It Happened One Wedding

by James, Julie

  When the other women had been served their glasses, Amanda, who’d bought the round, raised hers in toast. “To Isabelle and her romantic whirlwind courtship with Simon. I think I speak for everyone at this table when I say . . . girl, I thought for sure you were pregnant.”

  The group burst into laughter.

  Isabelle lifted her glass. “Bottom’s up to that.” She polished off the shot in one gulp. While everyone else was drinking, she winked at Sidney, who sat at the opposite end of the table.

  Unbeknownst to all, Sidney had promised their waiter an extra twenty percent in gratuity if he served Isabelle virgin versions of whatever drinks everyone ordered for her. The plan had similarly worked like a charm earlier that evening at RPM Italian, where they’d had dinner. By now, Isabelle had drunk two virgin cosmopolitans, a virgin French martini, and three nonalcoholic lemon drop shots, and likely was flying high on a sugar rush from all the cranberry, lemon, and pineapple juice.

  Sidney shared a conspiratorial smile with her sister, and was struck by a sudden bout of nostalgia. To cover, she looked out at the striking view to her right. They had a VIP table on the terrace of theWit Hotel’s rooftop lounge, which, at twenty-seven stories up, looked out over the city’s impressive nighttime skyline.

  She’d wanted to go all out for this bachelorette party because she knew that Isabelle had been stressed with the wedding planning and because things likely weren’t going to get any less busy for her sister anytime soon. After the wedding, Isabelle would move into baby-prep mode, and five months later she would be a mom. Thus, in some ways, this bachelorette party felt like a final hurrah to the old days, the many years when it was basically just the two of them, the Sinclair sisters.

  “Man, your sister can drink,” said Trish, seated on Sidney’s left. “I’ve only had half of what she’s had, and I’m already feeling it.” A breeze blew through her blond hair and she sighed contentedly. “It’s so good to be out.” She looked at Sidney. “Don’t tell the other moms in my play group that I said that.”

  Sidney smiled. Trish had joined a neighborhood “new moms” group and, as the only woman who worked full-time, had been feeling a little like an outsider. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

  Trish took a sip of her drink and then sat back in her chair. “So, catch me up. Tell me how things are going with your dating plan.”

  “I had drinks with Chad Bailey the other night. Remember him, from high school?”

  “Ooh, I remember him being very cute. What’s he like now?” Trish asked eagerly.

  “Pretty much a jerk.” Sidney filled her friend in on all the details of her date.

  “Huh. So these tips about men that Vaughn is giving you. What’s in it for him?” Trish asked.

  “Unfortunately, so far, the satisfaction of being completely right,” Sidney said dryly.

  Trish cocked. “Is there . . . any chance he’s trying to steer you away from other guys because he’s jealous?”

  Sidney snorted. “Ah, no. Guys like Vaughn don’t get jealous. He won’t even sleep with the same woman twice in the same week because he doesn’t want any ‘emotional entanglements.’ As for why he’s giving me these tips, I guess it’s because we’ve kind of become . . . friends.”

  Trish stared at her in disbelief.

  “I know,” Sidney said. “I heard the word come out of my mouth and I’m just as shocked as you.”

  They both started laughing—an amusement undoubtedly aided by the drinks they’d already consumed that night.

  “Do you have bend-me-over-the-couch sex with a lot of your friends?” Trish asked.

  “Heck, maybe I should, after this.” Still giggling, they clinked their glasses together.

  “It’s that good, huh?”

  Sidney leaned in conspiratorially. “Oh my gosh, Trish. You should see the shape he’s in. When he takes his shirt off, it’s like . . .” She paused, trying to come up with a good analogy for naked Vaughn Roberts. “Remember when we went to Vegas, the dessert bar at the Bellagio buffet? It’s like that. So much I want to try, I don’t even know where to start.”

  “I told you that you needed this.”

  “You were definitely right.”

  “And I don’t need to be concerned that you’re starting to actually like the guy? Normally, you don’t befriend the Mr. Right Now, I don’t think.”

