Because I Can (Montgomery Manor)

by Tamara Morgan

Georgia scanned for a sign of the shrimp fork, but the waiter had long since cleared it away.

  “Besides,” Jenna continued brightly. “It won’t be any more awkward than when you come to the wedding with me this weekend. You’re going to have to get used to nosy questions from this crowd.”

  Georgia couldn’t have been more surprised if the tables lifted from the ground and Ouija boards started flying. “What are you talking about? Jenna—Monty and I aren’t together. You know that, right? You’re aware I have absolutely zero sway over him now?”

  Jenna tilted her hand back and forth. “You say zero, I say a couple hundred. I like those odds.”

  Georgia sputtered—actually sputtered, her emotions coming out as little more than spittle and unvoiced outrage.

  “You owe me one, Gigi. I gave you Coco, one of the most powerful women in Connecticut, though you wouldn’t think it to look at that awful headpiece she wears.” Jenna winced, as if seeing the purple turban for the first time. “You can give me a few hours on Saturday afternoon. It won’t kill you.”

  “Actually, it might.”

  Jenna looked as if she wanted to drop another blasé comment or use her force to bend Georgia into complaisance, but something about the bleakness in Georgia’s soul at that moment must have come through. “Oh, sweetie. I know it’s asking a lot, and chances are nothing will come of it, but we need you to try. For Monty and for all the people who are counting on him. You’re all we have right now. You’re our last bargaining chip.”

  Georgia wavered. She genuinely liked Jenna and her family, and she knew for herself how much kids like Monty’s friend Thomas needed him, but a social event like a wedding was asking a lot. It was asking everything.

  “I’m no good at this sort of thing.” She looked down at her feet, where bands of red, irritated skin blustered up at her. “I can’t even wear the shoes right.”

  “You’re perfect the way you are.” Jenna spoke with enough certainty for the both of them. “And Coco loved you. Believe me when I say that she could have just as easily torn you to pieces and refused to ever let you set foot in here again. She doesn’t extend herself like that for just anyone.”

  “Really?” She wasn’t wavering now so much as falling, headfirst, into the void.

  “Really.” Jenna slipped off Georgia’s tennis shoes and held them out, right there in the middle of the restaurant. “All you need to do is wear a dress and smile. What could possibly go wrong?”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The thing about weddings was, no one got to see the bride until the event was damn near over.

  Before the ceremony started, there was a good half hour of arrivals that put the Academy Awards to shame, limos belching up men and women in elaborately coiffed dos. There was an even longer half hour after that of chatting in the foyer, a series of uncomfortable introductions as Georgia met and was ignored by wave after wave of millionaires. And there was the longest ten minutes of her life as she and the Montgomerys found seats on the bride’s side, all of them taking painstaking care to include her in their conversation.

  Poor Mrs. Montgomery barely knew who she was. She kept confusing her with one of the gardeners.

  Exhausted with smiling, and her head aching from all the perfume in the air, Georgia didn’t remember until the processional music began that the woman for whom the entire event existed had once enjoyed ten months of Monty’s love.

  It was impossible to ignore that fact as a vision in white tulle appeared at the end of the nave. From where she stood behind a series of oversized hats, Georgia could only make out the long, lean lines of the bride’s form and the upsweep of daintily blond hair underneath the veil. It might not have been much to an uninterested viewer, but Georgia was far from uninterested.

  She was facing no less than a paragon of female perfection. In fact, from the way the woman walked, a film vixen right down to the sway of her hips...

  Wait a minute.

  Georgia clutched Jenna’s arm, even though she’d been instructed eight times already to calm down and stop grasping at her like a child missing her mother. It wasn’t totally her fault—she needed the other woman’s balance to avoid falling on her face in these stupid high heels.

  “What is it now?” Jenna hissed.

  “What’s the bride’s name?”

  “Are you serious?”

  “I know you told me her last name was Bridgerton, but I don’t think you told me her first name. It’s not Ashleigh, is it?”

