She liked Hadley. He was a few years younger than Vern, laid-back by Gerhard standards, fun-loving and friendly. Taller than most of the men in the family, he was athletic and good-looking, with a jaunty swath of dark blond hair that swooped across his forehead.
He lived in Boston rather than Chicago, but he visited often, sometimes staying at the mansion, sometimes using a hotel. Crista assumed he preferred a hotel when he had a date. Vern’s mother, Delores, was staunchly religious and would not have allowed Hadley to have an overnight guest.
The door opened, and he stepped into the spacious, sumptuously decorated guest room. Crista had spent the night here, while Vern had stayed in his apartment downtown. Maybe it was Dolores’s influence, but Crista had been feeling old-fashioned the past few weeks, insisting she and Vern sleep apart until the honeymoon. Vern had reluctantly agreed.
Hadley halted. Then he pushed the door shut behind him and seemed to take in her ensemble.
“What?” she asked, checking herself out, wondering if she’d missed some glaring flaw.
“You look amazing,” he said.
Crista scoffed. “I sure hope I do.” She spread her arms. “Do you have any idea how much this all cost?”
Hadley grinned. “Aunt Delores wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“I feel like an impostor.” Crista’s stomach fluttered with a resurgence of apprehension.
“Why?” he asked. His tone was gentle, and he moved closer.
“Because I grew up on the lower west side.”
“You don’t think we’re your people?”
She turned back to the mirror and gazed at her reflection. The woman staring back was her, but not her. It was a surreal sensation.
“Do you think you’re my people?” she asked him.
“If you want us to be,” he said.
Their gazes met in the mirror.
“But it’s not too late,” he added.
“Too late for what?”
“To back out.” He looked serious, but he had to be joking.
“You’re wrong about that.” Not that she wanted to back out. Not that she’d even consider backing out. In fact, she couldn’t imagine how their conversation had come to this.
“You look scared,” he said.
“Of the wedding, sure. I’m probably going to trip on my way down the aisle. But I’m not afraid of the marriage.”
It was Vern. She was marrying smart, respectful, polite Vern. The man who’d stepped up to invest in her jewelry design company, who’d introduced her to the finer things, who’d swept her away for a fantasy weekend in New York City and another in Paris. There wasn’t much about Vern that wasn’t fantastic.
“The future in-laws?” Hadley asked.
Crista quirked a smile. “Intimidated, not afraid.”
The intensity left his expression, and he smiled in return. “Who wouldn’t be intimidated by them?”
“Nobody I know, that’s for sure.”
Manfred Gerhard was a humorless workaholic. He was exacting and demanding, with a cutting voice and an abrupt manner. His wife, Delores, was prim and uptight, excruciatingly conscious of the social hierarchy, but skittish whenever Manfred was in the room, constantly catering to his whims.
If Vern ever acted like his father, Crista would kick him to the curb. No way, no how would she put up with that. Then the thought brought her up short. Vern wasn’t at all like his father. She’d never seen anything to even suggest he might behave like Manfred.
“He’s very close to them,” said Hadley.
He was watching her intently again, and for a split second Crista wondered if he could read her thoughts.
“He’s talking about buying an apartment in New York City.” She liked the idea of putting some distance between Vern and his family. He loved them dearly, but she couldn’t see spending every Sunday evening at the mansion the way Vern seemed to like.
“I’ll believe that when it happens,” said Hadley.
But Crista knew it was already decided. “It’s so I can expand the business,” she elaborated.
“Are you having second thoughts?” asked Hadley.
“No.” She turned to face him. She wasn’t. “What makes you say that? What makes you ask that?”
“Maybe I want you for myself.”
“Very funny.”
He hesitated for a moment then gave an unconcerned shrug. “I’m not sure I’d marry into this family.”
“Too bad you’re already in this family.”
He looked her straight in the eyes. “So, you’re sure?”
“I’m sure. I love him, Hadley. And he loves me. Everything else will work itself out around that.”
He gave a nod of acquiescence. “Okay. If I can’t get you to call off the wedding, then I’m here to tell you the limos have arrived.”
“It’s time?” The flutter in her stomach turned into a spasm.
It was perfectly normal, she told herself. She was about to walk down the aisle in front of hundreds of people, including her future in-laws and a who’s who list of notable Chicagoans. She’d be a fool to be calm under these circumstances.
“You just turned pale,” said Hadley.
“I told you, I’m afraid of tripping halfway down the aisle.”
“You want me to walk you?”
“That’s not how we rehearsed it.”
Crista’s father was in prison, and she didn’t have a close male relative to escort her down the aisle. And in this day and age, it seemed ridiculous to scramble for a figurehead to “give her away” to Vern. She was walking down the aisle alone, and she was perfectly fine with that.
“I could still do it,” said Hadley.
“No, you can’t. You need to stand up front with Vern. Otherwise the numbers will be off, more bridesmaids than groomsmen. Dolores would faint dead away.”
Hadley straightened the sleeves of his tux. “You got that right.”
