A Summer Wedding at Cross Creek Inn

by Cheryl Holt

  “Mom!” he said, exasperated, but she didn’t stop.

  She didn’t care what he was suddenly desperate to confide. He’d had fifteen years to voice a remark worth hearing, and if it was important, he could track her down. She’d be in the hotel until Sunday. All he had to do was knock on her door, but she wouldn’t hold her breath.

  He stood in the shower, the water pounding away his headache.

  He had to perk up and start celebrating. The event planner, Miss DeAngelo, had given him a schedule: when to have breakfast, when he and Josh were to be dressed, when they had to slip down for the wedding pictures.

  Trays of food and pots of coffee had been delivered. It was almost ten o’clock, and he’d drink some coffee, eat some food, and he’d be good as new.

  “What am I doing?” he asked to no one in particular.

  His mother had just slunk in to check on him, and he’d been an asshole, so that was a problem he’d have to mend.

  He had an awful relationship with her, so he had trouble being civil, but she was such a complainer. It drove him nuts. She was stuck in a rut and unable to fix herself or move on, and it aggravated him to his limit. She was so clingy, and he yearned to shake her and say, Why must you be so annoying?

  The heat and steam had revived him, and he shut off the faucets. Finally, his brain was clicking on all cylinders. He was supposed to spend the morning engaged in various rituals that didn’t interest him in the slightest, but what he really needed to do was find Jennifer.

  Apparently, he wasn’t allowed to see her before the ceremony. It was bad luck or something, but the prior night, she’d been royally pissed when he and Josh had left for Aspen. He couldn’t have his bride glowering and fuming, so he had to tell her how sorry he was. In two seconds flat, he’d be totally forgiven.

  He sighed, thinking he wasn’t in any mood to charm his bride, and he didn’t believe he should have to. In his opinion, she’d won the lottery by snagging him, and she shouldn’t be so irked about every little issue. At some point, he’d have to explain to her that there would always be a part of his life that was separate from hers.

  Some people would view it as a chauvinistic attitude, but his wants and wishes would take precedence over hers, and she had to understand that fact.

  She would hardly suffer by being his wife. He was offering her a world of ease and pleasure, practically on a silver platter, and if he sought some occasional privacy, he was completely entitled to that arrangement.

  For a moment, he wondered why he was marrying her. Considering that the wedding was about to be held, it was a strange question to ask and an even stranger time to ask it.

  He still couldn’t figure out why he’d proposed. From the minute he’d met her, he’d felt as if he’d been on a runaway train that had led him directly to the Cross Creek Inn. Somehow, the notion that he should proceed had wedged itself into his mind, and he’d been tantalized by the prospect of coaxing her into it. It hadn’t been so much that he was in love with her, but he’d loved the idea of being in love. It had seemed perfect.

  She was so different from the women who typically attracted him. They were all rich actresses and heiresses who assumed they deserved his attention. She, on the other hand, had constantly been so . . . so . . . thankful for it.

  Her gratitude stirred his masculine instincts, making him anxious to take care of her, which was an odd impulse because he’d never been eager to take care of anybody.

  He stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist without drying off, so he was dripping everywhere, but hey, that’s why maids had been invented—to clean up after him.

  He grabbed another towel and rubbed steam off the mirror, and he studied his face. He had to shave, but other than that, he didn’t look too disgusting. They hadn’t returned to the Inn until after six, so he’d barely had any sleep, but he had a picker-upper in his suitcase that would have his blood flowing sufficiently to keep him awake and alert.

  “Eric Benjamin,” he facetiously said to his reflection, “man of the hour.”

  He smirked, deciding he should drink some strong coffee before he did anything else, but when he spun to head out to the sitting room, Crystal was standing in the bathroom doorway.

  She was gorgeous as ever, wearing a skin-tight blue dress (the hem just below her ass), knee-high boots, and clunky, expensive jewelry. She was nearly forty, but might have been twenty, and there was no denying she was hot.

  She tossed her blond hair and said, “I was hoping you’d be alone.”

  “You get out of here. Right now.”

  She pouted, her lush lips flashing her irritation. “I thought you might like a very special wedding present.”

  “I’m not kidding. You! Go! Away!”

  She didn’t listen to him, but then, she never listened to anyone.

  “Dennis is sending me home,” she said.

  “Why?”

  “Because Lindsey is being a shit, and he’s mad at us. He won’t let me stay for the wedding.”

  “You’re leaving immediately?”

  “Yes, so I had to sneak in and tell you goodbye. I won’t have another chance.”

  She sauntered over to him, and he watched her in a sort of vague slow motion. She was treacherous. She was trouble. She was an absolute maniac on a mattress.

  She’d moved into their house when he was fifteen. She’d been twenty-three, a depraved, amoral goddess who’d been determined to latch onto whatever tickled her fancy. She’d craved the power and prestige his father could provide, but she had very wicked tendencies, and they burst out in shocking ways.

  He’d never been able to resist her. He tried to avoid her, for he clearly recognized the uproar that would ensue if they were ever caught together, but the danger their hook-ups created made the whole stupid thing seem worth the risk.

  He felt as if he was outside his body and staring down on some other idiot who was about to behave precisely as he shouldn’t. Josh was in the other room, sound asleep. If they went at it full-speed, who would ever know?

  He might be about to marry and have a wife, but he would never pass up an encounter like this. What sane man would?

  “You want it bad,” she said, her tone taunting. “Don’t pretend.”

  She unbuttoned a button, and the dress fell away, so she was naked, but for her jewelry and boots.

