Never the Bride (Dilbury Village #1)

by Charlotte Fallowfield

  ‘I’m so sorry, Georgie,’ I repeated sincerely, squeezing her hand again and wishing I could do more, then letting it go.

  ‘It’s not your fault. I have good and bad days, but I’ll get there. Each morning I wake up and it doesn’t hurt quite so badly. I hope that one day, I’ll fall in love again, be able to trust a guy completely and get that “happy ever after” that I’d been sure was so close, but I’m not ready yet. So if this gardener turns out to be a Hemsworth or James look-alike, he’s all yours.’

  ‘Why thank you, kind lady,’ I grinned. Georgie wasn’t one for wallowing in the woe-is-me pity party. She got stuff off her chest and moved on, and liked me to treat her without a pair of kid gloves.

  ‘Besides, who says you won’t meet someone tonight, or at any of the other weddings you’re going to this year? Bridesmaid and best man or usher, it’s a classic get together. Everyone’s feeling emotional and needy, seeing their friends all googly-eyed as they exchange their vows. I’ve had some super-hot wedding encounters in my time.’

  ‘Are you serious?’ I scoffed. ‘For one, I’ll be in that dress, and for two, they’ll all think I’m a lesbian with the most stunning date,’ I reminded her. ‘You look gorgeous, Georgie, as ever.’

  It was the truth. Her long red hair was pulled back into an elegant but sexy chignon, tucked under one of those huge-brimmed cream and navy hats. They always looked so classy on everyone else, I just wasn’t a hat person. Some navy eyeliner enhanced her baby blue eyes and her navy and cream patterned shirt-dress, with a pair of navy suede shoe-boots to round off her ensemble. Casually elegant, that was Georgie’s style all over. I was so envious. I was more of a t-shirt, jeans, and trainers kind of girl.

  ‘And so do you, and will continue to do if you smile, regardless of what you’re wearing.’

  ‘Humph,’ I trumpeted, rolling my eyes.

  ‘Don’t make me pin you down with the dog clippers and give your bush an obviously overdue trim,’ she warned with a giggle. ‘Last week during a long and much needed arse kicking, you promised me smiles and making an effort to get out there. If Prince Charming doesn’t come knocking, the modern-day woman goes out looking for him.’

  ‘Then I’ll do as I’m told, as long as you promise to do the same when the time’s right, that you won’t close your heart to love forever.’ I held out my little finger and she wrapped hers around it with a solemn face.

  ‘Deal.’

  I kissed her cheek as I was dropped off at Rachel’s parents’ Georgian house in the leafy, posh part of town.

  ‘Will you be ok on your own until the service?’ I asked. She had a good two-hour wait before it was time to head to The Abbey, where the service was taking place.

  ‘Please! One of The Peach Tree’s famous brunches, with the odd mimosa or twelve, I’ll be fine,’ she laughed, shooing me out of the taxi. ‘Remember, whatever your head is thinking, don’t say it.’

  ‘If only it were that easy,’ I groaned. I shut the door and waved her off, then hurried to pull the heavy black wrought iron handle of the bell.

  ‘You look so lovely and radiant,’ I told Rachel as she stepped out of her limo with her dad, then went to adjust her askew veil, as her maid of honour was too busy chatting to the other bridesmaids to notice.

  I wasn’t lying, she did. It was us thirteen bridesmaids, and her maid of honour and flower girl, that looked ridiculous. I mean seriously, colour tone aside, who needed fifteen people walking up the aisle with you? I knew it wasn’t like she couldn’t afford it, but it seemed a total waste of money to me. Rachel was in a gorgeous, obviously expensive designer dress, with a thin, hot pink belt as homage to her “riot of colour” scheme, and was carrying a bouquet of brightly coloured gerberas. They were the focal point for the wedding flowers. Quite how Sarah at Rosie Posie had found so many gerberas to adorn all of the women, button holes for the men, pew and floral arrangements in the church, not to mention a floral arch, more arrangements, and table centrepieces at the after-wedding venue, was beyond me. Thousands of fields of gerberas must have been slaughtered to put these gorgeous displays together.

  ‘Thank you,’ she smiled.

  ‘I’m really sorry, again, about the comment I made about the unicorn farting.’

  ‘It’s ok, I was just super stressed and I forgot that you were just being you. In school, you always had a way of blurting out whatever you were thinking, however appropriate or not it was.’

