The door to the waiting room opened and one of the ushers stuck his head in. “They’re ready for you, ladies.”
There was last-minute primping and excited whispers as the bridal party headed for the door. Simone started to join them, but Jessica grabbed her hand first.
“I want you to know I won’t forget this. I mean . . . that was a really nice offer.”
“I offered to help you ditch your own wedding,” Simone reminded her.
Jessica smiled crookedly. “I know. I just . . . thank you. You’re a good friend.”
Simone gave her a careful hug, avoiding her hair, makeup, and dress. “You’re a good friend, too. And Tom’s a great guy.”
Jessica took a deep breath. “He is, isn’t he? And I do love him.”
“All right, then. Let’s get you married.”
CHAPTER TWO
Ben couldn’t sit still. He was restless and nothing seemed to help.
His mother was sitting next to him in the crowded pew. “What’s wrong with you?” she hissed from behind her wedding program.
“Nothing.”
Tom Shelburne stepped up to the altar along with the minister, best man, and a troop of groomsmen. The organist began the processional. The wedding guests dutifully turned their heads, and here came a flock of bridesmaids.
Ben’s mind, as restless as his body, started playing with collective nouns. A parliament of owls, an ostentation of peacocks, an exaltation of larks. What term would you use for groomsmen and bridesmaids? A band, a bevy, a gaggle?
The flower girl made her way down the aisle with the appropriate amount of adorableness, and then there was a Significant Pause.
The congregation rose to their feet and stood in respectful silence. The organist halted for a dramatic moment, fingers poised above the keys, before launching into “Ode to Joy.”
And then, there she was: the lady of the hour.
Jessica Bullock.
There was an appreciative murmur from the crowd, and Ben couldn’t blame them.
She was beautiful.
Her dress was elaborate and regal, and the jeweled tiara she wore added to the princess-like effect. Her hair was loose, rippling in soft golden waves over her bare shoulders. As she drew closer, Ben could see the familiar blue of her eyes, the color of a clear autumn sky.
The smile on her face was just right—sweet and a little bit shy, as befitted a blushing bride. Ben was sure everyone in this church was convinced she was as happy as she looked.
But he knew better.
With every step she took down the aisle, the disconnect between her appearance and her true emotions became more obvious to him. He felt like he was seeing two Jessicas: the one most people saw, and one very few could see.
The Jessica he saw wasn’t glowing with bridal joy. She was numb, miserable, trapped.
Then she drew level with him, and their eyes met. Her façade was shaken—her facial muscles tensed, and her eyes widened for just a moment.
The moment was soon over. Now she was at the altar, being kissed by her father and handed off to Tom Shelburne.
But he wasn’t interested in Tom. The only person he cared about was Jessica.
“Sit,” his mother whispered, tugging on his jacket sleeve.
Only then did he notice that he was still standing while the rest of the wedding guests had taken their seats. He let himself sink back down, his eyes on his old friend.
At that moment that’s what Jessica was. Not an estranged childhood companion, not someone he’d disliked in high school, not a person from his past he hadn’t seen in years.
She was his old friend, and she was in trouble.
“I have to help her.”
Only when his mother shushed him did he realize he’d spoken out loud.
He didn’t say anything else. But as the ceremony continued, he knew he couldn’t let this marriage happen.
He had to do something to stop it. But just as he was starting to stand, he heard a man’s voice behind him.
“Tom.”
Ben swiveled his head along with everyone else in the church.
Standing there in the aisle was a man Ben had never seen before. He was in his late thirties or early forties, with thinning dark hair and intense dark eyes.
The minister stopped talking. Jessica gasped, but after that there was dead silence. Everyone was staring at the stranger who was staring at Tom. It was obvious that as far as he was concerned, Tom was the only one there who mattered.
“It was harder when we met,” the man said. He spoke quietly, but his words echoed in the silent church. “We live in a different world now. I’m not saying things will always be easy, but we don’t have to be afraid of who we are. Not anymore.” He took a step toward the altar. “And even if we did, I wouldn’t give a damn. Life is short. Too short not to spend it with your soul mate.”
He didn’t say anything else. He just waited, holding Tom’s gaze with his.
Ben could feel the stunned amazement all around him. Beside him, his mother gripped his arm.
But the only reaction he cared about was Jessica’s.
Her face was pale, but not from surprise.
That was the reason for the tension behind her façade. She’d known Tom was gay. But then why had she been willing to go along with this charade? What the hell had she been thinking?
Standing beside her at the altar, Tom closed his eyes. “I love you,” he whispered. Then he opened his eyes and said it again, loud enough to be heard all through the church. “I love you, Everett.”
In the first pew on the groom’s side, Tom’s mother collapsed against his father.
Everett started to walk toward the altar, but Tom held up a hand. “Wait,” he said, his voice shaking. Then he turned to his fiancée.
“Jessica, I . . . I don’t know what to say. You’re my best friend, and I’m hurting you worse than I’ve hurt anyone in my life. If you want to scream at me or curse me or punch me in the face, I deserve it.”
