by Dee Ellis
Always a Bridesmaid Dee Ellis
© 2019 by Dee Ellis. All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any written, electronic, recording, or photocopying without written permission of the publisher or author. The exception would be in the case of brief quotations embodied in the critical articles or reviews and pages where permission is specifically granted by the publisher or author.
Cover Design: Dandelion Cover Designs
Interior Formatting: Dee Ellis for Indies Ink
Publisher: Hummingbird Press
Rian
Roman
Rian
Roman
Rian
Roman
Rian
Roman
Rian
Roman
EPILOGUE
The Wedding Season Series
About The Author
Also by the Author
Chapter One
Rian
“Wow, this is exactly what I always wanted.” Gushes the excited bride.
As my eyes roll heavenward, I take a deep breath and nod with a smile I have perfected for these exact moments. Twisting her left hand to-and-fro, she gazes at the massive ring on her hand. I mean, it is a beautiful ring. Ought to be, I spent the last two months designing it to be exactly what she and her fiancé wanted.
Shame that every stone I set into the flawless platinum band made me hate it even more.
Another ring for another bride and groom for another wedding. By now, I ought to be used to this. To this bitter—and utterly petty—taste on my tongue every time I do a final fitting. Every time I go through a moment of resentment that makes me question if I am even cut out for this life.
“It’s so beautiful, Rian,” The groom gushes at me while gazing at his bride-to-be, “Thank you so much it’s’ just what she wanted. Thank you.” They share a lingering stare and I am flooded with warmth—and the answer that yes, I am cut out for this life.
Little moments like that are just what I need to keep my lonely ass in check.
“I am so pleased we got it right for you. Hope it’s a sign of a great start for you both!” We talk about the cost and he waves it away and insists I add a little tip for myself. A little tip for someone like this groom is more like enough to pay my rent for three months. I’ll take it with the side of bitter envy I feel as I watch them go off to start a happily ever after.
Most my life I’ve been obsessed with weddings. Have four full wedding scrapbooks to prove it. If I ever get the chance to walk down the aisle, I know exactly how it’ll be. What I will wear, what flowers I will carry, the colors, who will stand beside me, and even where I want to honeymoon. I have a plan for every bit of it.
It’s about the only thing I ever made a plan for in my life.
Most things I take as they come.
It’s how I ended up designing jewelry for other brides and grooms. My love of romance and happily ever afters turned into a fascination with not just weddings but proposals. I was hooked. Designing an elaborate wedding set for my best friend Erin with her husband turned into a dream job.
Being a part of a romantic forever was like nothing else.
At twenty-six and single, and after being in almost twenty weddings as a bridesmaid for my friends or clients, it’s become something of a nightmare.
While I still love what I do—and those moments when I see the bride and groom exchange their vows with my rings—can’t say I’m not tired of never getting my own moment. Would be nice to crack open those wedding scrapbooks for my own wedding.
“It will happen, Rian.” Erin reads my thoughts as she looks up from her workstation across from my own.
“Says the woman who’s been blissfully wed for over a decade. Easy to say, ‘it will happen’ when you’re a lucky one who already had it happen.” Grumbling is not attractive, but I do it anyway. I’m entitled to some petty jealousy, I think.
My grumble moods never last long, really. Haven’t yet reached crazy desperate cat-lady status. Although, I do own a dog—Root Beer—so I am just a step away. Erin shoots me a grin and ten seconds later Madonna’s “Borderline” fills the store as we both erupt into laughs.
“You are an idiot. Not sure what I’d do without you though.” Sighing as we both bop around the little store we call ours, I sing the lyrics like I always do.
All my bitterness melts away by the first chorus and I am arranging new displays with a smile at my face and a bounce in my step. As the song finishes out our door chimes open and we look up to greet our customer. Madonna fades away as Erin welcomes the customer.
We’re a tiny shop on the corner of a bustling street with five other designer stores, probably a dozen restaurants, and some high-end boutiques. Foot-traffic is not common because of the many choices surrounding us so we treat each body like a possible sale. Just less than half our business is custom design and it gives us both a chance to be creative and live a little of that happily ever after dream.
Looking up from a design I’m sketching, I drop my pencil. Erin is chatting with the customer from her perch behind the u-shaped display case. I look away when he looks in my direction, not wanting to be caught staring.
Because, I am totally staring.
Chatting with Erin is possibly the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. Dark hair and a dark beard—brooding is the best way to describe his type of sexy. Tall and wide, his broad shoulders wear his expensive suit well. I scan the lovely planes of his face and strong jaw before darting my eyes away again.
It’s too late—our eyes meet and hold.
I cannot look away from those dark eyes.
Music still plays softly, and it’s like a soundtrack to this moment.
Dark eyes hold mine and everything else fades away. Something mysterious and daring is in those eyes. Something inside my chest twists and something between my legs comes alive. It seems as if he feels something too because his dark eyes flare, his jaw twitching.
