by Shelly Ellis
Leila watched as the bridesmaids began the processional. They were all wearing satin gowns of various designs, but in the same shade of lavender. They clutched bouquets of hydrangea, freesias, and roses. The adorable ring bearer and the flower girl made their way down the center aisle next. The little girl reminded Leila of her own daughter, Isabel.
Suddenly, the music changed again. This time it was Vivaldi’s Spring. Everyone took their cue and rose from the pews in anticipation of the bride’s entrance.
Seconds later, Paulette stood in the church doorway, and she took Leila’s breath away.
Leila couldn’t believe this was the same unassuming teenager she had last seen ten years ago. This woman was beautiful and regal. Her long, dark glossy hair cascaded over her bare burnt-copper-toned shoulders. Her curvy figure was accentuated by the mermaid cut of her strapless wedding gown, which was decorated with Swarovski crystals and lace. A cathedral-length veil trailed behind her dramatically.
Paulette looked so beautiful, so stunning, so absolutely—
Perfect, Leila thought as she stared at her in awe.
And holding Paulette’s satin-gloved hand was Evan. Being the new family patriarch, it only seemed right that Evan would give the bride away today. Judging from the grin on his strikingly handsome face, he seemed proud and happy to play the fatherly role.
Evan hadn’t aged much in the past decade, but he certainly looked more handsome and distinguished than Leila remembered. He had the same coppery skin as his sister and was even taller than the groom. The glasses he’d often worn during childhood were gone. Leila was happy to see he had finally given them up for good. She had always thought he had the most soulful dark eyes that shouldn’t be hidden behind thick, plastic lenses.
As the brother and sister walked down the center aisle toward the altar, a lump formed in Leila’s throat. Her heart ached a little. This was the man whom she had once called her best friend. Once, they had been so close. She had been able to turn to Evan in her darkest moments, to confess to him her worst fears. Now he wouldn’t even return her emails or phone calls. He hadn’t met her daughter. He had gotten married five years ago and she had found out about it months later. She hadn’t even met his wife!
Leila stared at the front pew, looking at the faces of the folks who sat there, wondering if his wife was among them.
She and Evan were practically strangers now. What the hell had happened to them?
Time . . . distance . . . silence, she thought.
But they could still make it right, she told herself, filling up with the warmth of the moment. They could put the past behind them. They could make amends. The guy standing in front of her didn’t seem petty or angry. Maybe she had just misunderstood him. Maybe they just misunderstood each other. Once she told Evan why she needed his help, he would listen. She knew he would!
As Paulette and Evan drew closer, Leila grinned at the bride, whose loving gaze was focused solely on her husband-to-be.
Meanwhile, Evan’s eyes drifted to the wedding guests. He nodded at a few in greeting. Finally, he noticed Leila standing in the pews near the center aisle.
“Hey, Magoo,” she mouthed before giving him a timid wave.
Magoo. It was the nickname she had given him back when they were kids. Whenever he hadn’t worn his glasses, he had squinted like the cartoon character, Mr. Magoo. His nickname for her had been “Bugs” after Bugs Bunny, thanks to her bucked rabbit teeth, which had thankfully been corrected over time by a good set of braces.
When Leila waved at him as he walked past, Evan did a double take. Leila watched, deflated, as his broad smile disappeared. His face abruptly hardened and his jaw tightened. The dark eyes that she had once admired now snapped back toward the front of the church. Evan looked more than irritated at seeing her standing there in the church pew. He looked downright furious.
The warm, mushy feeling that had swelled inside of her abruptly dissolved. Her cheeks flushed with heat. Her heart began to thud wildly in her chest again.
“There goes that fantasy,” the voice in her head scoffed.
She should have known it wouldn’t be easy. Evan was obviously still cross at her and even more so now that she had sneaked into his sister’s wedding.
Fine, she thought angrily. Be that way, Evan.
But she wasn’t giving up. She was still going to find a way to talk to him today—or yell at him or plead with him, whatever was required. She would find a way to plead her mother’s case.