  Jenna nodded, confirming all of Georgia’s worst fears before adding new ones. “You’ll meet her during the reception—I think you’re going to like her. Not only do you share the distinction of having once enslaved my brother, but she’s actually quite nice.”

  Georgia was already aware of that fact. Ashleigh was nice and gorgeous and she swore like a champ and she had a throaty laugh. She was the woman Georgia would have handpicked for Monty to share his life with, if she wasn’t already so desperately in love with him herself.

  Oh, hell. She needed a place to hide. She needed a plague of locusts to descend on the church and start eating their way through the support beams.

  As if sensing her panic, Jenna grabbed her arm and held her in place. “I promise—she’s not as scary as she looks.”

  Easy for her to say. From where Georgia was standing in her spiked shoes, unable to breathe in her too-tight dress, that woman was absolutely terrifying. Thus far, she’d been able to make it through the wedding by pretending to be some kind of distant Montgomery relation—a family friend, a visiting acquaintance, a special friend of Monty’s, wink wink, nudge nudge. But Ashleigh was sure to recognize her, and would probably demand some kind of explanation for why a handywoman who wasn’t actually named Holly Santos was crashing her million-dollar nuptials.

  Oh, God. What had she been thinking? One successful lunch with a woman who wore a turban didn’t make her one of these people. Monty was right. She didn’t belong here. It had been foolish to think that participating in the Montgomery family rituals would bring anything but the extreme mortification of being put in her place.

  Jenna could dress her up and give her charity projects and pretend she enjoyed her company, but Georgia would always be a duck masquerading as a swan.

  A sound almost like a sob erupted from her throat, and she clapped a horrified hand over her mouth. She felt a tap on her shoulder and turned to find a kindly looking woman who might or might not have borne a striking resemblance to Queen Elizabeth extending a square of fabric her way.

  “I know, love. Weddings always make me tear up too.” The fabric fluttered at her, and Georgia was able to make out monogrammed letters on the lacy hem. Those letters sent her over the edge. What kind of people carried spare handkerchiefs with their initials on them? What the hell was she doing pretending this was anything but a complete and utter farce?

  “Take it,” the woman insisted, her face crinkling in a smile. “I have more. And don’t worry—I’m sure it’ll be you up there soon. You’re too young and much too pretty not to have a dozen men waiting for you at home.”

  * * *

  “Well, brother dear, I hate to be the bearer of bad tidings, but your non-lady fuck buddy is crying in the bathroom, and none of us can get her to come out.”

  “You lie.” Monty lowered the remote control with a start, eliciting a series of groans from the couple at his back.

  “I do, on occasion, but this isn’t one of them.” Jake spoke calmly, but Monty could hear the sounds of a more frantic conversation taking place somewhere on the other end of the line. “I never lie about a woman weeping—like unicorn tears, I consider them sacred.”

  “But Georgia doesn’t cry. Not for anything.”

  Monty realized it was a mistake to say those words out loud when Adam and Nancy came barreling up, demanding to know what was
going on. They’d been standing at the base of Old Hardwood, where a tiny helicopter was now caught in the branches, but they’d all suddenly lost interest in the aerodynamics of six inches of finely crafted plastic.

  “Who made her cry?”

  “What’s going on?”

  He lifted his hand to try and silence them, but it was difficult to keep Adam from tackling him to the ground and wrestling the phone from his grip at the same time. “Who are you talking to?” Adam demanded again.

  His brother’s voice cracked through. “Are you at a circus, Monty?”

  “Yes,” he said grimly, finding it the easiest explanation. His brother wouldn’t believe him anyway if he admitted to sneaking over to Georgia’s house with a grappling hook and a toy helicopter. Jake might understand the chivalrous motives of climbing a tree for a woman, but Monty doubted he’d pick up on the significance of that blue plastic circle embedded near the top. “So you’ll have to speak up. What happened?”

