by Terri Austin
“What was she like, your mum?”
It still hurt to talk about it, even after all these years. Brynn wasn’t sure the pain would ever go away. “She was funny and smart, always helped me with my math homework because she was a whiz with numbers. She worked as my dad’s accountant for years. Before she got sick.” Brynn removed the cork and glanced up. “You know when you said I shouldn’t sit on the sidelines? She said almost the exact same thing to me before she died. She told me that I only had one chance to get in the game.” Tears pricked her eyes, and Brynn blinked them away. “I miss her, you know? I was only ten when she was diagnosed with cancer. After that, everything changed. We all fell apart.”
Iain walked forward and tucked his arms around her waist, pulling her closer. “How?”
Brynn hugged him back, placing her cheek against his bare chest. “Her health became our sole focus. The chemo and radiation left her exhausted. She didn’t have the energy to do all the mom things she used to do.”
“Must have been hard on all of you.”
“It was. Toward the end, my dad just kind of gave up. Monica became the wild child, and Allie tried to hold us all together. I don’t know how she managed.”
“What about you?”
Brynn listened to the steady, calm beat of his heart. It comforted her, softened the memories a bit. “I hid in my room, kept to the shadows. Allie and Monica fought constantly. I just tried to smooth things over or stay out of the way.” As her mother’s cancer progressed, Brynn’s family had imploded. When it became clear that her mom was dying, Brynn had desperately wanted to get away from the heavy sadness that permeated the house. It had been a stressful, depressing time. Things were better between Allie and Monica now, but sometimes, Brynn still felt like that scared child, trying so hard to keep the peace. Her mom’s illness altered Brynn forever. She never felt safe after that, not really. Not until Iain. She could let down her walls with him in a way she’d never done with anyone else.
Brynn eased away from him. He’d told her that his mom died of a heart attack a few years ago and his dad had drunk himself to death. Iain hadn’t been close to either of them. “Do you miss your parents at all? What if they’d changed? Your dad might have stopped drinking and your mom could have found herself.”
He huffed. “Life doesn’t work like that. You can’t go around wishing things were different, can you? You have to accept your past and move on.” His face was as placid as a calm lake, but deep emotions rippled through him, causing his shoulders to stiffen. He spoke of his childhood memories with Marc and Davy, happy times, times when they’d fought like brothers. He’d even detailed Davy’s death, the funeral, the way he felt afterward. But Iain’s parents were a sore spot. While Brynn didn’t want to push, she longed for details. What had Iain been like as a little boy? Probably just as determined and headstrong as he was now. She bit back the questions. He’d tell her when he was ready.
“Brynnie.” His eyes were serious, and she sensed a sadness in him. “Right here, right now, this is all that matters. Not the past.”
“I don’t think so.” The past molded them. Her mother’s death had shaped Brynn into the woman she was today. For better or worse. Even though Iain denied it, he was the same way. His past had driven him to become a success. He’d had to fight for everything, and Brynn respected that.
He leaned down and kissed the tip of her nose. “We can’t go back and change anything, love. So what’s the point in dwelling on it?”
She shrugged. “Let’s eat before it gets cold.”
He let her go, but she felt his gaze on her as she moved back to the stove. She dished up two plates and brought them to the table.
Iain held out a chair for her and kissed her bare shoulder before taking his own seat. When he bit into the sausage roll, he actually moaned. “Woman, this is brilliant.”
Brynn laughed. “I’m glad you like it.”
“My mum was a dreadful cook. It took me years to realize food wasn’t meant to be black on the bottom and raw in the middle.” He poured them each a glass of wine. “She made bland, tasteless food. God love her, she tried.”
Again, Brynn refrained from asking any questions, but when he offered up little stories about his family, she soaked up each tidbit. “I learned my culinary skills from Mrs. Hubert.”
“Who is Mrs. Hubert?” he asked.
“Trevor’s cook. She’s a genius. I’m not even in her league.”
He set down his fork and played with the stem of his wineglass. “Are you close to him? Trevor?”