Chapter 2
EVAN
“What the hell is Leila doing here?” Evan snarled as he stood at the bar in the hotel’s immense and elegant ballroom.
“Paulette said she doesn’t remember inviting her,” his equally handsome brother, Terrence, replied. “Maybe there was a mix-up.” The younger man adjusted the bowtie at his throat. “Hey, is this thing on straight? It feels crooked.”
“There was no goddamn mix-up! I can’t believe Leila had the balls to just . . . to just show up!”
And to think, Evan had initially balked at the idea of having a church guest list when the mother of the groom had made the request. She had explained that she wanted to make sure the VIPs, like Mayor Crisanto Weaver and his wife, were properly seated in the church, but Evan suspected that the meddling mama really wanted to make sure no undesirables made it into the wedding. Evan had thought it was not only in poor taste but outright rude to ask people to give their names as they entered the sanctuary, though now he was starting to have second thoughts about that.
The list didn’t work anyway. Leila still made it in!
Terrence lowered his hands from his bowtie. “I know you’re pissed, Ev. But just chill out, all right?” He shifted a shot glass toward Evan. “Here. Have my drink. Maybe it’ll calm you down.”
Evan highly doubted that. He was too hot with anger to be cooled down right now.
Terrence nudged the glass again with the tip of his finger, easing it closer to his older brother. “Go on.”
Evan hesitated for only a few more seconds before he raised his shot glass to his lips and downed his drink in one gulp. He then slammed the shot glass down on the bar’s granite countertop and grimaced. “Ugh, what the hell was that?”
“Tequila,” Terrence answered as he sniffed the shot glass. “Why? What was wrong with it?”
“It tasted like shit!”
“No, it didn’t.” Terrence held up two fingers to the bartender behind the counter, silently conveying that he wanted a double. “You are such a pussy now, man! There was nothing wrong with that drink. You’ve just lost your taste for liquor. That’s what happens when you act like a monk and stop drinking alcohol.”
“You know why I don’t drink,” Evan said tightly, silencing his brother. “Charisse drinks enough for the both of us,” he muttered.
In fact, seeing his wife, Charisse, slur and stumble her way around their home had put Evan off drinking for years. The taste of the stuff he had just imbibed told him he wasn’t missing much.
“She’s lucky I don’t have her ass thrown out,” Evan said.
“Who? Charisse?”
“No, not Charisse! Leila!”
Terrence tiredly closed his eyes, which were a shade of caramel that he had inherited from their father. “So we’re back to Leila, huh? Ev, we all know how you feel about her, but Paulette said she’s okay with her being here. So why don’t you just—”
“But what if I’m not okay with it?” he asked indignantly, pointing at his chest.
“Yeah, I figured you’d say that. I told Paulette you wouldn’t like it. She said . . . and I quote . . . ‘It’s my wedding day and Ev will just have to get over it.’”
Evan blinked in amazement. Did he hear him correctly? “Get over it?”
Terrence shrugged. “That’s what she said.”
Evan turned his menacing gaze to the parquet dance floor, where his mutinous sister and her new husband danced under the misty glow of an orange spotlight. He gritted his te
eth. Get over it? So this was the thanks he got for the more than two-hundred thousand dollars he had spent on this little shindig?
Paulette had nearly fainted when she’d seen her Vera Wang wedding gown at the bridal shop and she’d just had to have it. Had Evan balked when he’d seen the fifteen-thousand-dollar bill months later? No.
Had he complained when the wedding guest list got as long as his arm? No.
Had he objected when he’d heard about the ice sculptures, four-foot chocolate fountains, performance artists, and fireworks display planned for the reception? No!
And why had he simply opened his checkbook and wordlessly written check after check?
Because I wanted to make my little sister happy, Evan thought irritably. Whatever Paulette wanted on her special day, he promised he would give it to her. Even their crusty father would have done as much. But how had Paulette repaid Evan’s graciousness? By siding with the one woman he had avoided for almost a decade, the one woman who had betrayed him and broken his heart.