  “No one knows. Jenna and Becca are trying to talk her down, but that non-lady fuck buddy of yours refuses to open the door.”

  “Oh, for crying out loud. Just call her Georgia.”

  “I’m sorry. I thought we were still being secretive.”

  “So help me, Jake—if you don’t stop talking nonsense, I’m going to send the circus over to come get her. Believe me when I say this is not a crew you want to take on willingly.” He turned away so he could better concentrate. “Tell me what’s going on.”

  “No one knows. One minute, we were all standing in the pew, watching your dearly beloved marry another man. The next, your non-lady—ahem, Georgia—is running out the door. Well, wobbling out the door. She may need to invest in flatter shoes.”

  “Did anyone say something to her? Is Dad pressuring her to do something she doesn’t like?” He felt a warning tick flare up under his heart, and he knew in an instant he would eviscerate anyone who dared say something to hurt her. He was as bad as the Testosterone Trio. No, worse, because he’d eviscerate his own family, if that was what it took.

  He hadn’t actually thought Georgia would go through with it. The wedding, his family, the makeup and the dress...he’d assumed it was all a bluff, a way of smoking the fox out of his hole. It was why he’d left her apartment when he did. It was also why he’d been staying at Adam and Nancy’s house instead of farther afield. He figured his family would have no reason to keep hounding Georgia about this makeover if he was out of the picture until the damnable wedding was over—and although it would have been more comfortable to hide away in a hotel room somewhere, he hadn’t felt like being alone.

  Adam was the closest thing to a friend he had these days.

  “We don’t know what the problem is, Monty.” When Jake spoke again, he sounded uncharacteristically serious. “But she’s upset—that much is clear. I know you and Dad are working through some kind of intense battle of wills, and I politely refuse to get in the middle of it, but I’d want to know if it was Becca in there. That’s the only reason I called.”

  Monty swore.

  “You’re a regular peach these days, aren’t you?”

  “Keep an eye on her for me, will you? I’ll be there in half an hour.”

  He forgot, as he hung up the phone, that he had an eager audience waiting for an opportunity to pounce. Nancy was already winding up the grappling hook, and Adam looked one pull of a pin away from exploding altogether.

  “Where are we going, and who do we have to kill?” he asked.

  “We aren’t going anywhere, and none of us is going to give in to our murderous impulses.” Monty looked a warning at Nancy, who bore an eerie resemblance to a mother bear about to defend her young. “And I mean none of us.”

  “I appreciate your concern, Montgomery, but—”

  “I made this mess. I put her in this situation. I’ll be the one to fix it.” Monty took no pride in the words or in the unenviable task to come. He only felt like the biggest jerk in the world. Georgia had ventured into his social circle for the sole purpose of trying to help him patch things up with his family, and he’d abandoned her to them.

  It was a cruel fate for anyone. For a woman who felt herself inadequate in almost every respect, it was unforgivable. All he’d done since the day he walked away from his family was let people down. First Thomas, now this.

  “You can’t seriously expect us to stay here doing nothing.”

  “I don’t.” Monty cast one last anxious glance up at the tree, running a quick mental calculation. They’d been so close to getting the helicopter to work—he either had enough time to head to the Manor to change into his tux or to get that damned Frisbee out of the tree, but not both. It was looks or love, work or play.

  He knew, without question, which one he’d pick.

  “How are the plans coming along for next weekend?” he asked.

  “Nancy?”

  She glanced bewilderedly between the two men. “Fine. Everyone has RSVPed and the deposits are made.”

  “Good.” Monty nodded once. “Then double the deposits and have them move everything to tonight.”

  “There’s no way we can change everything in three hours,” Adam protested. “It’s probably difficult for a rich bastard like you to realize, but you don’t get to command the world at your leisure.”

  Maybe not, but he could command a Lennox. “What? You don’t think you’re up to the task? Not even if we made it interesting?”

