“I like her, Jackson. Be happy.”
***
A collective gasp filled the church as Hunter Joseph, not Jackson O’Connell, took his place beside the minister. Knowing where her daughter’s heart had always lain, Claire Westwood was unruffled. She was ruffled, however, by the sight of her youngest, Georgia, at the side of Colton Smith. They had shown up in a cloud of dust on Colton’s motorcycle just before the ceremony had started, and her brain had automatically gone into attack-and-destroy mode.
Except this was the new Claire Westwood and she didn’t meddle in her children’s lives.
Unfortunate.
Her daughter looked radiant and beautiful as she recited her vows. Everything had turned out exactly as she’d intended it to.
“Do you, Ariana Westwood, take this man, Hunter Joseph, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better and for worse, until death do you part?”
“I do.”
Hunter slipped a gold band on Ariana’s finger and swept her up in a kiss that made every woman in the church sigh and swoon just a little.
Never one for sentimentality, Claire was struck by the irony of the minister’s words. She and Bradley hadn’t held each other through the rough spots—they’d torn each other apart with a lack of trust so deep it could have scaled the Atlantic.
“You might just have dodged a bullet there,” Bradley murmured as Ariana and Hunter walked down the aisle under a sea of rose petals. “She might even start talking to you again sometime this century.”
She would. Claire knew her daughter. Bradley, however, still seemed furious with her for meddling in Ariana’s life. Not exactly helping her plan to get him back.
She made it through the interminably long receiving line and photos, then knocked back two glasses of champagne in quick succession at the reception. Watched Jackson and Bradley’s assistant sneak out into the night. It confirmed her suspicion that Sarah Cooper had been a decoy. Yet another chess move in the never ending game that was her and Bradley’s marriage.
Cheeks flushed from the champagne, she ducked into the cloakroom to leave her wrap. Noticed in the mirror her slip seemed to be jammed in the back zipper of her dress.
Oh, Lord. She’d been walking around like that?
She reached around to fix it but the zipper refused to budge. Dammit. She couldn’t undress in a cloakroom, could she?
***
Bradley went searching for his ex-wife right around the time he acknowledged he might never ever get over her. Why not, he wasn’t sure. Perhaps because she was still the most beautiful woman he’d ever encountered. Or because she had more spirit in her pinkie than most women had in their entire bodies.
He poked his head in the kitchen, thinking she might be giving the caterers final instructions on the cake. Then beat a hasty retreat when it became clear the only occupants were Josh and Felicity engaged in a passionate kiss.
Not surprising, he thought, continuing on to the cloakroom. Josh hadn’t been able to keep his hands off her all night.
He found his ex-wife in the cloakroom peering over her shoulder at the back of her dress.
His lips quirked. “Need some help?”
“I’m having a slight wardrobe malfunction.”
He moved toward her, turned her around so he could examine the zipper. The exotic, spicy scent she favoured drifted into his nostrils.
“So does this post-crash epiphany mean you’re finished with your machinations?”
“A near-death experience tends to do that.”
He started working the zipper away from the fabric. “Any other deep, dark secrets you want to share?”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re still in love with me.”
She stiffened beneath his hands. “At least I don’t drag decoys around with me to make you think I don’t care.”
“It worked though, didn’t it?” He gave a final tug on the zipper, pulled the silk free, then did the dress back up. Gave in to the urge to set his lips to the sensitive skin at the base of her neck. “How about we try something original, Claire? No more scheming, no more deliberate attempts to wound each other. Just that crazy thing called honesty…And maybe, just maybe, we can make this work.”
She turned around and hell if he didn’t get sucked into those trademark Westwood violet eyes that managed to look completely innocent while she wreaked havoc on the world.
“I would like that.”
He kissed her. Somewhere along the way they lost their balance and fell into a sea of cashmere and silk.
“Mom? Dad?”
Ariana’s voice rang out seconds before she found them disentangling themselves from the clothes. From each other.
Her eyes widened. “Were you kissing in there?”
“I was fixing your mother’s dress.”
“Right.” Ariana threw her hand over her eyes. “Okay, well, we’re about to cut the cake.”
Cake happened to be the last thing on Ariana’s mind. She cut a piece of the yellow-and-white creation, smiled and shoved it in Hunter’s mouth.
“My parents were making out in the cloakroom,” she declared. “I mean really. “
Hunter demolished the cake. “Something in the air. The only one who seems to be striking out is poor Nick.”
“I’m not so sure about that.” Ariana knew a wavering waitress when she saw one.
Hunter leaned down to kiss her. “I’ve played nice. Can I take you home now?”
She watched Nick grab two glasses of champagne and head toward his prey. “Sure you don’t want to stick around for this? I’ve never seen him try so hard.”
“No.” Hunter grabbed her hand, they made quick work of their goodbyes, then headed for the exit.
Tyra and Riley were standing beneath the trees as they walked down to the boat.
“Bear issue?” Ariana called out teasingly.
“You never can be too careful,” said Riley.
Ariana smiled. Hers might not have been the wedding Ruby Lake expected. But as her favorite poet, Max Ehrmann, once said, “the universe had unfolded exactly as it should have.”
THE END
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IMPRINT: e-Book Fast Fiction
ISBN: 9781488740305
TITLE: A WEDDING AT RUBY LAKE
First Australian Publication 2014
Copyright © 2014 Jennifer Hayward
All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher, Harlequin Mills & Boon®, Level 4, 132 Arthur Street, North Sydney, N.S.W., Australia 2060.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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