“I am. He comes off as aloof and remote, which he is, but he loves Monica and me. He bought my dad and his wife a coastal home in Texas. Trevor can be very caring. You just have to get to know him.”
“He probably won’t like a working-class wanker in his ranks.”
“It’s a good thing you’re not marrying him then. And he’ll come around.”
Iain gave her a confident smirk. “I doubt it. But I’ll carry on. Somehow.”
“I don’t have a wedding dress, you know.”
He set down his glass. “Brynnie. Love. Everything you wear is flowing and covered in lace. Nothing more bridal than that. Besides, you could show up starkers and look beautiful.”
Her stomach fluttered at the compliment. “We don’t have a song. We don’t have rings. Or flowers, or a photographer.”
He placed his hand on her arm. “Stop worrying, you. I’ll have it covered.”
Brynn believed him. When Iain put his mind to something, he got it done.
Once they finished eating, Brynn began to clear the table. As usual, Iain filled the sink with hot water, rolled up his sleeves, and started scraping the plates.
“I’m going to like having a husband who does the dishes.” Brynn patted his butt as she walked by.
He grinned down at her. “Be honest, love. You’d like me even if I didn’t do dishes.”
“You’re so cocky.”
“Yeah, well, you like that too.”
Before she could answer, the doorbell rang. Brynn set down a bottle of salad dressing and hustled to the door. Looking out the peephole, she saw Tasha standing on her front porch with a dog under each arm. Oh boy.
With a deep sigh, Brynn twisted the handle. “Hey, Tash. Are you and Zeke fighting again?”
“That is it. I am done with him. I go back to Belarus as soon as possible.” She shoved the dogs at Brynn and instead of pulling in one suitcase, Tash tossed three into the foyer. The smallest one knocked into her wall and chipped the paint. “I am up to here.” Tash waved a hand over her head.
“What happened this time?” Brynn asked.
Iain stood in the kitchen doorway. He still hadn’t buttoned his starched, white shirt. He looked hot and handsome. Despite the fact that he was wiping his hands on a pink floral dish towel, he didn’t look the least bit domesticated.
“You again, Englishman?” Tasha asked.
“I could say the same for you, Ruskie.” Iain didn’t head back to the kitchen. Instead, he leaned against the wall and slung the towel over his shoulder. “What’s the trouble this time?”
“It is not your business,” Tasha said.
“It is my business, because it involves Brynn.”
Brynn thrust the dogs back at Tasha. “Let’s not argue. Let’s dialogue. Tasha, tell me what happened.”
“My mother and sister get time off work to come to Las Vegas. Zeke forbid it. He say we can no afford. He say I spend too much money on my hair and nails and clothes. Now he want to make babies. I have babies.” She jostled the dogs. “If we cannot afford my family to visit, how we can afford children?” She walked to the sofa and plopped down, setting a dog on each side of her.
Brynn automatically moved to the sofa, scooping the dogs up and relocating them to the floor. Then she parked herself on the coffee table and patted Tasha’s knee. “I’m sorry. What are you going to do?”
“She’s going to go home and work it out with her husband,” Iain
said. “Coming here won’t solve the problem, will it?”
Tash curled her lip. “Why is he talking about my life? What does he know?”
Brynn shot Iain a warning glare. “Do you want something to eat?”
“No,” Tasha said with a sniff. “If you want, I go to hotel.”
“Don’t be silly. I’ll go get you a cup of tea, all right?”
“Make it vodka.”
Brynn stood. She moved past Iain on her way to the kitchen. “You’re not being helpful,” she whispered.
“Not trying to be, am I?” He followed her. “Her problems shouldn’t affect you.”
Brynn just looked at him. “I just feel bad that she’s so unhappy.”
Iain heaved a sigh. He yanked the dish towel off his shoulder and tossed it on the counter. “From what I can tell, she’s always like this. And this won’t do when we’re married, will it?”
She patted his bare chest. “I’ll talk to her again. Just for tonight, okay? I’ll explain that this is the last time.” She grabbed a shot glass from the cupboard.
“Brynn, pet, you don’t owe her anything. She takes advantage, coming over here all the bloody time. You’re not helping her either, eh?”
