Forever a Bridesmaid (Always a Bridesmaid Book 1)

by Courtney Hunt

“Hush, Matty, or you can walk,” Millie said. She climbed into the driver’s seat as Matthew helped Erin into the backseat. When her dress slid up to reveal several more inches of thigh than she was comfortable with, she raised her gaze to his face, the heat in his eyes unmistakable. Well, at least she wasn’t the only one in lust. She needed to ignore it, focus on the task at hand.

  Millie drove them through town. Erin got the fleeting impression of emerald squares, shielded by ancient trees, surrounded by ornate mostly brick townhouses. She admired the lacy metal filigree on the buildings as well as the more modern, streamlined look of downtown, mixed with the historical district, as they approached the river. She got a peek of the greenish river, undulating in the late day sun, before Millie swung the car into a parking garage. They made their way to the edge of Bay Street and Erin looked down at the narrow and steep stone staircase.

  “Should I take off my shoes?” Erin asked but Matthew took her hand, gallantly walking beside her along the outside of the narrow staircase. Their hips bumped with each step, sending spirals of awareness through her.

  “I’ve got you, Erin.” He squeezed her fingers, meeting her eyes again, and though they’d spent the entire afternoon on the airplane holding hands, the simple pressure of his fingers wrapped around hers rocked through her. She wanted this man far too much for her peace of mind.

  “Aunt Millie, I’ll come back up to escort you.”

  “Bless you, Matty. I’ve been climbing up and down these staircases all my life. Erin, these buildings along here are the old cotton warehouses. Can you imagine running up and down these stairs carrying bales of cotton?”

  “Quite a workout. I can barely make it in my dress shoes,” Erin agreed.

  “I imagine they went barefoot,” Matthew put in as Erin eyed the buildings more closely.

  “When were they restored?”

  Matthew smiled at her. “My granddaddy helped turn them into shops and restaurants in the late 1970s.”

  “And don’t forget the bars,” Millie said. “I’m sure Westbrook Designs helped with those too.”

  “Westbrook Designs was my grandfather’s firm,” Matthew explained to Erin.

  “And maybe yours, someday,” Millie said. “I know Shelby would love it.”

  “Not moving back to Savannah, Auntie Millie,” Matthew said, in a light but firm tone, as though they’d had this argument many times before and would again. “And not taking anything with my father’s name.”

  “Your grandfather’s name too…”

  “I’m sure they’re lovely,” Erin commented as Matthew’s lips flat lined. They made their way across ancient cobblestones, Matthew still holding her hand, and onto a low street, the scent of the river breeze growing stronger. Near a restored steamboat, resting at anchor and gleaming white in the dusk, they entered a narrow, dimly lit vestibule. Millie shepherded them into a sleek, modern elevator and they rode to the fourth floor.

  The elevator opened onto a soaring loft, with tall paned windows and reclaimed wood floors, boasting views of the Savannah River. Piano music poured from hidden speakers as the golden and orange light of sunset in the south filled the room. Waiters bustled through the crowd, serving drinks to the assembled, chattering crowd.

  Millie preceded them off the elevator. Matthew placed his warm hand on the small of her back, ushering her into the room, a singularly possessive gesture, the way a husband might escort his wife. Erin shook her head and stepped away. That train of thought couldn’t lead anywhere good.

  A slender woman, her ash-blonde hair perfectly styled, wearing a floral sheath dress, with a petal-pink wrap and matching flats—a casual ensemble Erin recognized as actually being expensive designer, and possibly vintage—stepped forward to greet them. She air kissed Millie first, patting her arm and complimenting her on her simple black dress, before appraising both Erin and Matthew.

  “Matthew.” His mother smiled, though it didn’t reach her eyes, and kissed his cheek before turning to Erin. Her eyes flickered over Erin, an almost instantaneous evaluation, before Erin stepped forward, put out her hand, and introduced herself. Matthew headed across the room to a group of guys standing at the window. Probably his brother and the groomsman.

  “We’re so delighted you’re here. Thank you for coming to help us out, on such short notice.” Shelby shook her hand, her palm soft and her smile wide. Her son resembled her, from the shape of their lovely hazel eyes, high cheekbones, and generous mouths. “Alex chose his groomsman ages ago. Friends of his from junior soccer. Those boys grew up together. And Ashley picked her sister and Marina so we needed you.”

