“My bags are back at my hotel,” she said as if she might actually go through with this madness.
Would she? Could she? Exclusive story of a lifetime? Not to mention two hundred fifty thousand dollars.
She could see the headlines now: “Small-Time Journalist Marries Ultra-Handsome, Ultra-Rich Celebrity Actor.”
“Just tell me your name and the hotel where you’re staying,” Tom said, “and I’ll send someone to retrieve your bags and settle the bill at your hotel. You won’t have to worry about a thing.”
“I don’t know—”
“You’ve got two seconds to make up your mind,” Ben said.
“Samantha Sue Johnston,” she blurted. “Just call me Sam.”
“Samantha Sue,” Dominic repeated under his breath.
“Is that a problem?” she asked her husband-to-be.
“Nope.”
“Great,” Ben said as his arm curled around her shoulder. “I’ll draw up a quick agreement and all you have to do is sign on the dotted line. You’ll be set for life.”
Sam removed his arm as if it were a poisonous snake and looked Ben in the eyes, searching for the courage to just say no. But she couldn’t do it. He was right. This was her big chance, the sort of opportunity that only came around once every million years.
Ben reminded her of one of those flashy, fast-talking car salesmen but, despite her reluctance, she nodded.
Ben gave her a suffocating hug. “See,” he said to Dominic, “she’s spunky and beautiful.”
Now she knew Ben was full of it. With her dirty-blonde hair plastered against her face after being stuck in the corridor for hours and her clothes wrinkled and clinging to her skin, she looked far from beautiful.
“After the honeymoon, you two will fly back to Los Angeles, where I will have everything you need ready and waiting at your Malibu estate,” Ben said.
“What do you mean when we get back to Los Angeles?” Sam asked. “After the honeymoon, we can call it quits, right?”
Ben shook his head. “You two must be married for a minimum of three months, which means you’re going to have to live together, you know, do all the normal things newlyweds do. Otherwise the contract between Dominic and World Studios is void."
Sam frowned. “So, you really are doing this for money?”
Dominic loosened his tie a little more.
“Yeah,” Ben said, “but that's neither here nor there. As you can see, this wedding has grown into a nationwide story. It’s not just about money anymore. It’s bigger than all of us.”
“You already said that, and what does that mean, anyhow? Bigger than all of us,” she muttered. “What else does he have to do? Consummate the marriage? Have two point five kids and name one after the son of the World Studio’s CEO?”
Dominic chuckled.
“This isn’t funny,” she said.
“No, it’s not,” Dominic agreed. “But if we’re going to go through with this, sweetheart, you’ve got to lighten up.”
She turned to Tom. She didn’t trust Ben and she didn’t like Dominic. Tom appeared to be the only normal guy in the room. “Is that all of it?” she asked. “Anything else I should know?”
“That’s it,” Tom said. “Three months of marriage, a few miscellaneous engagements, and the money will be yours to keep.”
“And the exclusive?” she asked.
“And the exclusive.”
Her stomach gurgled. “I’m not dressed for a wedding,” she pointed out, “and since I don’t make it a habit of packing an emergency wedding gown—”
“It’ll be fine,” Ben assured her. “You’re not as tall, but you’re about the same size as Julia. Close enough. Her dress is in the other room, ready to go. We’ve got hair and makeup people waiting. I’ll be close by the entire time. I’ll take care of everything. Like I said before, all you need to do is sign a few documents agreeing to keep everything we’ve talked about in this room today confidential.”
“How am I going to write an exclusive if I can’t be truthful about what went on today?”
Ben sighed. “In three months, when this is all over, everyone is going to want to know what it was like to be married to the sexiest actor in America. They’re going to want your story, Samantha. They don’t need to know why you walked down the aisle today.”
He had a point. She didn’t have to lie. She just wouldn’t tell everything right from the beginning. She could write a book, beginning with their first day as husband and wife: Ninety Days as Mrs. Dominic DeMarco or My Life as an Arrogant Actor’s Wife.