“Look,” Terrence began, reaching for his own shot glass, “Leila is one out of I don’t know how many guests here tonight. I wouldn’t worry about her. You probably won’t run into her again anyway.”
“But what if she’s here to start some shit? What if she’s here to ask about—”
“But what if she’s not? Maybe she came because she just wanted to see Paulette get married.”
Evan squinted in disbelief. “You don’t really believe that, do you?”
“Yes, I do, and I’ll bet you a hundred bucks that I’m right. If I’m wrong, then you get a hundred bucks and we’ll have her escorted out. Until then, just forget that she’s here and go enjoy yourself. Do some schmoozing.” Terrence smirked. “You’re a Murdoch. It’s what we do best.”
Evan gazed around the darkened ballroom, his expression grim. That was easier said than done. Even if he didn’t see Leila, he knew she was probably out there sitting at one of the banquet tables. Feeling her presence in the room ruined his evening, though he kept telling himself that such feelings were nonsense.
“Just misplaced anger,” a voice in his head said.
Maybe, he conceded.
The person he was really mad at was Charisse, who hadn’t bothered to stay sober enough to at least make it through the entire wedding. She had sat bleary eyed during most of the ceremony, hiding her hangover and her bloodshot baby blues behind tinted sunglasses. After a few drinks during cocktail hour, she was back to her outgoing self, laughing and charming everyone. But, of course, she had started to go downhill by the time the bride and groom had their first dance. She had been constantly tripping over the hem of her evening gown. Her words had become more and more slurred. She had been on the verge of getting full-on drunk and making a real ass of herself when Evan had her spirited away.
His half brother, Dante, had agreed to drive Charisse home. Dante had only connected with the family less than a year ago, not too long after their father’s death. He was eager to be accepted into the Murdoch fold and wanted to be helpful. Thank God he had offered to handle Charisse!
But now Evan had another headache to deal with, thanks to Leila Hawkins crashing his sister’s wedding. He could feel the tenseness winding up inside him, making the muscles in his neck and shoulders rigid. His eyes darted anxiously around the darkened room, anticipating the moment when he would spot her again. Would she come up to him and tap him on the shoulder? Would she corner him and confront him in the open? It was like he was preparing for battle.
“Hey, sexy,” a female voice said from over Evan’s shoulder. He turned to find one of Paulette’s bridesmaids smiling up at him. She laid a warm hand on his arm. “Wanna dance, baby?”
“There you go! A distraction, Ev,” Terrence said. “Just what the doctor ordered! Go out there and get your groove on, boy!”
“Uh, I’m married,” Evan muttered to her, holding up his ring finger and ignoring his brother. He returned his gaze to the ballroom.
“So! I’m not asking you to run away with me! I’m just asking you to dance,” the bridesmaid persisted. She wrapped an arm lazily around his shoulders. “Come on! Dance with me!”
Evan narrowed his eyes down at her.
Her name was Angie. Or was it Amy? Something that begins with an A, he thought.
Loose curls had fallen out of her chignon and one lock hung limply over her heavy-lidded, glazed brown eyes. One of the straps of her satin dress was hanging off her shoulder, revealing the lace bra underneath.
If he had wanted to dance with a drunken woman tonight, he would have just asked his wife for a twirl on the dance floor.
“Look, why don’t I do this?” he asked, gently shifting the young woman toward the bar counter. “Instead of us dancing, why don’t I get you a cup of coffee?” He then motioned to get the bartender’s attention.
“I don’t need a cup of coffee,” the bridesmaid argued. “I said I wanna dance!”
She then shoved away from Evan and turned, snagging the heel of one of her stilettos in the hem of her dress. She stumbled forward with arms flailing wildly.
“Oh!” Terrence shouted. “There she goes!”
Both brothers caught her just before she tumbled.
“You got her?” Terrence asked, shifting her toward his older brother.
Evan nodded, slowly bringing her back to her feet. “Yeah, I got her.”
The bridesmaid gazed up at Evan and Terrence woozily. She slumped against the older brother’s broad shoulder. “I don’t . . . I don’t feel so well. I think I’m gonna be sick.”