Crista pictured her six bridesmaids at the front of the cathedral in their one-shoulder crisscross aqua dresses. Their bouquets would be plum and white, smaller versions of the dramatic rose-and-peony creation Delores had ordered for Crista. It was going to be heavy, but Delores had said with a congregation that large, people needed to see it from a distance. They could probably see it from Mars.
“The flowers are here?” asked Crista, half hoping they hadn’t arrived so she wouldn’t have to lug the monstrosity around.
“Yes. They’re looking for you downstairs to get some pictures before you leave.”
“It’s time,” said Crista, bracing herself.
“It’s not too late,” said Hadley. “We can make a break for it through the rose garden.”
“You need to shut up.”
He grinned. “Shutting up now.”
Crista was getting married today. It might have happened fast. The ceremony might be huge. And her new family might be overwhelming. But all she had to do was put one foot in front of the other, say, “I do,” and smile in all the right places.
By tonight, she’d be Mrs. Vern Gerhard. By this time tomorrow, she’d be off on a Mediterranean honeymoon. A posh private jet would take them to a sleek private yacht for a vacation in keeping with the stature of the Gerhard family.
Hadley offered her his arm, and she took it, feeling a sudden need to hang on tight.
“I’ll see you at the church,” he said.
She could do this. She would do this. There was no downside. Any woman would be thrilled by such a complete and total change in her lifestyle.
* * *
Dressed in a crisp tuxedo, freshly shaved, his short hair neatly trimmed, Jackson stood outside Saint Luke’s Cathedral north of Chicago in the Saturday afternoon sunshine pretending he belonged. It was a p
icture-perfect June wedding day. The last of the well-heeled guests had just been escorted inside, and the groomsmen now stood in a cluster on the outside stairs. Vern Gerhard was nowhere to be seen, likely locked up in an anteroom with the best man waiting for Crista Corday to arrive.
Jackson had learned a lot about Crista over the past three days. He’d learned she was beautiful, creative and reputedly hardworking.
As a girl, she’d grown up in a modest neighborhood, living with her single mother, her father, Trent, having visitation rights and apparently providing some small amount of financial support. She’d attended community college, taking a diploma in fine arts. It was during that time that she’d lost her mother in a car accident.
After graduation she’d found a job in women’s clothing in a local department store. He assumed she must have worked on her jewelry designs in her off hours.
So far, she seemed exactly as she appeared, an ordinary, working-class Chicago native who’d been living a perfectly ordinary life until she’d met her fiancé. The most remarkable thing about her seemed to be her father’s conviction on fraud charges. Then again, maybe it wasn’t so remarkable. This was Chicago, and Jackson was definitely familiar with having a convicted criminal in the family.
Vern and the Gerhards had proven harder for him to gauge. Their public and social media presence was slick and heavily controlled. Their family company, Gerhard Incorporated, was privately held, having been started as a hardware store by Vern’s great-grandfather during the Depression. It now centered on commercial real estate ownership and development.
Their estimated net worth was high, but Jackson hadn’t found anything illegal or shady in their business dealings. They did seem to have incredible timing, often buying up properties at fire sale prices in the months before corporate mergers, gentrification or zoning changes boosted their value. It was enough to make Jackson curious, but the individual instances weren’t overly suspicious, and what he had so far didn’t come close to proving they were conning Crista.
Despite Trent’s suspicions, Vern Gerhard and Crista’s romance seemed to be just that, a romance.
“I say more power to him.” One of the groomsmen’s voices carried from the cathedral staircase, catching Jackson’s attention.
“I almost told her at the house,” said another groomsman. This one looked younger. He had the trademark Gerhard brown eyes, but he was taller than most, younger than Vern. His flashy hairstyle made him look like he belonged in a boy band.
“Why would you do that?” asked a third. This man was shorter, balding, and his bow tie was already askew. Jackson recognized him as a brother-in-law to Vern.
“You don’t think she deserves to know?” asked the younger one.
“Who cares? She’s hot,” said the bald one. “That body, hoo boy.”
“Such a sweet ass,” said the first groomsman, grinning.
“Nice,” Jackson muttered under his breath. The Gerhards might be rich, but they didn’t seem to have much in the way of class.
“So, why does he need Gracie?” asked the younger groomsman, glancing around the circle for support. “He should break it off already.”
“You want to stick to just one ice cream flavor?” asked the balding man.
“For the rest of your life?” asked the first groomsman.
“Some days I feel like praline pecan. Some days I feel like rocky road,” said the heavyset one with a chortle.
“And that’s why you’re sleeping with Lacey Hanniberry.”
“Lumpy Lacey.”
The other men laughed.
“Vern hit the jackpot.” The first groomsman made a rude gesture with his hips.
“On both fronts,” said the bald one. “Crista’s the lady, Gracie’s the tramp.”
“She’s going to find out,” said the younger man with the flashy hair.
“Not if you don’t tell her she won’t,” said the first man, a warning in his tone.
Jackson had half a mind to tell her himself. Vern sounded like a pig. And most of his friends didn’t seem any better.
“Gracie won’t last, anyway,” said the heavyset man.
