Husband Material (Left at the Altar Book 3)

by Raine Miller

  Husband Material

  Left at the Altar ~ III

  Raine Miller

  Contents

  HUSBAND MATERIAL

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Afterword

  About the Author

  Also by Raine Miller

  Acknowledgments

  TEMPORARY GROOM by J.S. Scott

  ALMOST A WEDDING by Ruth Cardello

  HUSBAND MATERIAL by Raine Miller

  WICKED WEDDING by Sawyer Bennett

  BAD BLOOD by M. Malone

  SECOND CHANCES by Melody Anne

  HUSBAND MATERIAL

  by Raine Miller

  She left me the week before our wedding.

  Said I wasn't "husband material."

  Actually, I'd have to agree with my ex on that matter...because I'm just better off alone. But everything changed for me the day I met a mysterious beauty sketching on the beach.

  Giselle…

  We had one magical night together...and then she was gone—a French beach fairy who danced away with the dawn.

  I searched until I found her again.

  And now I can't let her go...because maybe I am husband material after all.

  *Husband Material is a STANDALONE novella, and the third book in the LEFT AT THE ALTAR series ~ a collaboration of six New York Times Bestselling Authors: J. S. Scott, Ruth Cardello, Raine Miller, Sawyer Bennett, M. Malone, and Melody Anne, releasing separately.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  Copyright © 2018 Raine Miller Romance

  All rights reserved.

  Cover Design: Jena Brignola

  Cover Image: Scott Hoover

  Cover Model: Sonny Henty

  Editing: Marion Archer

  Dedication

  To the guy who believes I wrote this story just for him.

  Fantasies are a beautiful thing.

  Prologue

  Gage,

  This is me breaking up with you. Enclosed is the ring that you made me pick out—alone. The same ring-choosing at Tiffany's you were an hour and ten-minutes late for.

  Yes, that's right, Gage, my dear uncaring asshat fiancé. I've left you, and this godforsaken beach shithole.

  We've reached the natural progression of all our fights, all your pointed silences, all your lame excuses. By now, it has to be fifty going on a hundred times you've sworn to change, sworn you're trying to open up to me. But I think we both know the indifferent mask you wear has become so ingrained it's a part of you now.

  Not to mention your zero consideration for me. You should know what I'm going to say here—because in the last two years, how many millions of occasions have I asked you to put your dirty socks in the hamper? But you haven't even been able to do that simple little thing. Asshole.

  And yes, what I found this morning–determined the end of this shitshow of a relationship. The sock that broke the loveless relationship's back. Fitting, in a sad way. Dirty weed-green socks flung in actual sneezing distance of the wicker hamper–the very one I bought with an easy-open lid just for you. I stared at those disgusting dirty socks and decided that I didn't want to do this anymore. Not with you.

  Because let's face it, this isn't just about socks. This is about respect. The respect you do not have for me, or my feelings in any way, shape, or form. But that's understandable considering your cold heart barely beats even on a good day. So, I've decided it's much better to do this now instead of later.

  Gage Danielson, I will not go through with a farce of a marriage like the one you proposed only from a dull sense of duty. Paul and Isa's wedding breaking down at the altar last month was like a last-minute-rescue-mission-wake-up call for me. I've realized I don't have to do this with you anymore. I don't have to marry a man who won't ever love me the way I deserve to be loved. You aren't husband material any more than your neurotic friend Paul is.

  Unlike you, work isn't my life. My life is my life, and I intend to keep it that way. And I intend to spend it with a man who loves me.

  Get ready for this next part.

  You know your friend Parker? Well, you successfully managed to ignore me so much that I ended up making him my friend too. The kind of friend you have naked sleepovers with.

  I would say I'm sorry and wish you the best, but let's not lie to each other.

  Not every man has what's necessary to be husband material. And since you're definitely not one of them, I guess you'd better get used to being alone...forever.

  -Cassidy

  1

  “The worst part is that she's right."

  I put my head in my hands.

  Before Gray could respond, I continued. "Near the end, it did get pretty bad. But still, I didn't see this train wreck coming."

  Gray ran a hand through his light brown hair, his eyes set obliquely to the left. "Must've been crazy rough, having to cancel that five-hundred-guest wedding she'd arranged down to the last pink peony and everything…"

  "Don't remind me."

  Gray had been one of the intended guests—my best man, in fact. He, along with Paul, and Reid, my other friends, and of course, good old Parker—trusted friend/fiancée stealer/MIA asshole of the year.

  My hands clasped into tensed fists on the table. How long? Cassidy said she'd finally given up on us that morning, so exactly how long had they been having their naked sleepovers? I shouldn't really give a fuck, but what—? Had the idiot planned to accept Cassidy as my wife and still fuck her on the side? He's more of a moron than I thought possible. A look around the restaurant provided nothing in the way of interesting distraction for me. Everything was too dully recognizable, from the cheery streams of sunlight filtering in through the wide-open windows to the faces of the patrons it illuminated. Vaguely familiar faces looking just as delighted to be here as I wasn't.