  “It happens. We’re often called in to even the numbers.” Erin smiled as Shelby rubbed her forehead with her palm. Matthew had the same stress gesture. “There are so many moving parts to a wedding, like arm-wrestling an octopus. But, they always turn out perfect in the end.”

  “Isn’t Matthew standing up with him, as his best man, Shelby?” Millie asked and Shelby’s shoulders stiffened. She glanced over to where Matthew chatted animatedly with a dark haired young man, a few inches shorter than him.

  “We weren’t sure he’d come…” Shelby shrugged. Erin bit her lip, saddened at the pain in Shelby’s voice. She turned back to Erin with a bright smile as Millie headed for the bar. “My eldest son, Matthew…he’s been bit distant with the family in recent years. Unfortunately, he objects to the wedding. You can run interference with him, can’t you? Keep him occupied so he doesn’t do anything drastic?”

  “Ummm….” Erin remembered her policy of always keeping the client happy and agreeing to any request she could. But keeping track of Matthew was one thing. Could she keep her hands off him too? “Sure.”

  “If you can manage to keep Matthew occupied, I’ll triple your fee,” Shelby said as Erin’s heart knocked against her chest. With that kind of money, she could afford to buy a car again. “And keep him away from Alex as much as you can.”

  Erin nodded and Shelby ushered her across the room. “Let me introduce you to the bride.”

  For the next hour, Erin shook hands with a variety of people, until her face ached from smiling. She could barely keep everyone straight. Ashley, the dark haired young bride, seemed giddy and thrilled and more than a little overwhelmed by all the fuss. Her groom, Alex, a bouncy extrovert who reminded her strongly of Dylan, shook Erin’s hand before graciously grabbing her a plate of appetizers and a flute of bubbly champagne. She bit into a miniature grit cake topped with a succulent pink shrimp, closing her eyes as the flavors of excellent southern cuisine exploded over her tongue. How she’d missed the tastes of home.

  “Did you try the little crab cakes?” Matthew asked at her elbow, gesturing to her plate, his champagne glass clutched tightly in his hand.

  “Delicious.” Erin nodded, noting the white lines around his pinched flat mouth. “Did you get anything to eat?”

  “Not hungry,” Matthew answered, downing the rest of his champagne and grabbing another from a passing waiter. He gave her a rueful grin, “Too many chocolate blossoms.”

  “Your family seems lovely. So kind and welcoming.”

  “Yep, they’re kind, alright.” Matthew nodded, twirling the champagne flute by the stem, staring at the bursting bubbles as though they contained the secrets of the universe. “Alex asked me to be a groomsman.”

  Erin smiled. Matthew would be easier to manage if he were part of the wedding party. She assured herself she had no ulterior motive at all for being so thrilled he’d be with her most of the week. “Quite an honor. Congrats.”

  “I nearly turned him down.”

  “Because you don’t support the wedding? They seem happy together.”

  “No.” Matthew shook his head before slugging back half his champagne. “He was my best man so…”

  Erin understood then. Matthew wasn’t angry. He was hurt. She laid a hand on his arm.

  Before she could say anything comforting, a dark haired teenager, wearing a yellow dress that did nothing for her
lovely olive complexion or full, curvy figure, appeared at Matthew’s side. Her lovely dark hair hung in a thick braid down her back. She wore far too much blush and eyeliner but, beneath the goop the girl had a pretty face. Erin recognized Matthew and Shelby’s eyes. Must be his little sister. He smiled, tossing an arm over her shoulders, and hugging her against his side.

  “Have you met my baby sister?” Matthew said, placing particular emphasis on the word baby, getting a giggle and an eye roll from the girl. “Marina, this is Erin.”

  “How are you enjoying the party, Marina?” Erin asked.

  “Ready to go home,” Marina said. “Mama won’t hear of it though.”

  As if conjured by the mere mention of her, Shelby appeared at Matthew’s side. Matthew’s mother looked tired and worn, the skin around her eyes and mouth tight with strain. Weddings were a stressful time for everyone involved and pulling together events on a grand scale so quickly doubly so. No doubt Shelby had a right to be tired.