  Curiosity flared in Adam’s eyes. “How interesting are we talking?”

  “As interesting as you can stand. Anything pique your fancy?”

  “Oh, hell, yes.” Adam clapped his hands. “I’ve been waiting for an opportunity like this for years. If I manage to pull this off for you, you’re taking over my cell contract. Phone number, hardware, service warranty and all.”

  Monty stilled. “You can’t be serious.”

  “Oh, I’m serious. What you’re asking for is nothing short of a miracle. I expect miracles in return.”

  “How do you know Danny won’t move the ringtone later?”

  Adam stuck his hand out and didn’t reply until Monty reluctantly shook. “The Brother Code. He doesn’t care who he’s annoying as long as one of us is feeling the pain. Welcome to the family, Montgomery. It’s a small fucking world after all.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Georgia smacked her shoe against the sidewalk for the fifth time, hitting the heel in exactly the same place and getting no closer to removing the damn thing than she’d been ten minutes ago. That day at the Manor, Ashleigh had made it look so easy, like these things were attached by a string and a prayer.

  One more thing separating me from the washed masses. Her shoe’s heels had some kind of unbreakable epoxy holding them together.

  “If I know my sister, those shoes cost a thousand dollars and don’t exist in duplicate anywhere in the United States. Does she know you’re destroying them?”

  Georgia dropped the shoe with a start. She would have jumped to her feet too, but her movements were restricted by her dress and the many layers of undergarments imprisoning her inside it. “What are you doing here?”

  Monty gestured to the curb next to her, and she was too bewildered to stop him from hitching his pants and taking a seat. He wasn’t dressed for a wedding in his shirtsleeves and gray slacks, but he still managed to look more expensive and well-suited to the affair than she did in her borrowed dress, which she’d been informed was a delicate sea-foam green.

  Sea-foam whatever. She looked like a giant mint candy.

  “Here. Let me see it.” He took the shoe—a shiny silver thing—before she could protest and began gently wiggling the heel. “It’s not blunt-force trauma that breaks these things. It’s miles of wear and tear. You have to ease into it.”

  Of course he was an expert i
n ladies footwear on top of everything else. He was kind of obsessed with her orange boots.

  “Can I ask why we’re destroying these?” he asked after a few minutes of diligent effort. Georgia could already see the heel giving a little. “Or am I not allowed to ask?”

  “They’re too tall,” she said. “I can’t run away if they’re too tall.”

  “Ah. I see.”

  He didn’t say anything more, just kept working the heel with a quiet determination. He didn’t appear the least bit surprised to find her sitting outside a church in full evening wear, breathing in the noxious fumes of valets parking cars, so she assumed he’d already heard the full report from his family.

  There was no runaway bride at this wedding. Just a runaway guest. A weeping, emotionally fragile wreck of a runaway guest without a single bruise to cause her breakdown. All she had was a mess of a personal life, a mess of a professional life and a gaping hole where her heart used to be.

  And as her shoe attested, she still didn’t have a Girl Card to show for it.

  “Got it!” Monty held the broken heel up triumphantly. “Do you want me to do the other one?”

  She looked down at her still-shod foot with a frown. Killing the shoes had been more of an exercise in frustration than an actual exit strategy, but she might as well have a matching pair now. She reached to slip the shoe off, startled when Monty’s hand covered her own.

  “Allow me,” he said, and ran his fingers along her arch. Even though his touch was hot, the press of his shoulder against hers hotter, she shivered. “I like being able to do something for you for once.”

  It was more than she could take. “Monty, I—”

  “No, don’t.” He smiled, that hesitant lift of the lips that could barely be counted as a sign of joy. “I didn’t come here to argue. I came to rescue you.”

  “You’re about—” She paused and scanned the sky, where the sun was low enough on the horizon to cast everything in a nauseatingly romantic pink hue. Rich people could even command the perfect wedding sunset, it seemed. “Thirty minutes too late. I climbed out the bathroom window.”