  Sure, it was good to see Gray, but the past weeks had been nothing short of hell on earth. Concerned calls from those I considered "close" alternating with judgmental and fucking obnoxious inquiries from far-off relations, and barely friends of my ex-fiancée streaming in on the regular.

  My parents and I weren't on speaking terms over it, and Cassidy had been true to her word. After her spiteful letter, I hadn't heard a single bitchy peep from her. Which I guess was good, all things considered. She'd actually disappeared from Charleston entirely. Was apparently sunning it up in Barbados with her asshole beau, which explained fuckhead Parker's absence.

  I tossed some water down my throat, careful not to slam the glass on the table with the anger I felt. "A fucking letter?" I swigged the ice around in my glass listlessly. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised I got the most overdramatic letter from a failed actress."

  Gray poured me some more water. "Please take comfort she did this before the ceremony, and you weren't in a tux in front of five hundred watchful wedding guests like Paul. You dodged that mess, at least.

  I smiled bitterly. "It's the
little things, true. Just wish it wasn't my so-called friend who took my girl, you know?"

  "But did you really think of Cassidy as your girl, Gage? Not to be an asshole, but from where I was standing, she didn't make you happy. She was never…easygoing or…friendly."

  I got that Gray was trying his best to be diplomatic in saying that my ex was a fucking bitch most of the time. Honestly, I haven't mourned her departure. Have enjoyed the silence. He should, because diplomatic skills were burned into his DNA. Grayson T. Lash III was the grandson of a former POTUS and the current Attorney General of the great state of South Carolina. To me, he was just my friend since as long as I could remember. I shook my head, my eyes going to the corner of this place. Jazz Street, it was called. There was no actual jazz here and, to my knowledge, there never had been in its long and illustrious history, dating back a good hundred years. But Jazz Street did have good food, windows that looked toward the beach, and a decent wine list.

  Gray and I had come here more times than I could remember, right to this vaulted-ceiling corner with the slightly tippy table. Our usual spot for catching up on the latest news in our lives. He'd heard all about the perpetual Cassidy issues that had plagued my life over the last two years, so I figured it was past fucking time to find a new topic of conversation with one of my best friends, who also happened to be married to my cousin, Reese.

  "She's definitely right about one thing," I said suddenly. "I'm not husband material, and I think I'm meant to be single. For good."

  Chin in his hand, Gray tilted his head toward me, raising a brow.

  "I mean it." I chomped on an ice cube, annoyed. Already, I could guess what Gray's reaction would be. "I know how things ended up working out for you and Reese, but that's not in the cards for me. I thrive on working hard and, to be honest, I probably haven't viewed any of my relationships as more than a convenience for getting laid." And I can't even remember the last time Cassidy and I fucked.

  Over the rim of his crystal glass, Gray regarded me. "Has it ever occurred to you that you haven't met the right person yet?"

  I shrugged. "With the number of women I've been with? No."

  The other part I didn't mention to him. That last line of Cassidy's hatefully penned rant, the one telling me to enjoy being alone forever. Reading that part had sent a shiver through me like the unmistakable precision of a very sharp fucking blade. An omen of sorts.

  My gaze absently left our table and spanned the familiar faces arranged within the white-walled, white-floored room. There was my old gym teacher, Mr. Cho Mi, with the perfectly spherical bald spot on his hair and too-bright, darting eyes. There was Laney, one of the many girls I'd dated, doing her best to keep her pointy chin turned well away from me. There was even a third cousin of mine, Paulina, who also wasn't looking at me, since she'd taken Cassidy's side in our breakup—for reasons that still escaped me, since they'd spoken to each other all of maybe two times.

  As I sucked on an ice cube, my gaze snagged on one of the last people I wanted to see.

  Mrs. Bardot–-aka—Cassidy's mom, whose stick up her ass was roughly the same size as her daughter's. Her chlorine-colored eyes locked on me with nothing short of absolute hatred. Perhaps I should have paid more attention to her, given that the apple certainly hadn't fallen far from the tree. And why the fuck is she angry with me? Cassidy fucked off and stopped the wedding.

  I emptied the rest of my water glass. "Think it's time to hit the waves."

  Gray shifted uneasily in his seat. "You okay?"

  I felt my brows knit in irritation. I'd always liked Gray's no-bullshit attitude. But ever since he and Reese had gone all BMCF—my business partner, Reid's cheeky invention, Best Married Couple Forever—he'd reached obnoxious heights of openness and transparency.

  Which meant that right now, he was annoying the shit out of me by asking a question I didn't want to answer.

  "You know, it's been four weeks since the letter." I picked up a napkin, tossed it up a few inches, then let it fall. "It still feels like yesterday."

  I squared my shoulders as I rose.

  There. I hadn't told the I'm fine lie. The one, which in the past month, had become my refrain to the point of sounding glib. But I hadn't told the truth either. I was fucking weeks, probably years away from fine. Because although I didn't miss Cassidy and knew I could get laid easily enough if I bothered to go out and find someone for the night, I didn't want to be alone forever. Which is possibly why I asked her to marry me in the first place. Idiot.

  "Gage," Gray said sharply.