  ‘I do try, honestly I do,’ I added, desperately trying to redeem myself as the rest of the girls finally noticed she’d arrived and swarmed around us.

  ‘Just make a conscious effort to rein it in around Dean. He only moved here a few months ago, he’s not accustomed to such … forthrightness,’ she replied, squeezing my upper arm. That surprised me. He was American, and I was under the impression that Americans were quite vocal and far less reserved than us stiff-upper-lip, polite-at-all-times British.

  ‘He’s so dreamy,’ sighed Julia.

  ‘He’s a keeper alright, but what I wouldn’t give to be single so I could get me some of that Miller action,’ groaned Rebecca, maid of honour. ‘That guy is so smouldering, I swear he could melt my underwear just by staring at it.’ There was a murmur of agreement and vigorous nodding of heads all around me, along with some girly giggling.

  ‘Miller action?’ I enquired, my curiosity peaked. Who was this supposed Adonis they were all getting worked up over?

  ‘Dean’s best man,’ Rachel confirmed. ‘He wasn’t at the rehearsal dinner last night as he lives in New York. He had a business meeting and was getting an overnight flight.’

  ‘Is he still single?’ piped up the easily recognisable, high-pitched squeaky voice of Fi-Fi.

  ‘Very much so, but you aren’t,’ Rachel laughed. Fi-Fi had got married to Dave last year. A looker he wasn’t, but he was loaded and she’d always been money obsessed.

  ‘For the love of God, someone tell me why a man that hot hasn’t been snapped up,’ sighed Julia with a shake of her head.

  ‘He’s just not the settling-down type. He’s young, rich, and gorgeous. What guy wouldn’t want to play the field when women throw themselves at his feet? Not that he does, but he’s not exactly made it work long term with anyone either,’ suggested Rebecca. ‘Right. Much as I’d love to keep talking all things Miller, I’ll just have to settle for gazing at him lustfully all day. We have a bride to get up the aisle.’

  Hmmm, hot and single. If only I wasn’t in this damn dress, and I wasn’t me, apparently undesirable and undateable Abbie Carter, spewer of inappropriate thoughts, and he wasn’t an obvious commitment-phobe, I might have been exploring the whole “bridesmaid and best man” cliché tonight.

  I exhaled heavily as Rebecca started herding us all into our positions outside The Abbey door, with me taking the last spot behind the other bridesmaids, Rachel and her father bringing up the rear. Georgie was right. I needed to go out and look for my soul mate. Sitting back and waiting for him to find me was never going to happen. And I seriously didn’t want that unlucky thirteenth bridesmaid dress making it up into my attic before I’d got married.

  One by one, they all started filtering in as the organist played some tune I’d never heard before. The Abbey was packed, not surprising as Rachel came from a large family, Dean too, and this was the wedding event of the season for this town, in fact the county. I squared my shoulders, positioned my bouquet, and put on my best bridesmaid, “I’m really loving this” smile as I started walking. Crikey, any casual passerby who stuck their head in here would think they were attending a gerbera convention, not a wedding. They were gorgeous, but personally I preferred subtlety rather than a slap across the face. Now for my wedding, I’d have … My wedding, yeah right, I silently scoffed. Like that was ever going to happen. I heard murmurs of approval from the crowd who were all facing the back of the church, and deduced that Rachel must have entered and be following me up the aisle, as there was no way they’d be cooing over my dress.
r />   I spotted Georgie out of the corner of my eye and she threw me a double thumbs up and a wink, making me give her a quick scowl. She was trying to make me embarrass myself by giggling uncontrollably, but it was not going to happen. I was going to keep myself in check and for once, not embarrass myself in public. I approached the top of the pews, where the bridesmaids were all lined up on the left, facing me, with Dean and his entourage on the other side, facing the altar.

  Nice tight arse, I thought to myself as I studied the blond-haired guy to his right. Very tasty indeed. As if I’d said the words out loud, he turned his head. The air was sucked from my lungs as his rich brown eyes met mine. Holy hell, my ovaries spontaneously combusted as this Greek God smiled at me. All soft, full, kissable lips, movie-star teeth, dimpled chin, and square jawline. My heart started racing and I was suddenly finding it hard to breathe. He was gorgeous. He was staring at me. Why was he staring at me? Did I have something on my face? A bat in the cave? His lips curved up into a sinfully sexy smile. Oh God, my legs had turned to jelly and I felt lightheaded and dizzy. I only had to make it a few more steps and I could just stand and stare at him to my heart’s content.