“Rian is our most sought-after designer.” I hear Erin speak but still it hardly registers.
“Is she, now?” He smiles, eyes lighting up as a dimple pops at his left cheek.
Sweet and deep, his voice purrs the words out. Simple words—inane really—but they come out dipped in gold honey. He twists towards me and my pulse kicks up. One hand hanging in his pocket, his suit jacket open over a soft pink t-shirt, he saunters over like owns the room. I own it, actually, but it seems like in this moment, he does.
“Y—yes. I suppose I am.” I almost choke on my words as his eyes skim over me.
Those dark eyes pause in intimate places. Places that heat up as his gaze lingers longer than it should. I flush and shoot a glare at Erin—who is making gaga faces and fanning herself behind him—before I square my shoulders. Shaking myself a little, I twist towards him, ready to talk about stones.
“Show me your best.” It sounds like a challenge. Also sounds somewhat dirty and when he licks his lips, I sense he means it that way.
Clearing my throat and doing my best to appear unaffected—it’s bullshit, I am totally affected—I bring some of my recent designs from the glass case. Steadying my shaking hands, I set the display in front of him.
Something bitter burns in the back of my throat.
Doesn’t take too long to realize its jealousy.
Often, I feel a pinch of it when I show off beautiful promises of forever. Today it’s different. It’s not just as if I’m jealous someone else is getting a ring. More I’m jealous someone else will be getting his ring.
“Very beautiful. Your designs as well.” Flushing as he flirts, I shiver a little when I hear a faint
Italian accent.
“Custom can be done as well, if you prefer. Just tell me what it is you’re looking for.” It’s almost impossible to push the words out.
“Oh, I believe I just found exactly what I’m looking for.” My eyes fly up to find his focused on me instead of the lavish engagement rings.
What type of man flirts while buying a wedding ring?
Chapter Two
Roman
It is absolutely the last place I want to be.
Probably because this is the absolute last thing I want to do.
I am a man of my word—and I gave my word to people important to me. People I respect. And I won’t break my word—no man can ever say Roman Thorn has gone back on his word.
Coming to pick out an engagement ring for the arranged marriage I agreed to five years ago is not a choice. It’s just keeping my word. Those aware of the intended nuptials realize it’s no typical romance—but I still intend to give my bride what all brides want.
A stunning engagement, a grand wedding, and a happily ever after.
All for a woman I don’t even love.
Marrying Helena Duchene is a business transaction—as crude as it sounds. Both of us are heirs to two centuries-old wineries. Though direct competitors, our families have been close for generations. Her father came to me to arrange our marriage as if it were just another merger.
With Helena being the only Duchene left and showing no interest whatsoever in business-other than spending the fruits of her father’s labor—it seems a wise choice for us both. Once we wed, I become fifty-five percent owner of Duchene Vineyards—and make sure Helena doesn’t piss away her forty-five percent on her lavish lifestyle.
Five years ago, I had no hesitation in agreeing.
Now, well, now things have changed considerably. Both our fathers passed away forcing my focus to the wineries. Our agreement was nearly forgotten—until we were recently reminded by our lawyers. Neither of us seem very enthused about a marriage born of contracts instead of romance.
Regardless, I gave my word—it’s as solid as the gold band I will wear.
“Let me do it right, at least. Our lawyers will add whatever we want to the agreement, Helena,” I sigh and pinch my nose as she spits out a tirade in Italian, “Helena, watch your tone! We’re in this; let’s just get it done.” Ending the call, I nod at my driver as he slows in front of the boutique.
“Shall I wait for you, Mr. Thorn?” Shaking my head, I push from the town car and duck down to smile at him.
“No, no need. I will find what I came for and head back later.” Patting the top of the car, I turn to head for the shop.
It’s a small boutique and nothing at all a place Helena would go. To me it looks perfect. Pushing through the heavy glass and oak door, I hesitate as giggles and Madonna music fills the small space. Inside is a curved display case and a few smaller centerpiece displays. Everything in the space is soft colors and warmth so the laughter and music don’t seem so out of place.
To my right a young woman with glasses and a smile greets me. After welcoming me to the store, she cocks her head as if sizing me up. Asking me what I’ve come looking for, she waves a hand at the counter. Problem is, now that I’m here I am unsure exactly what I’m looking for.
Until something in the air shifts. Something warm fills the little space and fires off all my senses. I smell sweet violet mixing with something soft and clean. It’s a lovely spring day but I’m hot from the inside out. Something pulls at me as if a voice called out to me.
Twisting to glance behind me, all those senses stop.
Everything seems to still when my eyes swing across the room.
Standing watching me with ocean blue eyes is a stunning creature. Her wide eyes, set in a heart-shaped face, are clear and framed by feathery lashes. Something sparks in those eyes when they meet mine. A pretty flush fills her cheeks before rushing down her slender throat. Sinful thoughts fill my head when my eyes drop to her pillowy pink mouth.
Christ, I react powerfully to those eyes watching me.