“Sick?” Terrence exclaimed. He eased back and pointed at his tuxedo. “Oh, no! Not on this! This is a Tom Ford.”
“You’re a real prince, Terry,” Evan murmured sarcastically. He then returned his attention to the bridesmaid. “Let’s get you out of here. I’ll get you to the ladies’ room. All right?”
She closed her eyes and weakly nodded.
Evan guided her across the crowded ballroom to the double doors, drawing a few curious stares from wedding guests. There was nothing he hated more than making a scene. Having a woman besides his wife clinging to him was bound to cause some talk, but he couldn’t let her stumble drunkenly around the reception, or worse—lose her five-star dinner right there on the parquet dance floor. Like with Charisse, it was better to spirit away the bridesmaid to a place where she could recover privately. Terrence was obviously no help so Evan would have to take care of this himself.
Evan stepped into the carpeted foyer with his arm wrapped around her waist and her arm draped around his neck.
“I’m really going to be sick,” she murmured again.
“I know. I know. I’m working on it,” he grumbled, glancing frantically around him.
He struggled to remember where he had last seen a women’s bathroom. Finally, he saw a few women streaming out of a door on the other side of the foyer’s winding staircase. He walked toward them and started to ask if one of them could help him, but when the women’s bathroom door opened again, the words halted in his throat.
Leila Hawkins stepped out of the tiled bathroom into the foyer. She dropped a compact into her clutch purse, snapped the steel clasp shut, and looked up to find Evan staring at her. Her mouth fell open in shock.
“Evan,” she whispered breathlessly.
Shit, he thought. This was the last person he wanted to see right now!
His jaw clenched. “Leila.”
As much as he hated to admit it, Leila was as gorgeous and sexy now as she had been ten years ago. The only thing that was different was her hair. It was shorter now, chin-length and cut in a fashionable bob. He also noticed that she was wearing heels, something she had never worn when they were younger because she had said she didn’t know how to walk in them.
Her honey-hued skin glowed under the foyer’s chandelier lights, and she looked elegant and alluring in the simple pale yellow cocktail dress that hugged every delectable curve in just the right place.
&nbs
p; She doesn’t have a right to look this good, he thought. He’d prefer for her to be a hunchbacked cyclops, or at least to have gained forty pounds or more. Then he wouldn’t have to worry about reacting to her like the way his body was responding now.
“I’m glad I ran into you, Ev,” Leila said as she took a step toward him. “I mean I’m glad we . . . we ran into each other. I wanted to talk to you about . . .” Her eyes shifted to the drunken bridesmaid at his side. “Is she okay?”
“No, I’m not okay!” the bridesmaid garbled against his shoulder.
“She’s had a little too much to drink,” Evan explained now that he was cornered. “I was trying to get her to the bathroom.”
“I can take her,” Leila volunteered. She grabbed the bridesmaid’s hand. “Let’s get you into one of those stalls, honey.”
Evan watched as Leila guided the hapless young woman through the swinging door. He heard the loud retching and dry heaving a few seconds later and cringed. He could have left then. His intoxicated charge was now in capable hands, but he would feel bad if he didn’t stick around to see if the bridesmaid survived.
The young woman and Leila emerged from the bathroom fifteen minutes later. Angie (or Amy . . . he still couldn’t remember her name) looked more sober and slightly less ill, but still seemed out of sorts. Leila had an arm wrapped around her protectively.
“I think I’m going to say good-bye to Paulette and go home now,” the young woman mumbled, wiping her mouth with a wet paper towel. “I’ve had enough fun for one night.”
“I think that’s a good idea,” Leila said.
The bridesmaid looked at Leila, then Evan. “Thank you for your help—the both of you.”
“No problem,” they answered in unison. They then glanced at one another. When their eyes met, they broke gazes.
The bridesmaid walked back toward the ballroom doors, looking worn and tired.
“Do you think she’ll be all right?” Leila asked, watching the bridesmaid’s retreat. “Does she have a safe way to get home? I hope she’s not driving.”