  I tried to put one foot in front of the other as he continued to watch me, but he threw me when he gave me a cheeky wink. What was that all about? Oh crap, I felt myself wobbling. I couldn’t feel my feet on the ground. It was like one of those moments when you stood up too fast and your foot was numb because of pins and needles, and you weren’t sure if it was actually on the floor or six inches higher. I tried to find my centre of gravity but started swaying alarmingly, unable to right myself. Cue emergency Titanic move. My arms shot out in a “King of the World” moment, causing my bouquet to be flung right at Rachel’s mother in the front pew, smacking her firmly in the face as I stumbled forwards on my slender high heels. I tried to right myself and went backwards, then forwards again. My arms were windmilling furiously as I heard chuckles and gasps doing a Mexican wave down The Abbey. No! I was doing the hokey cokey front and centre at someone else’s wedding, and I’d quite possibly knocked out the bride’s mother’s front teeth, split her lip, or given her a black eye. My legs decided to join in on the embarrassing dance party and turned to spaghetti as I teetered like a newborn fawn testing out his sea legs on ice.

  ‘Man down, man down,’ I shrieked as I felt myself falling, the ground rushing up to greet me at an alarming pace while the organ abruptly stopped playing mid-tune. I shut my eyes, screwed up my face, and braced for impact.

  Nothing.

  Instead of the cold hard floor, I felt myself fall into something warm and hard, something that smelled like freshly baked hot cinnamon buns. Hmmm, delicious!

  ‘Are you ok, miss?’

  ‘Huh?’ I moaned, trying to bring myself around after being hit with an adrenaline rush from the excitement of seeing a hot man, assaulting someone with a lethal gerbera bouquet, and almost falling. Man, that smooth and sexy American accent, combined with that lickable scent, wasn’t doing anything to help slow my fast-beating heart. My eyes fluttered open as I felt myself being levered upright, with a pair of strong arms circling my waist and a firm, muscular chest pressed up against mine. ‘Wow,’ I murmured.

  ‘Are you ok?’ he repeated.

  ‘Super sexy lips. I wonder what they’d feel like on mine, all of them,’ I wondered.

  ‘Is that an offer?’ he chuckled. I blinked a few times as I lifted my head up from the lips of sin to meet the amused brown-eyed gaze of my rescuer, the gorgeous blond. Crap, had I just said something about kissing him out loud? And … and about … that?! Nice job, Abbie, I thought. My untainted bridesmaid record was over. I hadn’t even made it five minutes through the event of the year without embarrassing myself.

  ‘Sorry,’ I grimaced, my fingers curling around his strong and bulging biceps. ‘I’m Abbie, frequent-putter-of-foot-in-mouth and apparently says-what-she’s-thinking-out-loud, Carter. I seem to have lost my brain filter today.’

  ‘Hey, Abbie Carter,’ he smiled, a set of cheek dimples joining that oh-so-sexy one on his chin. ‘I’m Miller, best man and rescuer-of-damsel-in-distress, Davis. Pleased to meet you. Are you ok?’

  ‘Just great,’ I squeaked, wondering if I was going to embarrass myself any more when he let me go, which he didn’t seem to be in any rush to do. ‘Ermmm, thanks for saving me.’

  ‘Anytime,’ he replied, his voice like warm melted chocolate, sending a delicious shiver down my spine.

  ‘Ermmm, hello?! It’s supposed to be me standing in front of the altar, the actual bride,’ came Rachel’s stressed voice.

  ‘Sorry, sorry,’ I muttered, quickly letting go of Miller’s arms. He slid his hands from behind my back to support my hips as he slowly backed away, as if making sure I wasn’t going to fall again. Wow, hot, sexy, and chivalrous. I felt like I was in Vegas at the slot machines, and the jackpot had just sounded the alarm. I somehow found my feet and hurried over to take my place at the end of one of the rows of bridesmaids, sans bouquet. Miller took his place, and the organ started again to let Rachel make it the last few steps towards her future husband. I looked over the sea of heads, some still sniggering, to meet Georgie’s amused gaze. She shook her head with a smile as I grimaced at her. Epic fail, Abbie. Epic fail.