When he stopped talking, he just stood there, waiting.
There was a long moment of silence. Then Jessica lifted her chin.
“There is something I’d like to say to you. Here in front of all our family and friends.”
Tom braced himself and nodded. “Go ahead.”
Her lower lip was trembling. “I’m so proud of you, Tom. And . . . and . . . I’m happy for you, too.”
She pressed her lips together to stop the trembling, and then turned to address the church. “I guess it’s obvious that the wedding is off. I’m so sorry that I . . . that we . . .” She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. But I want to thank you all for coming. And the reception is paid for, so . . . I hope some of you will join me there. There’ll be food . . . and music . . . and . . .”
The invitation seemed to use up Jessica’s courage. As she looked out at the stunned congregation, her eyes filled with sudden tears.
The minister stepped forward then and spoke to her in a low voice. He led her away toward a small side door behind the altar, and her parents and sister hurried after her.
The moment the door closed behind them, the church erupted into shocked conversation. But Ben, who hadn’t been able to stay still or silent when everyone else was, now found himself sitting like a stone.
Tom was gay. Jessica had known he was gay, and she’d agreed to marry him anyway.
And then it had blown up in her face in the most public way imaginable.
All during high school, Ben had half wished that something would blow up in Jessica’s face. He’d hated the stereotype she’d turned herself into—the shallow rich girl obsessed with appearances and tearing other people down—and there’d been times he’d thought she’d be better off if someone or something humbled her, reminding her of her own days as an outsider.
Well, that wish had come true . . . ten years after the fact. And he felt sick.
On the other side of his mother, his father spoke up. “What in the hell just happened?”
His mother was shaking her head slowly. “I can’t believe it. That poor, poor girl.”
His father sighed. “Well, at least we don’t have to go to the reception.”
“I don’t know,” his mother said. “Maybe we ought to—”
Ben rose to his feet. “We’re going to the reception.”
His parents, still sitting, stared up at him.
“I practically had to drag you to this wedding,” his mother said. “You’ve been acting like a fractious child all day. And now that you’re off the hook, you want to go to the reception?”
“I, for one, absolutely refuse,” his father put in. “These things are bad enough when the bride and groom actually get married.”
“We’re going,” Ben said again.
His mother threw up her hands. “But why?”
“Jessica invited us.” He gestured toward the altar. “Didn’t you hear her?”
“Well, yes—but she was only being brave.”
“Exactly. And we’re going to support her.”
The minister was talking, and her sister, too.
“Are you all right?”
“What can we do?”
No, I’m not all right. And there’s nothing you can do.
Her parents were in the background, and—miracle of miracles—they weren’t blaming her or criticizing her.
They were probably in shock.
Everyone in that church had been in shock. Her extended family, her friends, her parents’ friends . . . staring at the train wreck happening in front of them, unable to look away.
But for some reason, only one face stood out in her memory.
Ben Taggart.
Months before, when she’d seen his name on her mother’s invitation list, it had given her a jolt. They’d been friends once—good friends—but that had been during childhood and junior high, a time she’d worked hard to forget.
She’d cut him out of her life in high school. She’d been a bitch to him, in fact, which wasn’t something she was proud of. She would have preferred not to have him at her wedding, but the Taggarts were old friends of her parents and she couldn’t disinvite their son.
A while later she’d asked if Ben had RSVP’d, and her mother said he had. Then she’d asked if he was bringing a date, and her mother said no, he was coming stag.
She wasn’t sure why she’d asked. What did it matter to her if Ben had a girlfriend? They hadn’t even seen each other for a couple of years.
The last time they’d had a real conversation was in high school. It hadn’t gone well.
She’d said something snide to another student and Ben had called her on it. He’d told her she was shallow and superficial. That she’d turned her back on her true friends and the only decent people in her life. That he didn’t even recognize the person she’d become. That he’d love nothing more than to see her knocked off her high horse.
Boy, had his wish ever come true.
Ben Taggart had been there to see her humiliated. He’d been there to see the lies exposed, the shattering of the illusions she’d worked so hard to create.
“I’ll kill him.”
That was her father, muttering imprecations under his breath.
“What he did was unforgivable,” her mother said, her voice trembling. “Did you see his parents? I don’t think they’ll ever speak to him again.”
Tom. Oh, Tom.
Even though she was collateral damage in the explosion, she really was proud of him. To declare himself like that, in front of everybody, knowing that his own parents would judge and reject him—that had taken real courage.
All their lives, she and Tom had shared one defining characteristic: cowardice.
That was why they’d planned this sham marriage. They would shelter each other from the things they feared—shield each other from the world.
Now Tom had found his courage, and left her all alone.
She was proud of him. She was happy for him.
But that didn’t stop her from being sad for herself.
Her parents were warming to their subject: vilifying Tom. Even Vicki, who usually tried to see everyone’s side of a story, had joined in.