There wasn’t a woman in the world who wouldn’t want to know what Dominic DeMarco looked like in the morning, what he wore to bed, whether or not he had any distinguishing birthmarks…
Her cheeks heated at the thought.
It could be worse, she told herself. When it came to looks, DeMarco had it all: thick dark hair, blue eyes, strong firm jaw, dimples, and a great body.
Dominic fidgeted with his collar for the umpteenth time. His face had grown pinched, his jaw tight. He was nervous. Ben must have noticed DeMarco’s reaction because Ben pulled Dominic aside and said in an undertone, “Take a deep breath. You’ll walk down the aisle, say a couple of words, and that’s all there is to it.”
Ben looked over his shoulder at Sam, obviously worried he might lose them both. “Don’t forget, Samantha, you’ll have the story of a lifetime. Newspapers and television shows around the country will be vying for your attention before and after the marriage ends.”
She hated to admit it, but the whole idea had a certain crazy, disgusting appeal to it. Both her brothers were successful. She was the black sheep of the family. She had been working long hours with little sleep for years—always hoping to catch a break. She couldn’t walk away from the deal of a lifetime. She always said she needed a little adventure in her life. What harm could it do? For a few short months, she would be Mrs. Dominic DeMarco. Not only would she prove to her family she was a success in her own right, she would walk away with enough money to put a down payment on a house. Hell, she could buy a house for that amount. And the cherry on top would be telling the world the truth about the man—every sordid detail.
A tall man with a shaved head and a face red from lack of oxygen poked his head into the room, and said with a flustered voice, “There are hundreds of fidgety people waiting for the ceremony to begin, not to mention thousands of fans waiting outside in the heat, hoping to get a glimpse of the bride and groom. What’s going on?”
“Tell the guests they’ll be there soon,” Tom said as he ushered the man out of the room.
When they could no longer hear departing footsteps, Ben looked at Sam. “So, what’s it going to be? Are you in?”
Her stomach knotted. “Under one condition. After the three months are over, I might want to write a book, too.”
“As long as you leave out the reasons why Dominic married you in the first place,” Ben said. “World Studios would not be happy to discover they were duped.”
“They’ll never know. I’ll market it as fiction. Maybe even a romance. Depends on how I decide to end the story.”
“Definitely not a romance then,” Dominic added. “Because all romances have a happy ending and there’s no way this is going to end on a happy note.”
She smiled. “Sounds like someone reads romance.”
Ben looked at Dominic and raised a curious brow.
DeMarco didn’t bother denying or confirming the accusation; he just looked at Sam with those arctic blue eyes of his and said, “Could you go put on the wedding dress? I’d like to get this over with.”
Chapter Three
Thirty minutes later, Sam stood with her hand tucked into the crook of Ben’s arm, staring at the closed mahogany doors of the church. She could hear the swell of the music, Pachelbel’s Canon in D, and smell the fragrant white roses in the two massive arrangements flanking the double doors.
I’m going to be sick. One minute she was sneaking through the
church looking for a story and in the next minute she was the story.
To make matters worse, Ben had just reminded her that the wedding would be televised. She could only pray her mother wasn’t watching. Mom would faint dead away. And what about Dad? Although she hadn’t felt close to her dad in years, she wished him no ill will, and he had a weak heart. How selfish could she be?
“I can’t do this,” she told Ben.
An attendant opened the church doors.
“Sure you can,” Ben said, pulling her hand through the crook of his arm. He stepped forward, urging her onward.
A congregation of about five hundred turned their gazes in her direction.
Her left eye twitched.
With a rustle of movement, the congregation stood.
A trickle of sweat made its way down the left side of her Spanx. Brides didn’t sweat, she was sure of it. But she wasn’t like most brides, was she? She was a fake bride.