  I barely took in any of the service, I was too distracted with avoiding the furious looks Rachel’s mum kept shooting my way and trying not to look at Miller. I’d caught his amused gaze once or twice and must be having one of my overactive imagination days, as I was sure I’d seen something else in his eyes. A spark of interest, a heated look as he’d scanned my body up and down. I was just plain old Abbie, nothing special, not drop-dead gorgeous like Georgie. My long, mousy brown hair was poker straight, I had a full mouth, pouty lips that looked like a trout’s apparently, a small straight nose, green eyes with hazel flecks, and petite ears. I’d say I was pretty, not stunning. Certainly nowhere near his league. I had a curvy size ten figure. Ok, maybe that was wishful thinking, as my jeans were getting harder and harder to pull on. Not even lying on the floor and breathing in hard as I tugged the zip was easy. So, my size twelve figure had some shape. I had a well-rounded backside, decent waist, and my boobs were a good handful. I’d had no complaints from previous boyfriends, but none of them had looked like Miller. I decided I must be imagining his interest and instead focused on a spot on the wall behind him.

  I joined in the applause as Rachel and Dean were pronounced man and wife and kissed. I couldn’t help looking at Miller’s lips again as they did, and felt my cheeks flame to see him wink at me again. Great, that wink was what had got me into trouble in the first place. I grimaced as Rachel gave me a look right before she started her walk down the aisle and Rebecca, as chief bridesmaid, stepped forwards to join Miller. There was a brief moment of confusion as he stepped forwards, then turned around and muttered something to the long line of ushers, and one of them approached her instead, holding out his arm to take. Ok, what was that all about? I tapped my foot as I waited for my turn, perfected wedding smile plastered on my face, and breathed in a shocked gasp as I realised that Miller had waited back until the end to escort me down the aisle. I swallowed hard as I slipped my arm through his, someone from the pews shoving my slightly battered, rescued bouquet back in my hand.

  ‘So, Abbie Carter, is that how you usually make an entrance?’ he drawled as we followed the slow moving procession.

  ‘It’s a great way of attracting attention. I mean, it’s kind of hard to get noticed when you’re not the one in white,’ I replied, keeping my focus ahead of me, not on him. I didn’t need any more incidents to add to my catalogue of failures for this damn wedding.

  ‘You think no one would notice you in that damn dress? What the hell was Rachel thinking?’ he chuckled. I giggled. Thank God I wasn’t the only one who thought it was awful.

  ‘I may have told her it looked like a unicorn farted a neon rainbow, but seriously, it’s all about the bride today, or at least it should b
e. I’m supposed to shrink into the background, not make a spectacle of myself. Everyone’s focus should be on her.’

  ‘Mine wasn’t, and it wasn’t just that awful dress of yours I was looking at all through the service.’

  ‘What?’ I exclaimed, my eyes shooting to his involuntarily as we approached the arched exit. What was he trying to say, that he found me attractive? Him? No, no way could someone with male model potential be interested in me, especially not after my embarrassing display of body and verbal inability.

  ‘I think you’re gorgeous, Abbie.’

  ‘Yeah, right,’ I scoffed. Miller frowned at me as we ground to a halt on the crowded gravel forecourt outside the main door. None of my boyfriends had ever said I was gorgeous.

  ‘I’m serious. Are you here with anyone?’ he asked.

  ‘My … my friend … Georgie,’ I stuttered. ‘Who’s a girl … a friend … a girlfriend. In a totally non-lesbian way,’ I quickly added.

  ‘Good to know,’ he replied, angling his beautiful glossy chocolate eyes down to mine. ‘So if I come to ask for a dance later, you won’t say no?’

  I opened my mouth, then closed it again. Was this really happening? This gorgeous man was implying he found me attractive and wanted to spend the evening in my company? After I’d embarrassed myself earlier?

  ‘I’ll take that as a non-refusal then.’

  ‘I’m not exactly Taylor Swift on the dance floor,’ I replied.

  ‘I won’t be looking at your feet, Abbie. I’ll be looking at those utterly kissable lips of yours. And if you really behave, I may even let you sample these “super sexy lips” of mine,’ he added with another wink as he let go of my arm. ‘Everywhere.’