  He smiled apologetically. "I am sorry. But you may want to stick around for another fifteen minutes or so."

  I eyed him warily. "Why?"

  He glanced at the door, then back at me. "It was Reid's idea. Lena's fresh out of her divorce, so we thought maybe that you two could…"

  I shook my head. "Oh hell, no."

  I'd heard enough horror stories through Reid to know that his psycho half-sister, no matter how chastised from her failed marriage she may have been, was the last thing I needed.

  Demanding and over the top were not things that would make me a happy camper right now.

  "Sorry, man." I tossed two twenties on the table. "But I've got to go. Glad we could meet while you were in town."

  I barely gave him time to say "Bye, Gage" before my legs rapidly weaved me past rows of round tables toward the door. I was practically through its heavy frame when I nearly collided with her.

  Lena raised her drawn-on eyebrows at me, to which I gave her a curt nod. She's lucky she'd even got that before I continued out the fucking door, the adrenaline ricocheting inside me fueling me forward.

  Most of my relationship with Cassidy had been on her terms, and I wasn't about to subject myself to that doomed experiment again. Over the course of the time we'd been together, Cassidy and I'd enjoyed weekly yell-fests, monthly breakup threats, and quarterly out-and-out walkouts. Cassidy had also been especially skilled at meticulously outlining every single one of my faults.

  Faults, which, as it turned out, were as numerous as the fucking stars in the solar system…apparently. Fucking socks on the floor? All her complaints had circled back to one overarching theme: I never opened up to her, and I hadn't truly appreciated her.

  Heading to my Mercedes-Maybach with the wise owl of hindsight on my shoulder, I had to admit it was possible that she'd had a point there. Whatever the case though, she should've made up her mind then—either accepted me for the disappointment I was—or left me a long fuckin' time ago. And it now makes me wonder if Parker is the first? Ah, who gives a fuck.

  Finally inside my car, I closed my eyes and pictured the beckoning vista of blue that awaited me to help me calm down before I started driving. When I opened them a minute later, I wasted no time in heading out. It was a twenty-minute drive to Folly Beach in low traffic, and no way did I want to be thinking of my dearly departed, bitchy ex for the duration.

  That was harder than it should be, though. This whole area was haunted by her to some degree—because we'd lived here together for two years.

  And yet, Charleston was my place, had been since I was a kid. As easy as it would have been to leave, it felt like there was something wordless tying me here—something like unfinished business. Or maybe it was because this was the only home I'd known, and that I'd designed the beach house I now lived in. Or rather in my ex's words: this godforsaken beach shithole. Again, I should be offended, but what-the-fuck-ever.

  Its location right on Folly Beach was perfect for surfing when I wasn't working. No way would I give that up because the woman I'd made the mistake of trying to build a life with had decided I wasn't husband material. She hadn't minded my money though. Cassidy had liked to spend it with gusto, so I hoped that fucker Parker was up to the challenge of credit limit increases on his Amex. I think the real beginning-of-the-end came when I asked her to sign the prenup. I'm not that dumb. I wouldn't have married her without it, and she must have known it.

&n
bsp; It was time to quit fucking crying over a girl that probably never even loved me anyway. Had I ever loved her, though?

  No, was the honest answer to that question.

  I was better off without her. Gray was right. I didn't miss Cassidy as much as I was furious about how she'd left me standing at the proverbial altar with my dick hanging out and thirty thousand dollars of non-refundable wedding cancellations. The blow to my ego in being dumped still stung, but I'd have to get over my butt hurt with that. I hadn't loved her any more than she'd loved me. Honestly, I doubted I’d ever fall in love. Maybe I was broken when it came to loving someone.

  Sometimes we all needed a sharp kick in the balls to move on, I thought as the water came into view. Taking my own sharp kick from the waves would do me the most good. And then? Forget the bitch, pay the debts, and move the fuck on with my life.

  Luckily, I'd been prepared when I'd met Gray at Jazz Street by wearing board shorts to our late lunch and taking my surfboard with me. As close a friend as Gray was, instinct had told me that our meal wouldn't go well. Probably because every time I met up with anyone these days, my failed wedding disaster cast an impossible-to-escape shadow over it.

  It cast a shadow over my thoughts these days, too. By now, thanks to Cassidy, I knew more about the dark side of women than I cared to.

  Ah yes, women.

  Why did we chase after them? Barely memorable sex? I couldn't remember the last time my cock had been in her mouth for longer than two seconds. Or the cordial treatment in public that was probably all an act in the first place. Her BFF girlfriends tittering as they shopped away our joint finances, in on the big bad secret—that they didn't need us as much as we needed them. Lies. This was all a bored game for them, a hopeless clash of make-believe with reality. And, in the end, everyone lost. Their Disney Princess bubble view of men was burst, as was our hope for any companionship or comfort. I'd seen them, the longtime "tamed" husbands with the already-dead eyes. The last thing I wanted was to become one. She was right. I'm not husband material, and I never fucking will be. But I hoped she was wrong about the "being alone forever" thing. Wasn't it possible to have enough in a long-term relationship to keep me from being alone?