  “That’s just because of this whole wedding thing. And actually, I think it’s good that the two of us can have a conversation now without me ending up thoroughly annoyed.” Some of the time. “I’m going to be running into the guy forever, you know.” She looked at her friend without any hesitation. “You don’t have to worry. I’ve got this, Trish.”

  “Got what?” said a voice, coming from behind Sidney.

  She looked over as Isabelle took a seat in the open chair on her right. “We were . . . just discussing who’s going to buy the next round of drinks.”

  “Cool. Guess what? I have some good news,” Isabelle said excitedly. “Simon’s coming here with the guys.”

  “He is?” Sidney asked, surprised.

  Isabelle was doing her dreamy, glowing thing again. “He’s been texting me all night, asking how things are going.” She threw Sidney a secret look that suggested Simon was, once again, feeling protective of his pregnant fiancée. “He says he pitched the idea of coming here to the other guys, and once he told them that I had a cute, single sister, they were all on board. I think he must be pretty drunk.”

  “Thanks,” Sidney said.

  Isabelle laughed and squeezed her hand. “Not because he said you’re cute. I meant that over the course of the evening, his text messages have gotten increasingly . . . sentimental. He says he misses me, just being away from me for one day.” She looked at Sidney, beaming over this. “You don’t mind that they’re coming, do you?”

  “Not at all. It’s your bachelorette party, Izz.”

  Isabelle left to tell the other women the news, practically dancing around the table along the way.

  Sidney and Trish exchanged looks. Both of them started giggling.

  “My God, it’s like she’s in a Disney movie,” Trish said. “Please tell me I was not that giddy when it was my turn.”

  “Giddy? No. But I do seem to recall somebody getting a little choked up when Reid’s best man told that story about your first date during his toast.”

  “So my eyes were a little watery. It was allergy season.”

  “Sure it was.” With a knowing smile, Sidney took a sip of her martini.

  • • •

  DESPITE HOLDING A firm belief that seeing one’s fiancée on the night of one’s bachelor party went against the natural order of things, Vaughn found himself crammed in an elevator with Simon and thirteen other guys, headed up to the rooftop terrace at theWit Hotel.

  After an afternoon spent gambling on a riverboat casino, and then dinner at Zed451—an upscale steakhouse in the city’s River North neighborhood—the original plan had been to stop next for drinks at the rooftop bar at EPIC. But then Simon, who’d sailed over the line between good-and-buzzed to outright drunk about an hour ago, had started texting his bride-to-be, messages that were undoubtedly even more schmaltzy than usual, given his inebriated state. And just like that, the plan switched.

  They’d encountered one near obstacle: the bouncer in the lobby, who hadn’t been particularly enthused about admitting such a large party of guys all at one time. Fortunately, a quick flash of Vaughn’s FBI badge, accompanied by a generous tip, had taken care of that problem.

  After the group got off at the twenty-seventh floor, Vaughn held back to wait for Cade and Huxley, who’d taken a separate elevator. He’d invited his friends, both of whom knew Simon fairly well, to tag along for the night.

  The two men exited the elevator and checked out the place as they walked over to the railing, where Vaughn wai
ted. It was a large bar, divided into multiple indoor/outdoor sections, with enough people to make the space feel crowded but not packed.

  “If you like it, Morgan, we might want to book now for your bachelor party,” Vaughn said, only half-joking.

  Cade casually tucked his hands into his pants pockets. “I don’t believe I’ve announced anything.”

  “Yet,” Huxley said, as the three of them walked toward the bar on the patio. It wasn’t exactly a secret, they both knew Cade planned to propose to Brooke soon.

  “Hmm,” was Cade’s only response.

  Vaughn and Huxley exchanged looks, letting that non-answer sit for a moment. When they got to the bar, Vaughn ordered three glasses of Macallan 18.

  Then he studied Cade. Now that he thought about it, his friend had been acting a little squirrelly all evening. “Something’s up.”

  “What makes you think that?” Cade said.

  “Instinct.” Vaughn glanced at his partner. “What do you think, Agent Huxley?”