And that mouth popping open before a soft sound passes them.
Sounds something like a gasp of breath and a soft moan.
Whatever it is, my cock jerks in my slacks. I shove my hand into my pocket and cross the distance between us. It seems impossible to stay away from her, in fact. The other girl says something, and I think I respond, but I can’t be sure.
Not sure of much at the moment, to be honest.
Only sure of one thing—I need to know this woman.
I want to know her name, her story, and her secrets. How she looks like spread out in my bed, waiting for my cock. What she sounds like when I make her come. What her sweet cunt tastes like.
I want to know fucking everything about her.
I say something to her, something I think is clever, and she smiles.
My chest aches when that smile rocks my entire fucking world.
And then she slides a display of rings across the counter towards me.
Suddenly I remember what I came here for. That ache in my chest changes and twists into something so painful I barely stay on my feet. I gaze at her in the dim light of the little shop as reality starts to set in.
I came here to choose a ring for my bride-to-be. A woman I don’t love—hell a woman I don’t even want to fuck. I made a promise. Gave my word. And I never break my word.
But as this beautiful woman gazes back at me my world changes.
Because standing there with diamond promises of happily ever after between us, I see it. I see me slipping a ring on her finger, I see her in a white dress, coming down the aisle to give herself to me. I see her spread out waiting for me to make her mine forever. See her belly swollen with my child to make us a family.
In just a few moments, I see my entire life with this woman unfold.
“Can you tell me what you think your bride would want?” I almost choke when I realize she’s not talking about herself.
Between us the air pops and sizzles. I push closer and take a breath, my lungs filling with her sweet scent. Dropping my eyes to her left hand and finding it bare—saving us both a hassle—I gaze into her eyes and my heart pounds out a rhythm that sounds like a song.
Coming here was meant to be the start of a new life. One where I married a good woman who I would never love and would never love me. But a woman I made a promise to. One I made in good faith with every intention of keeping.
Marriage never mattered to me before because I never made time for women. I appreciate a beautiful woman and enjoy their company, but I never bothered taking them to bed or promising something I wasn’t going to give. One of the reasons my promise to marry Helena was of no issue.
Now standing here gazing into ocean blue eyes, it is a huge issue.
Because suddenly my heart beats differently.
Without realizing it this captivating woman has just changed the course of my life. Came here to start planning a wedding. Starting with a beautiful engagement ring. A wedding is still going to happen, of course.
One thing simply must change now.
The woman who walks down the aisle to be my wife.
Chapter Three
Rian
Something shifts between us as he leans over the counter, ignoring my ring designs completely. I should be offended, I suppose. But I just can’t find it in me to be bothered by his lack of interest in my rings. Mostly because I seem all too aware of his interest in something else. Namely, me.
Dark eyes scan over me and I flush beneath the hungry glint in their depths. They swirl with need and want unlike anything I have ever seen. At least, directed at me. I mean, I’m not a wallflower but never in my life have I been so sure a man wants me than I am in this moment we share.
And sweet lord do we share a moment.
As if something crackles in the air between us, I just want to get closer. I want to touch his thick dark hair and the scruff at his sharp jaw. I want to learn the shape of his muscled
shoulders and find out if he has that sexy V leading to his cock. I want very much to find the path to his cock, in fact.
Jesus, what has this man done to me?
“Tell me what you would like.” His question sounds filthy and for a few seconds, I imagine exactly what I would like. In vivid and smutty detail.
“Well most women like...” He clears his throat and reaches a hand out, shoving some of my blonde hair behind my ear.
“I am Roman Thorn. Tell me your name,” He says it as if he wants me to obey and when do, he smiles as if he won something, “Rian. Lovely. Now, tell me what you would like, Rian. Not most women. I want to know what you would like if a man were going to give you something promising his love forever.” Pretty sure my panties disintegrate.
“Uh... well... um.” Clearing my throat, I close my eyes when I realize his fingertips linger at my skin, trailing down my neck.
“Time, money, none of it matters. What would you want, lovely Rian?” He purrs my name like it was meant for just him to say and I shiver.
“Oh well,” Flushing, I bow my head and reach back to grab my sketch book, “Let’s me show you.” I flip through a few pages and then when my heart flutters, I stop.
Hesitantly I twist the sketchbook to face him, wondering why I would show my secret to a stranger. I want him to see it though. For a reason I can’t explain or understand, I want to share this part of myself with this man.
His hand passes over mine to take the book and I feel a jolt. It’s like when I wear my favorite fuzzy socks and shuffle across my even fuzzier carpet to grab more pretzels and beer and I get zapped. Except it’s not just the tips of my fingers. It races through my limbs and bounces like a ball of need between my legs.
Roman’s sharp intake of breath gives away that he felt it too.
Our eyes meet and a slow smile hitches up his sexy mouth. An overwhelming urge to lick his full bottom lip has me biting my tongue. I wonder if he tastes as rich as he looks. Sure, he does.