The music changed to Mendelssohn’s Wedding March. Every eye riveted on her.
DeMarco stood at the other side of the church, looking tall, dark, and temporary, which was a good thing. She certainly didn’t want anything permanent with a guy like him.
As reality sank in, she started to feel faint. Fake wedding or not, her father should be here at her side, not Ben. And what about her niece, Emma? Emma would be devastated to find out she wasn’t even invited to the wedding.
Her heart plummeted. She hardly ever cried, but that didn’t stop her eyes from misting up with hot, prickly tears. Damn.
“Smile,” Ben said through the corner of his mouth as he guided her across the aisle. “This is supposed to be the happiest day of your life.”
She forced a tight smile as she glanced at the camera to her left. Despite Ben’s warning about cameras, she hadn’t expected so many. Every third pew had a little roving eye that followed her every step. She even caught a movement in the flower arrangement near the altar. She wouldn’t be surprised if somebody had stuck a camera in her bouquet.
She looked down at the beautiful cascade of white roses and tulips mixed with stephanotis and jasmine. If there was a tiny camera stuffed in there, that would mean thousands, maybe even millions, of people could see up her nose.
Her stomach twisted.
Remember the story, she reminded herself. Take notes. Don’t panic. This is your big chance. Think of the look on Mom’s face when you take her on vacation, just the two of you.
Ben deposited her at DeMarco’s side.
She looked at Dominic, surprised to see his hands jammed into his pockets, his face ashen. The man was nervous. What had first looked like an unwavering gaze was really a blank stare. So blank she had to resist the urge to wave her hand in front of his face to see if she’d get a reaction—a blink of his eyes, something, anything. The man looked as if he might faint or maybe even run.
Oddly enough, the notion that he might be absolutely terrified comforted her in some small shallow way.
***
As he waited before the altar for his new bride to come through the closed doors, Dominic tugged at his bow tie. This was absolutely, certifiably, the most insane thing he’d ever agreed to do.
And it was his uncle’s fault—the man who had wiped his business accounts clean. But once again, Dominic was the one being sacrificed at the altar.
He stared down the red carpet toward the doors. Maybe the reporter had changed her mind. The thought helped him relax as he willed the doors to remain closed.
Glancing over his shoulder toward the altar, he noticed the magnificent, stained-glass windows with images of the apostles. Nice church—only the best for a guy who had everything—everything and nothing all at once.
Turning back to the crowd, he let out a cumbersome sigh. The church was filled to capacity. White satin ribbons and flowers adorned the pews. Hundreds of people murmured and shifted in their seats, watching and waiting.
He was used to being stared at, but this was different in the sense that he felt unmercifully trapped. Here he stood at the altar of doom, waiting to marry a scrawny reporter who ate celebrities for dinner.
Absurd.
But his managers were right. Not only did he need the money now that his accounts had been cleaned out, his career needed a jumpstart. Telling the world he was getting married seemed to be doing the trick and yet it turned his stomach to think he was duping his fans.
His gaze moved to the media huddled together in the far section of the church. For weeks now, they had been falling over one another to get to him, wanting to know anything he would tell them about his new bride. They would have a field day today. The media would want to know everything about Samantha Johnston’s life, asking her for details about her family, her childhood, about every guy she’d ever dated. The notion caused him to stand a little taller, feel a little better. Samantha Johnston would be so busy answering reporters’ questions over the next few months she wouldn’t have time to bother him. Ha! The thought of the nosy little reporter getting a taste of her own medicine cheered him immeasurably.
People came to their feet and looked toward the double doors.
The beat of Dominic’s heart drummed against his chest.
The organist began to play. His stand-in bride hadn’t run off after all. He inhaled as Ben ushered her through the doors.
The makeup people had worked their magic. Her dirty-blonde hair looked shiny and soft, flowing over pale shoulders. She no longer had smudges of makeup under her eyes. She looked beautiful.