She stopped and peered up at him. “What are you talking about?”
“Do you think this is fixing her marriage, her running away every time they have an argument?”
That sounded a little too close to home. Maybe Tash did need to stay and work things out with her husband. He wasn’t a horrible guy. He and Tasha simply had different expectations of marriage. They’d only known each other from chatting online. They hadn’t spent any real world time together—otherwise they might have discovered they were completely incompatible. Which, hello, was almost the exact same situation Brynn found herself in.
“Are we rushing into this, Iain? This marriage thing?”
He took the glass from her and set it on the counter. Then, bracing his hands on her shoulders, he leaned toward her. “Brynn, I’ve never been surer about anything in my life. I want to marry you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. But I want you to promise me right now that you won’t run when things get tough. You’ll stick it out. You’ll talk to me instead of hying off.”
She wanted that. Brynn wanted a marriage like her parents’d had. Even as her mother’s health deteriorated, her dad had been right there by her mom’s side, every single day. It wasn’t until after they’d found out the experimental treatments hadn’t worked that he’d fallen apart.
Brynn took a fortifying breath. “I promise I won’t run. But for tonight, I’m going to stay here. I’ll remind Tash that things need to change.”
Iain raised his brows.
“I’ll make sure she understands this time.”
“See that you do.” He kissed her hard, as if he were sealing the deal. When he raised his head, he looked into her eyes. “I’ve texted my driver—he should be here in a few. I’ll pick you up in the morning, eight thirty. We’ll get a license and get married. Totally Vegas. Just you and me.”
Both frightened and elated, Brynn nodded. “Okay.”
He kissed her one more time, then turned and left the kitchen. Brynn’s fingers drifted up to her lips. She was getting married.
* * *
After staying up past midnight listening to Tasha’s marital woes, Brynn spent the night tossing and turning, wondering what kind of wedding Iain would come up with. She hadn’t told Tash about their plans, but Brynn had made it perfectly clear that Tash couldn’t drop in unannounced anymore. Nor could she spend the night—unless she absolutely needed to. But Brynn tried her best to be firm. Tash took it marginally better than Brynn had expected, then started listing her grievances against Zeke all over again. Brynn tried to listen, but her mind kept wandering back to Iain’s proposal. Well, more of a demand, really. So typical of him, and so perfect for her. They had nothing in common, their personalities were at opposite ends of the spectrum, and yet they were a good pair.
Trying not to wake Tash the next morning, Brynn got ready as quietly as possible. She only had the slightest twinge about leaving Allie and Monica in the dark. She loved her sisters, and while they wouldn’t mean to take over her wedding, they would. This was supposed to be her day. The idea of doing this privately with Iain appealed to her romantic side. Like he said, they could always have a ceremony with the family later.
Besides, Allie and Trevor had eloped, so it wasn’t like Allie could throw stones. Of course, her family knew Trevor pretty well by that time. Brynn’s sisters didn’t know Iain at all, and that was Brynn’s fault. Next time, she’d make sure they got better acquainted in a safe, mutually respectful atmosphere—i.e., not Allie’s house—and Brynn would guide the conversation. She was turning over a new leaf, taking charge of her life, developing boundaries. She didn’t want her tombstone to read: Here lies Brynn Campbell Chapman, a jellyfish of a human being. She was finding her voice more and more every day. It wasn’t always easy for her, but it was worth the effort.
Now, Brynn stood before her mirror and appraised herself with critical eyes. She’d fixed her curls into a loose style and tucked one of the freesias from Iain’s bouquet behind her ear. The off-the-shoulder ivory dress was semi-bridal. Her mother’s inexpensive charm bracelet dangled from her wrist.
Brynn shook with nerves and she paced the living room, waiting for Iain to arrive. At eight thirty on the dot, she heard a car pull up out front. Grabbing her small purse, Brynn had the door open before Iain hit the porch. She glanced past his shoulder to the Hummer limo parked along the curb.
“Wow.” She gazed back at him. “It’s Barbie pink.”