  “Ready to go home, mama?” Marina asked hopefully, tugging on her voluminous skirt. Erin hid a smile behind her champagne flute, though it might be later than she’d realized. The candles burned low in their sockets and full dark chased away the last vestiges of the sunset blue hour over the river.

  “Just a few more minutes, Marina. Be gracious,” Shelby said. Matthew tugged Marina toward the dessert bar, laden with macaroons, petit fours, and chocolate cupcakes.

  “Thank you for including me, Ms. Rivera.”

  “Shelby, please. No need to be so formal.”

  “I wondered if you might have time to meet tomorrow, to go over the details, sign the contract…” Erin asked.

  Shelby nodded, “An excellent idea. Would about two suit? I can meet you at your B&B as I’ve got errands in town in the morning.”

  “Sounds great,” Erin smiled. Maybe she’d even have time to explore the city a bit the next morning. Shelby patted her arm and headed to the door to say farewell to some departing guests.

  Erin found Millie near the bar and they rounded up Matthew before headed out into the cool night. Erin shivered, mentally chastising herself for not bringing her wrap when Matthew dropped his suit coat, still warm from his body and smelling deliciously of him, over her shoulders. She inhaled deeply and, watching Matthew instead of the cobblestones, caught her heel in the stones. Matthew steadied her, one hand on her waist. She smiled her thanks, their eyes meeting. She wished, instead of working the wedding, she could go as Matthew’s date.

  But this wasn’t a Cinderella fantasy. She stepped away, walking up the narrow stairs toward Bay Street.

  “Aren’t Alex and Ashley adorable together?” Millie commented as they walked up the steep stairs, single file. “So in love and happy.”

  “All I see is my brother making an enormous mistake,” Matthew snapped. “He’ll be divorced within a year, mark my words.”

  “Alex isn’t you.” Millie turned at the top of the stairs.

  “Thanks, Auntie Millie,” Matthew said, bitterly.

  “Can’t you let this go?” Erin interrupted.

  “No,” Matthew answered and didn’t say another word all the way back to Jones Street.

  Chapter Nine

  After ensuring Aunt Millie and Erin were safely inside, Matthew headed to his basement room, entering through a wrought iron gate under the front stairs. Though the ceilings were low for his over six-foot frame, the basement was homey and comfortable, decorated in French country style, in sunny yellows, cobalt, and bright white. He wrenched off his tie and threw it on the end of the wrought iron bed. He raked his hands through his hair, tugging upward in frustration, before loosening his collar.

  What a disaster.

  He headed to the tiny galley kitchen, intending to grab a soft drink and another chocolate blossom before collapsing in front of the television. On the counter, he found two miniature bottles of his favorite bourbon and a full ice bucket. Aunt Millie had been running a B&B too long not to know what her guests needed most. He filled a cut crystal tumbler with ice, poured one miniature over it, and, sticking the extra tiny bottle in his pocket, headed out to sip his well-earned drink by the merrily splashing fountain.

  He wasn’t brooding—or sulking either, both accusations Anna flung at him more than once during their short marriage. He just needed to think. Fairy lights twinkled in the fichus trees, giving the garden a welcoming glow, even though it was chilly in December. He made his way across the tiled patio, bypassing the comfortable lounge chairs. He sat on the stone lip of the fountain, staring at the water, watching the bright orange koi, fat from crumbs of Millie’s delicious pastries, flit under the surface, idly twirling the glass in his hand making the ice cubes clink.

  How did my own family become strangers to me? After Anna left, he hadn’t come home. He’d been halfway through graduate school at the time. After she left him, he flittered from architectural project to architectural project all over the country. He threw himself into work and meaningless sex because he couldn’t face the fact he’d failed as a husband. He’d let Anna run home to her mama, and essentially ceded their hometown to her.

  But he hadn’t intended to cede his family along with it. In his absence, his gawky little brother sprouted into a handsome, self-assured young man. And his sister, instead of being the quiet, bookish pre-teen tomboy of his memory, turned into a lovely young lady.