  Huxley sized Cade up. “He’s holding out on us.”

  Cade threw his hands in the air in disbelief. “I swear, I don’t know how you two do it. From the moment I first got together with Brooke, you’ve had an eerie sixth sense about these things.”

  “First of all, the reason Hux and I have a sixth sense about these things is because we’re bad-ass FBI agents who know everything.”

  “Word,” Huxley nodded.

  “But more important”—Vaughn grinned at his best friend—“Holy shit, Morgan. Did you ask Brooke to marry you?”

  Cade smiled. “Yesterday.”

  “And . . . what did she say?”

  Cade laughed at that. “She said yes.”

  Vaughn grabbed Cade’s shoulder. “Hell, yeah, she said yes.”

  “Congratulations,” Huxley said, raising a glass. “Ah, it seems like just yesterday that you were threatening her with obstruction of justice charges and she told you to kiss her ass.”

  They toasted, drank, and reminisced for a while, until Cade switched subjects. “So how long are you going to keep us in suspense here?” he asked Vaughn.

  “Keep you in suspense about what?”

  “Which one is Sidney?” Cade nodded in the direction of Isabelle’s bachelorette party, which Simon and the rest of the guys had quickly infiltrated.

  Auburn hair at two o’clock, smoking-hot black dress, holding a half-finished pink martini in her right hand. “Sidney . . . who’s Sidney?”

  Huxley snorted. “I’ll go out on a limb and guess that she’s the redhead by the railing who you can’t stop checking out.”

  Realizing that the gig was up, Vaughn allowed himself a good, long look. With her hair falling past her shoulders in sleek waves, smoky eyes, red lipstick, and a black dress that dipped to a V in front, she looked every inch the vixen right then. She was talking to a blond woman—Trish, if memory served from the bridal shower—and they seemed to be . . .

  His mind went blank when Sidney moved, giving him a glimpse of the slit in her dress that parted all the way up to her midthigh.

  Sweet Jesus.

  Vaughn cleared his throat and turned back to his friends. “Anyhow.”

  Cade laughed. “Anyhow? Huxley and I just went and played two rounds of pool during the time you were ogling her.”

  “So I checked her out.” Vaughn shrugged. “She’s an attractive woman.”

  “Please. We’ve been here for twenty minutes, and you haven’t said one word about the brunette in the blue dress who’s been eye-fucking you this whole time,” Huxley said.

  “What brun—” Looking across the bar, Vaughn spotted her now. Wow, Hux was right, she really was eye-fucking him. “Well, that’s not happening.”

  “Because you’re smitten with the maid of honor. Just admit it,” Cade said.

  “I don’t do smitten, my friend.”

  “So if some guy walked up to Sidney right now and started hitting on her, you’d have no problem with that?” Cade asked.

  Vaughn felt another one of those annoying twinges—which, like the other one, he promptly shoved aside. “If some guy walks up to her, I give it all of about five minutes before she sends him packing. Her checklist is like a fortress—nobody’s getting through.”

  “Are you willing to bet on that? Because I think we have a situation here.” Huxley leaned in toward Vaughn, his eyes trained on something across the room. “Your ten o’clock. Light brown hair, black shirt, about six feet tall.”

  Vaughn quickly identified the suspect. He watched as the other guy stared appreciatively at Sidney from across the room.

  “Think he’s going to make a move?” Huxley asked.

  Vaughn’s jaw tightened. “I’d say that’s very likely, Agent Huxley.”

  Cade peered over his shoulder. “What are you two talking about? Is something happening?”

  His eyes trained on the suspect, Vaughn watched as Black Shirt grabbed hold of his drink and turned around, leaning against the bar while fully checking out Sidney.

  “Some guy is about to approach Sidney,” Huxley said.

  Cade looked at Vaughn. “You’re not going to stand here and watch while another dude hits on her, are you?”

  Vaughn thought about that. “That guy looks like a douchebag—she won’t want to talk to him. I mean, really . . . I suppose I’d be doing her a favor by going over there and intercepting this guy.”

  Cade and Huxley exchanged looks.

