their lives.
She’d only been gone five minutes when Jackie returned, still wearing her wedding dress.
“Is something wrong?” he asked when her pretty lips took on a pout.
“It’s the laces,” she said, motioning behind her. “They must have knotted somehow. I’m afraid I can’t get the bow undone.”
“Ah,” he said, standing. “No worries. I’m happy to help with that.”
She shuffled over to him, turning her back, and anticipation skittered through him. Given where everything started, this was some surprise, being in love with his wife. And it wasn’t one-sided, either. He’d seen the look in Jackie’s eyes during the ceremony. There was no faking real love like that. She was crazy about him, and he was crazy about her. Not only that—they were married.
Brent carefully untied the bow at the waistline of her lace-up dress, thinking this felt awfully sexy. Him slowly undressing his bride. He was bummed about her headache, though, so he would hold those thoughts for later.
The knot beneath the bow was really snug, but he gradually worked it free; then, one by one, he began loosening the laces.
Okay, he had to be careful here, because this was a very exciting dress.
Especially as it had begun revealing telling glimpses of what lay underneath.
Like…
Brent blinked in shock. “What…what is that?”
She was wearing some kind of industrial-strength girdle. It looked prehistoric. Like something his grandmother might wear.
“Oh.” She spun on her heel with an embarrassed flush, gathering up her dress. “Just a little wedding dress undergarment. All the brides wear them.” Then she hurried into the bathroom, leaving Brent’s sexy fantasies doused in a hearty dose of ice water.
…
After a while, Brent heard the bathroom door pop open. He looked up from the laptop that rested on his knees and slammed back against his chair. Jackie had emerged in sweatpants and a sweatshirt, and her entire face was caked in shiny green goo.
His head spun as he tried to recall if he’d actually downloaded their boarding passes to his phone, but at the moment his short-term memory was shot. “Wow.” He tried for something more, but all he got the second time was the same word, uttered more vehemently. “Wow.” He downed a sip of his wine, then asked, croaking, “What is that?”
“Mother of Earth Mud Mask.” She smiled, and her whole face crinkled into deep grooves, making her look like a very ancient Gila monster.
“I…I see,” he responded, willing himself not to judge. All women supposedly kept beauty secrets. Of course, he’d heard about this. He’d just never expected to see them. Certainly not on his wedding night. “Well, um…will that help your headache?”
“Oh, yes. Very much. The mask is aromatherapeutic.”
“Aroma…?” Brent exhaled sharply. “Okay. Whatever helps you feel better.” He peered at her, wanting to make sure that was really his wife in that disguise. Apart from her bright, beautiful eyes, her face was nearly unrecognizable, and her extremely baggy clothing hid her nice figure. Why was she wearing so much of it? It was actually a little warm in here. “Did you get a chill or something?”
“Chill? Right. Yes.” She twisted up her lips, and he wondered when the long red tongue was going to flick out and zap up a fly. Which was a really disgusting image for a wedding night. He rubbed the side of his neck, ashamed of himself.
“That sometimes happens with these headaches.” She gave an exaggerated frown. “I’m totally freezing.” She threw back the duvet on the four-poster queen-size bed. “I think I’ll get under the covers and warm up.”
Under most circumstances, a groom would view this as an invitation to climb into bed with his bride and help things get toasty. At this point in time, Brent didn’t expect that was the right move. Displaying his “Hot Groom” boxers might not go so great right now, either. “Uh…all right. I’ll just sit here and watch, then.”
“Watch?” She gaped at him like he’d said something creepy.
“Watch out—for you. To be sure you…don’t need anything. I won’t be watching watching, naturally.” Brent dropped his gaze to his computer. “I’ll just check up on Albright Enterprises company stock or something.”
She climbed under the covers, and Brent marveled at the fact she wasn’t broiling. “Aren’t you tired yet?”
“Nope. Not yet.” Brent took another swallow of wine. He pantomimed scrubbing a hand over his face. “Do you…have to wear that thing all night?”
“The mask?” She sat up, resting on her elbows. “No. I’ll wash it off later.”
Inwardly, he cheered. “I’ll just wait until then.”
Her eyebrows arched, and Brent worried that he’d hurt her feelings.
“Not that it’s any kind of problem, but I was just wondering… Do you go through this routine every night?”
“Oh no, this is definitely a one-off.”
Brent let out a relieved breath. “Great. I mean, that’s fine. Just…just checking.”
She settled into the pillows. “It doesn’t bother you?”
“Not if it helps you,” he said, refilling his wineglass. “Can I get you anything?”
She lifted her head to beam at him, and portions of the mask cracked, giving Brent the impression of a very old woman, like the one who rode the broom in The Wizard of Oz.
Brent jumped in his seat in spite of himself.
“Maybe a goodnight kiss?”
“Wait. You’re not getting up till morning? I thought you had to wash off the mask?”
“Oh. Right,” she said all frowny-faced. “I guess it depends on how I feel.” In the next second she perked up. “I’m sure I’ll feel better tomorrow.”
“That…that’s good, because we’re leaving early.”
“I’ll be ready,” she promised.
In his wildest dreams, Brent couldn’t have predicted a wedding night as bizarre as this. “All right.” He stood and cautiously approached the bedside, leaning over her. Then he shut his eyes and gave her a very quick peck on the lips. “Good night, sweetheart.”
“Good night, Brent. It really was a marvelous wedding. So memorable.”
He stared at her askance and hobbled back to his chair. “Yeah.”
�
��Do you mind if I turn off this light?” she asked, indicating the one beside the bed.
“No, by all means. Go right ahead.”
As she did, she shot him a sympathetic look. “Don’t worry, baby. Everything’s gonna be all right.”
He couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah. Bermuda’s going to be fantastic,” he replied, extremely anxious to get there.
…
Brent woke up six hours later to his phone alarm’s beeping. He must have hit snooze twice, because it was already five thirty and he and Jackie had to leave in fifteen minutes. His back ached, and his neck was stiff. He massaged the side of it, noting he’d slept in the armchair by the table. At some point during the night, his laptop had slid off his lap, and it now stood closed on the floor beside his feet.
He still wore his tuxedo slacks and the pleated shirt, although he’d apparently yanked off his bow tie, since that rested besides his empty wineglass on the table.
The bottle of red wine was half gone.
“Jackie,” he said in a whisper. “Jackie, you’ve got to get up.”
She sat up and yelped like a surprised zombie in a B-rated horror flick. “Brent. What are you…?” She glanced quickly around the darkened room, then brought her palms to her face, which was caked in now-fully-dried green mud. “No way,” she said, gaping at the clock. “It’s morning?”
“Yeah, and we’re going to miss our plane if we don’t hurry.”
She studied his outfit with remorse and glanced at the chair. “Were you up all night?”
“Only part of it,” he said. “How about I go downstairs and brew some coffee while you grab a shower?”
“A shower sounds great,” she said, scrambling out of bed. “Coffee, too.”
“How’s your headache?” he asked.
For an instant she looked like she’d totally forgotten about being ill, which was a good sign. She had to be feeling better.
“Great. I mean, gone. Completely.” She blew out a breath. “I’m as good as new.”
“I’m so glad.” He smiled, thinking that their honeymoon might be salvageable after all. If they didn’t have to run out the door, he’d seriously consider tempting her into a romantic morning. But no. “I’ll be back with our coffees in a flash.” He cracked open the door to the hall. “Wheels on the road at six.”