  At least he hadn’t had to cope with Anna face-to-face tonight. Thank God for small favors. No doubt, as the week progressed, he’d have to see her, make small talk, and be nice to the stranger who used to be his wife.

  Maybe that was the problem though. Maybe she’d always been a stranger.

  They’d met as kids, when mama and Victor married and bought the house next door to her family. He and the middle sister, Anna, were the same age. They’d spent high school mostly apart as they ran in separate cliques. She’d been the first friendly face he spotted in the crowds at Georgia Tech. They’d fallen into a relationship and, mostly because she’d expected it, he’d dutifully presented her with a ring the last semester of their senior year. They’d married a year later, in a wedding organized by their mothers, honeymooned in Fiji, and headed back to Boston so he could attend MIT graduate school. He got to work building a life for them, focused on his career and his graduate degree.

  He worked harder and harder, as the distance between them widened into a chasm. He focused his passion and ambition on the planes and angles of the buildings he created and designed before overseeing their metallic birth from the ground. Anna wanted a husband, a companion, and needed the attention he poured into his work and his studies.

  Finally, she left. After she packed up her stuff, their tiny one-bedroom in Cambridge echoed with her absence. But, she’d had the courage to do what he hadn’t and call an end to their loveless, icy marriage. At first, he reveled in his freedom and jumped at the chance to spend time traveling from place to place, without realizing that was another form of isolation and loneliness. The past few years, he’d bounced about like a Ping-Pong ball, spending most of his free time in airports.

  Where he’d met the enchanting Erin, just yesterday. She’d been the one bright spot in his otherwise miserable evening. Several times, he’d glanced over at the party, drawn to her dazzling smile. He’d observed her tonight, watching her meet his family and friends, charming them and putting them at ease. He admired how she’d built her business into such a success. He would love nothing more than to indulge in a dalliance with the lovely Ms. Delaney, but right now, he had to fix his broken relationships with his family.

  He didn’t have time for romance.

  Early the next morning, just after dawn, Matthew headed to his mama’s house, less than a half a mile away on Liberty Street. He’d escorted Aunt Millie home on this well-trod path more times than he could count as an adolescent. In a few blocks, he slipped into his mother’s back garden and knocked on the kitchen door. She started, turning from the kitchen table, and then smiled at him,
her eyes softening. She stood and opened the door, waving him inside.

  “You’re up early, son.”

  “Got any coffee to share?” She poured him a cup and sat at the table with him, picking at a crust of raisin toast. In front of her, a scatter of colorful index cards full of her elegant scrawl told him she’d been going over her to-do lists. She idly played with one with her slim forefinger, not meeting his eyes.

  The morning sun highlighted all the extra wrinkles that candlelight and makeup smoothed the night before. His mama aged while he’d been off, licking his wounds. After his father deserted them, he and mama only had each other until she met and married Victor.

  When he was six, his father packed up and left, stowing his beautifully-cut suits in the trunk of his car, throwing his bespoke, monogrammed shirts in the backseat, and driving off. Within a few months, mama couldn’t afford the house alone. They’d moved to a tiny apartment, on the fringes of town. Matthew landed in a new school with no friends. His mama worked for Millie, sometimes two or three other jobs, and he had to make his own snack after school and play quietly until she got home. Instead of steak and mashed potatoes, supper consisted of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. When the last two slices were all that remained of the weekly loaf of bread, he’d been young enough to believe his mama when she claimed to have eaten at work.

  He and his mother, probably because of his truncated childhood, had always been close. But then she’d never been so angry at him before.

  Until now.

  “Alright, mama. Tell me how to fix it.”

  “Fix it?” She looked at him, sipping her coffee, raising one perfectly arched eyebrow.

  “I felt like a skunk at a garden party last night. Not welcome with my own family.”

  “You’re always welcome, son. Just you haven’t seen fit to make yourself welcome much around here lately.”

  “Been busy—”

  “Working. Or hiding in work, which amounts to the same.” She tilted her head, watching him. “I’m proud of you, Matthew. Of all you’ve achieved with your lovely buildings. Your grandpa would be mighty proud too. He always wanted you to run Westbrook Designs someday.”