As she moved closer, he noticed a red, blotchy nose through the thin veil. Had she been crying? Nah. Reporters don’t cry, especially this one. Maybe she had allergies.
He couldn’t begin to guess what might be going through that head of hers, although her frown spoke volumes. Would she be frowning like that for the next three months? That worried him. He liked his privacy. He liked having a nice quiet house to go home to, a place where he could sit back and relax, an empty house devoid of frowning reporters.
This scenario could have been yanked right out of a lousy B movie. His life had spiraled out of control. He’d finally hit bottom. And yet it was his own fault. He never should have agreed to this nonsense. After his uncle had wiped out his accounts, he’d panicked. His second mistake was listening to Ben and Tom when they came up with this absurd idea.
A tremendous urge to march down the aisle and out the door struck him. He should run for his life…run right out of the church and never look back. Before he could make his move, though, Ben deposited Samantha at his side, placing her hand in his.
Chapter Four
Her fingers felt ridiculously soft.
Through the gauzy veil, Dominic saw big brown eyes, a small red nose, and full lips. She looked nothing like the determined gutsy reporter he’d met twenty minutes ago. Her hands trembled, and from the looks of it, she had definitely shed a tear or two. “Are you all right?”
She swallowed. “I’ll be fine.”
Hell. Her sad face made him feel like a heel, as if he were forcing himself on the woman. “Listen. If you can’t go through with this, I understand.”
She shook her head. “I’m okay. I was thinking about my family and how they’re missing my wedding day.”
“Sweetheart,” he muttered, “this isn’t real.”
“I know that, but my family won’t.”
Other than his mother, who’d left him at a young age, his drunk of a father, and thieving Uncle Frank who was probably soaking up the Caribbean sun about now, and a half-sister nobody knew about, he didn’t have any family. Despite all that, he said, “I’m sorry.”
She sniffled.
He grabbed his silk handkerchief from his pocket, slipped it under her veil and over her nose. “Blow.”
She blew.
More murmurs from the crowd; they probably thought his bride was shedding tears of happiness.
She looked at him with eyes that hinted at kindness. Big brown eyes the color of melted chocolate.
/> The minister cleared his throat, letting them know they needed to get on with the show.
Dominic tucked the handkerchief back into his pocket and led her up two wide steps, his left hand cupping her right elbow as he escorted her to the altar.
The minister nodded. He was the real deal, Dominic thought, setting his heart to race in earnest. The minister was not a paid actor. This wasn’t a movie set and the people sitting in the pews were not being paid to be here. They were real people who had taken the day off to see him marry the woman they thought he loved. Suddenly, he found it difficult to take another step forward.
Out of the blue, Sam said, “Don’t think about it. Think happy thoughts.”
Happy thoughts? Who the hell was he marrying—Mary Poppins?
“By tomorrow afternoon we’ll be in Hawaii, surrounded by white sand and drinking piña coladas.”
A shot of whisky would do him wonders about now. He glanced at Sam, then at the minister, and then over his shoulder once again, his gaze following the path of red carpet down the stairs and across the length of the long narrow aisle that led to the church doors. Thirty seconds flat and he could be out those doors.
But Sam touched his arm again, a gentle caress that caused him to look into big doe eyes that appeared to be looking right into the depths of his soul.
Damn. If he ran, she’d be humiliated in front of millions of people; her co-workers would harass her for the rest of her life. What would her family think? And after all this, she wouldn’t even have a story for all her troubles. She’d have nothing but angst and ridicule.
He scowled. He’d go through with the ceremony. And then everybody would be happy—everyone except him.
They were standing before the minister now, if you could call it standing. His legs felt rubbery.
Miraculously, less than twenty minutes later, he was still standing when the minister said, “You may now kiss the bride.”
Dominic didn’t move.
“I think you’re supposed to lift the veil,” Sam coached, “and kiss me.”
Here Comes the Bride Page 2