Iain said nothing about the car. He’d stopped midstride and simply stared at her. The morning light slid over him, making his brown eyes look amber. His hair was so dark, certain strands appeared almost blue-black. Wearing a dove-gray suit and silver tie, he was so handsome, she had to stop and catch her breath.
“You’re a princess, you are.” His long legs ate up the distance between them. Brynn shut the door quietly behind her. “How did I get so lucky, eh?”
She placed her hand on his chest. He covered it with his own. “I have something old”—she gestured to the bracelet—“the flower is new. My toenails are blue. Do you have anything I can borrow? You know, just to keep with tradition.”
Iain pulled Davy’s dice from his pocket. “Hang on to these.”
She was touched that he shared them with her. “I won’t lose them.”
He dipped his head and kissed her lips lightly, solemnly. “Are you ready?”
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak further. This was her wedding day. The only person she wished were there was her mother. Maybe Trisha Campbell was watching over Brynn. She liked to think so anyway.
Iain tucked Brynn’s hand into the crook of his arm and escorted her to the most hideous car she’d ever seen. Inside, resting on the hot-pink pleather seat, she found a lovely bouquet of peach-tipped roses.
“I hope they’re all right?” Iain said, climbing in beside her. “I know we said tacky—”
“They’re beautiful.” She stuck the dice in her bag and took his hand, intertwining their fingers. His skin was warm, solid. Iain Chapman made her feel safe and cared for. She hoped he felt the same way.
The chauffeur shut the door, leaving them shrouded in darkness. Except for the hot-pink neon strips of light rimming the floor.
Brynn gazed around. “This is so awesomely bad.”
“Worst I could find.” He already had a glass of champagne waiting for her.
Brynn began laughing when they clinked glasses. “I never went to my prom, but this is what I imagined it would be like.”
Iain slid his arm along the back of the seat. His fingers brushed her bare shoulder, gliding over her skin. She shivered at his touch. “Why didn’t you go to the prom?”
“The boy I liked, Rob Baker, didn’t ask me. I wouldn’t settle for second best.” She sipped from her
flute and eased back, snuggling next to him.
“Whoever this Rob bloke was, he was a right idiot. Passing up a chance to go to prom with Brynnie Campbell. He should have his head examined.”
“You’re being very sweet, doing all this. You look incredibly handsome by the way.”
He shrugged. “I do my best.”
Brynn enjoyed the ride—every minute of rush-hour traffic. Not only because she was cuddled next to Iain, but because sitting in the pink monster was kitschy fun.
Applying for a license only took fifteen minutes. Next, they headed down the Strip, and Brynn glanced out the window, wondering what Iain had planned for the ceremony.
When he handed her another glass of champagne, she gazed at him through narrowed eyes. “Are you trying to get me buzzed? It’s nine thirty. I’m usually on my third cup of coffee by now.”
“Wait until you see what I have in store. You’re going to need that drink, trust me.”
“Give me a hint.”
“No. No hints of any kind.”
The limo slowly made its way toward the end of the Boulevard, to the smallest chapel in Vegas. There were no other cars in the lot. Good thing too, because the Hummer took up a lot of room.
Iain escorted Brynn inside and to her utter delight, while the building appeared humble and ordinary on the outside, inside, the walls were covered in faded flocked wallpaper and chipped gold scrollwork. The threadbare zebra-print carpet had seen its best days decades ago.
A photographer met them at the door and began taking candid shots. He probably caught Brynn gasping.
“I made sure we’d have the place to ourselves,” Iain said. “What do you think?”
She gazed up at her future husband. “It’s awful. I love it.”
He raised one brow. “Thank God. I was worried it might be over the top.”
“Oh, it’s over the top.” She rose up on her tiptoes and kissed him. “You’re amazing.”
“We’re not through.”
“There’s more?”
Iain led her through a set of double doors, and there, waiting at the end of the aisle, stood a Cher impersonator holding a rhinestone-encrusted microphone. With huge hair, a black beaded gown, a feathered headdress, and six-inch heels, if Brynn squinted and tilted her head to the side, she could definitely see a resemblance to the real thing.