And suddenly, a path opened before her. Not a way to escape humiliation—there was no evading that—but of escaping her parents’ disapproval.
She could let them blame Tom.
It wouldn’t do him any additional injury. He wouldn’t expect the parents of the woman he’d jilted to be his biggest fans.
But it would be a lie. And since she had nothing else to lose, she might as well speak the truth for once in her life.
“It wasn’t Tom’s fault.”
That shut everybody up.
“I knew Tom was gay. I decided to marry him anyway.”
Taking advantage of the stunned silence, she turned to Vicki and grabbed her hand. “Will you come with me back to the hotel? I have to change for the reception.”
“You’re not serious,” her mother said. “You can’t possibly—”
“I want to see the people who go,” she said. “Because they’ll be the people who care about me.”
“Hardly,” her mother snapped. “They’ll be the people who want to see you writhing in embarrassment—and your family, too.”
“You and Dad don’t have to go.”
Her mother stared at her, and she stared back. If a man of the cloth hadn’t been there, Samantha Bullock would have had a lot more to say. But the minister’s presence restrained her.
“Very well,” she said, her voice iron-hard. “We won’t.”
Vicki gasped. “Mom—”
“We’ll see you both tomorrow,” her mother said.
And with that, Samantha and William Bullock made their exit.
Vicki started to sputter in indignation, but Jessica stopped her. “It’s okay,” she said. “It’ll be easier without them there.”
Her sister looked worried. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
She’d told a church full of people she’d be at the reception, and for once in her life she wasn’t going to be a coward.
“I’m sure.”
CHAPTER THREE
The room looked beautiful.
As Jessica stood in the doorway and surveyed the scene, she felt an odd sense of detachment . . . almost as though she were a guest at someone else’s wedding.
Every detail was flawless. It all looked exactly as she had envisioned, and for a control freak, there could be no sweeter triumph.
If only she’d been the wedding planner instead of the bride. Then, at least, she could take some professional satisfaction in the planning and aesthetic instinct that had led to this moment of event-planning perfection.
Unfortunately, she was the bride. The jilted bride, she reminded herself, fighting the urge to turn and flee.
At least she wasn’t wearing her wedding gown anymore. She’d changed into the blue silk dress she’d planned to wear tomorrow, when she and Tom were supposed to leave for their honeymoon.
Once people saw her standing there, it was too late to run. She stiffened her spine, lifted her chin, and took a deep breath.
There were a surprising number of people here, all things considered. Had they come to jeer, as her mother had implied?
The first wave of guests reached her. She searched their faces, but there was no mockery or satisfied malice in anyone’s eyes. All she saw was kindness, warmth, and sympathy.
Would she have been so compassionate to someone else in her position? Or would she have derided them from behind the defensive fortress she’d spent so many years constructing?
That fortress was gone now. It lay in ruins all around her, exposing . . . what?
That was the danger in hiding behind walls for so long. Eventually, the walls became more real than whatever was behind them. Now that the walls had been destroyed, what remained?
She had a horrible feeling that the answer was nothing.
But she didn’t have to ask that
question right now. Now she had something else to face: all the people who’d actually shown up at what had become a sideshow instead of a wedding reception, with herself as the main attraction.
The first person to reach her was Simone, which helped. Simone’s sturdy friendship and I-don’t-give-a-crap attitude was like a drink of cool water on a hot day. With Simone on her right and Vicki on her left, she might actually get through the next hour.
Then she saw Ben Taggart across the room.
Their eyes locked and Jessica felt a hot rush of embarrassment. Why did it bother her so much that he’d witnessed her humiliation? Hundreds of other people had, too—and almost all of them were a bigger part of her current life than Ben was.
Maybe it was because Ben had always been so honest himself, and so impatient with anything like artifice. In that brief moment when their eyes had met in church, he’d given her the same feeling he always had: that he was seeing below the surface.
The other guests had been smiling and happy for her—all the things you’d expect. But Ben had been frowning. Not in disapproval, exactly, but in . . . recognition? Concern?
She wasn’t sure what he’d been feeling. But he’d figured out what no one else but Simone had—that something was wrong. That the smiling face she wore walking down that aisle was a mask.
Now he was here, at the reception. Why? Was he reveling in her humiliation? That would be a little petty, considering that any grudge he might have against her was fifteen years old. Had he come because he felt sorry for her? That would be a hundred times worse.
A knot of people had drifted between her and Ben, obscuring her view of him. Now the crowd shifted and she got a clearer look.
He looked good, was the first unbidden thought that came to her mind. He shouldn’t, because he hated suits and he ought to look stiff as a board in one. But even though he’d always looked better in jeans and T-shirts, he looked good in suits, too.
He looked good in everything. He always had.
His dark hair was a bit longer than she usually liked on men, but it suited him. That, along with the lean power of his body and the rough, masculine planes of his face, made a fascinating contrast with the subdued lines of his jacket and tie.
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