“Vern will trade up,” said the balding one.
“Uncle Manfred’s girlfriends have been twenty-five for the past thirty years.”
“Wives age, girlfriends don’t.”
They all laughed, except for the young guy. He frowned instead. “Crista’s different.”
“No, she’s not.” The first groomsman slapped him on the back. “You’re young, naive. All your girlfriends are twenty-five.”
“I don’t cheat on them.”
“Then you’re not trying hard enough.”
“Get with the program.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Jackson saw two white limos pull up to the curb. The groomsmen spotted them, too, and they turned to head up the wide staircase to the cathedral entrance, their voices and laughter fading with the distance.
So, Vern was cheating on Crista. It was a coldhearted and idiotic move, but it was none of Jackson’s business. Maybe she knew and accepted it. Or maybe she wasn’t as smart as everyone seemed to think, and she was oblivious. Or maybe—and this was a real possibility—she was only marrying the guy for his money and didn’t care about his fidelity one way or the other.
The limo doors opened and a group of pretty bridesmaids spilled out of one. The driver of the other vehicle quickly hopped to the back door, helping the bride step onto the sidewalk.
Crista straightened and rose in the bright sunshine, looking absolutely stunning. Her auburn hair was swept up in braids, thick at the nape of her neck, wispy and delicate around her beautiful face. Her shoulders were bare and looked creamy smooth. The white dress was tight across her breasts and her waist, showing off an amazing figure. The lace and beading on the full skirt glittered with every little movement.
Jackson didn’t normally fantasize about brides. But if he had, they’d look exactly like her. His annoyance at Vern redoubled. What was the man’s problem? If Jackson had someone like Crista in his bed, he’d never so much as look at another woman.
The bridesmaids giggled and clustered around her while the drivers returned to their cars to move them from the busy street.
“This is it,” said one bridesmaid, fussing with Crista’s bouquet and taking a critical look at her face and hairdo.
“I’m okay?” Crista asked.
“You’re perfect.”
Crista drew in a deep breath.
The women started for the staircase that led to the cathedral’s big front doors. Jackson’s first instinct was to step forward and offer his arm, but he held back.
Crista spotted him. She looked puzzled at first, as if she was struggling to recognize him. Their gazes locked, and he felt a shot to his solar plexus.
Her eyes were green as a South Pacific sea and just as deep, flickering in the sunshine. She looked honest. She looked honorable. In that split second, he knew her father’s words had been true. She wouldn’t put up with a cheating husband, which meant she didn’t know about Vern and Gracie.
Jackson wanted to shout at her to stop, to get out of here. She might not know it, but she was making a mistake. Deep down in his gut, he knew she was making a terrible mistake.
Maybe he should tell her the truth about Vern, just call out, right here, right now. Then at least she’d know what she was getting herself into. He told himself to do it. He owed Vern absolutely nothing. He formed the words inside his head, opened his mouth and was ready to blurt it out.
But then a bridesmaid whispered to Crista. She laughed, and her gaze broke from Jackson’s, releasing him from the spell.
The women moved up the staircase, and the moment was lost.
He shook himself. It was time for him to leave. There was nothing more
he could do here, nothing he could do for Trent except hope the man was wrong. The Gerhards seemed like a singularly distasteful family, and if they really were after her diamond mine, she had herself some trouble. But it wasn’t Jackson’s trouble to borrow. He’d done as he’d promised, and he’d found nothing concrete, nothing that said the Gerhards were nefarious criminals.
The bridesmaids filed in through the doorway, chattering among themselves. Crista hung back, touching each of her earrings, fingering her necklace then grasping her large bouquet in both hands and tipping up her chin.
Then, unexpectedly, she twisted her head to look back again. He felt that same rush of emotion tighten his chest cavity. He knew with an instant certainty that she deserved better than Vern. It might be none of his business, but surely she wouldn’t tolerate a husband who’d sneak off and sleep with a string of mistresses.
The heavy door swung shut behind the bridesmaids.
Just he and Crista were left outside.
Jackson glanced around and confirmed that for these short seconds, they were alone.
Before his brain could form a thought, his feet were moving. He was striding toward her.
Her green eyes went wide, and she drew her head back in obvious surprise.
“Crista Corday?” he asked.
“Are you a friend of Vern’s?” Her sexy voice seemed to strum along his nervous system.
“Not for long,” he said. He scooped her into his arms and began walking.
“What?” she squeaked, one of her hands pushing on his shoulder, the other gripping the big bouquet.
“I’m not going to hurt you.” He lengthened his stride to the sidewalk.
“You’re not…what are you doing?”
“There are things you don’t know about Vern.”
“Put me down!” She started to squirm, glancing frantically around.
“I will,” he promised, speeding up his pace. “In a moment.”
He reached out and opened the driver’s door of his SUV. He shoved her across to the passenger side. Before she had a chance to react, he jumped in behind her, cranked the engine and gunned the accelerator, peeling away from the curb, narrowly missing a taxi, which responded with a long blast from its horn.
His Stolen Bride (Chicago Sons) Page 2