  “You do that,” Cade said, his lips twitching in a smile. “Be a hero.”

  “Yes. Right.” Vaughn nodded. “Just so we’re all clear that I’m doing this for her.” Right then, he saw Black Shirt push away from the bar and head into the crowd in Sidney’s direction.

  Enough of the chitchat—he had a douchebag to intercept.

  Twenty-three

  TRISH NUDGED SIDNEY, her tone sly. “Your friend is coming this way.”

  Yes, Sidney was aware of this. Actually, she’d been plenty aware of Vaughn ever since he’d walked into the bar. And she wasn’t the only one: looking rakishly handsome in his suit jacket, pants, and open-necked shirt, he’d caught the eye of many a woman on that terrace—including Amanda, who’d been openly checking him out this whole time.

  “Miss Sinclair,” he said as he approached.

  Then he surprised her by stepping closer and kissing her on the cheek.

  “Uh . . . hi,” she said, not exactly sure when they’d moved into the public kiss-hello phase.

  “Hi, yourself,” he said with a charming smile, standing very close to her.

  When he didn’t move away, Sidney lowered her voice. “What are you doing?” Her sister and his brother were standing close by. Yet here he was, quite obviously leaning in toward her.

  He seemed amused by her question. “You’re always asking me that. I’m starting a conversation. Again.” He winked.

  Okay . . . “And how much have you had to drink tonight, Agent Roberts?”

  He laughed as if this was the funniest thing, and touched her chin. “Always busting my balls, Sinclair.”

  Then he looked to his right, watching as some guy in a black shirt passed by them.

  He waited until the guy was gone, then stepped back to an acceptable “just friends” distance. “So. Having fun tonight?” he asked both women, seeming normal now.

  Sidney exchanged a look with Trish, who shrugged. No clue what any of that was all about. “You remember my friend Trish, from the shower?”

  Trish shook Vaughn’s hand. “We met briefly outside, when you and Simon were saying good-bye to your mother.”

  “Speaking of Simon, how is he holding up?” Sidney asked Vaughn.

  “He’s in that phase where he’s telling everyone how much he loves them. And half the people, he actually knows.”

  She lau
ghed. “Simon, a happy drunk? No way.”

  “How about Isabelle? Is she having a good time?” Vaughn asked.

  “A great time, from what I can tell,” Sidney said.

  “She’s been partying it up all night,” Trish said. “Honestly, I had no idea she could hold her liquor so well.” She finished off the last sip of her martini. “Which reminds me—it’s my turn to buy her a shot. I’ll be back in a few minutes. Or so,” she added, giving Sidney a pointed smile.

  “Make sure you ask Dwayne to get it for you,” Sidney reminded her. “He’s giving us a discount on all of our drinks.”

  “Got it.” Trish headed off to track down the waiter.

  Vaughn moved next to Sidney along the railing. Not surprisingly, he raised a brow. “Your sister is doing shots?”

  “I tipped the waiter an extra twenty percent to give her nonalcoholic versions of all her drinks.”

  “Very sneaky,” he said approvingly. Then his look turned more familiar. “You look incredible tonight.”

  She felt herself go warm at the compliment. “Thanks. We had a spa day earlier that included hair and makeup. I’m not sure about the lipstick, though. Too red?”

  Belatedly, she realized that this question brought his attention to her mouth.

  His eyes lingered as he gazed down at her lips. “I like the red.”

  Drawn in by his look, she tried to think of something that could steer them back to normal ground. “I have another Man-Speak question for you.”

  He frowned. “I just saw you yesterday. You’ve already been on another date?”

  “Not another date. Just some guy who e-mailed me through the online dating service I signed up with,” she said. “And don’t act so scandalized. Do I even want to know how many women you’ve been texting and e-mailing as of late?”

  He furrowed his brow, as if needing to think about that.

  She’d take that as a no, she did not want to know. “So here’s my question: what does it mean when a guy says he’s ‘pretty much single’?”

  “That’s easy. It means, ‘I have a girlfriend, but I’ve kept my dating profile active anyway, and you’re hot.’”