  “What the hell?” he muttered. “It is my wedding day after all. Why shouldn’t I let you give me a gift?”

  When she’d opened her eyes that morning, she’d been incredibly calm. She’d slept well and hadn’t tossed or turned with fury, doubt, or anxiety. She’d jumped out of bed, laser-focused on her decision and how she would implement it.

  It was ten o’clock, and she was walking down the hall with Alex. They were quietly determined, the moment surreal, as if she was dreaming.

  She’d met him on the landing, not keen to explain herself to her siblings just yet. She’d simply told them that Alex needed to talk to her privately, and she’d be back shortly.

  Her sisters had eaten breakfast, gobbling down food and coffee that had been delivered by room service, but she’d been too distracted and had watched them silently. Kyle had still been asleep, and she’d assumed her dad was too until he strolled in a bit after nine.

  Rachel and Amy insisted he was having a quick fling with Sharon Kildare, and Jennifer wondered how her actions would impact her dad’s romance. Jennifer liked Ms. Kildare and hoped she’d eventually be forgiven for what she was about to do.

  Her sisters were aware of how incensed Jennifer had been the prior night, and Amy had asked Jennifer how she was feeling. Jennifer had given a very truthful reply: She was ready to proceed. Just not with the wedding, but she hadn’t included that clarification.

  First, before she shared the news with anyone else, she had to inform Eric who wouldn’t
care very much. If he was upset at all, it would merely be because she’d dented his massive ego by dumping him.

  If she was suffering any guilt over her plan, it was the realization that she’d put so many people to so much trouble: the Inn’s staff, the photographer, the florist, the chef.

  A veritable hoard had joined together to bring the wedding to fruition, and she would always regret how she’d changed her mind at the very last minute. She’d regret too the money Mr. Benjamin had spent. He wouldn’t be able to receive any refunds, and he’d probably hate her for being so selfish, but if he was eager to vent his rage, he should take it up with Eric.

  The conclusion she was about to orchestrate was totally Eric’s fault, so she refused to accept any blame. She’d been foolishly in love—or what she’d presumed was love—and had been fully prepared to marry him. She was so stunned that she was frozen on the inside.

  Later, she’d mourn and weep, but just then, she wasn’t distressed. She was simply intent on getting the horrid confrontation accomplished with as little drama as she could manage.

  How had she tumbled into such a debacle? She viewed herself as being very smart, very shrewd, but maybe she wasn’t. She wouldn’t be too hard on herself though. She’d been bowled over by the gifts and the trips. It had been thrilling to dine at LA’s trendiest restaurants, to have paparazzi snapping photos of her when she and Eric drove away in his Porsche.

  Strangers had studied her and speculated over who she was and how she’d snagged him. What girl wouldn’t have reveled in that sort of attention? But his glamourous existence had numbed her to reality, and she had to remove her blinders.

  They reached his door, and it was propped open, which was a relief. She hadn’t been certain he and Josh were even back from their party. If they were, she’d figured they’d be passed out and incoherent. She’d envisioned having to knock and knock until one of them staggered out to answer.

  They stared into the sitting room. It was empty, but there was food and coffee on the table. The TV was on, the sound muted, so someone was up.

  “Are you sure about this?” Alex asked.

  “I’m sure,” she said.

  “I’m so worried you haven’t considered the ramifications.”

  “Believe me, my thoughts are very, very clear this morning.”

  He clasped her hand and gave it a firm squeeze. “Should I wait out here? Would you like to speak to him alone?”

  “You can come in. I’ll be grateful for your moral support. Unless you don’t want to be there? He might accuse you of goading me into it.”

  Alex smirked. “He blames me for everything anyway. This will be one more thing he can add to his list.”

  She entered the suite and headed into his bedroom, Alex dogging her heels. Eric had slept in his bed. The blankets were mussed, and clothes were draped on a chair.

  It was very quiet, the only noise her pulse pounding in her ears. The bathroom door was closed, light glowing beneath it, and she supposed he was in there. Who else would be?

  She was debating whether to call to him, when suddenly, a woman’s chuckle wafted out. It was sultry and intimate, then a man murmured an inaudible reply, and it was filled with the same sultry intimacy.

  No imagination was required to paint a mental picture of what was happening, but she was desperate to be wrong. She whipped her astonished gaze to Alex, wondering if he’d heard it too, and yes, he’d heard it. His eyes were wide as saucers, his brows raised practically to his hairline.

  She would have commented, but he lifted a finger to his lips, warning her to silence, then he went over and spun the knob, pushing the door open all the way.

  And . . . ?

  There was Eric—having full-on sex with Crystal Benjamin.

  He was naked, his hair wet, his skin glistening, as if he’d just stepped out of the shower. Crystal was balanced on the sink and naked too, except for knee-high boots and a bunch of jewelry that made her look like an actress in a porn movie. Her legs cradled Eric’s hips as he rammed himself into her.

  From how comfortable they were, Jennifer was left with the distinct impression that this wasn’t their first hook-up.

  It took them a second to realize they’d been interrupted. They stopped, scowled, then glanced over. On observing Alex and Jennifer gaping at them, their reactions would have been humorous if the disgusting spectacle hadn’t been quite so shocking.

  They leapt apart as if they’d caught on fire.

  “Shit!” Eric muttered. He grabbed a towel and frantically yanked it around his waist.

  Crystal was so unflappable that Jennifer couldn’t help but be amazed by her nonchalance. She snickered in a snotty way and slid to the floor. She shifted toward them, flaunting herself and not minding that she was completely naked.

  She leaned down, picked up a blue dress, and tugged it on. She smoothed the hem and patted her hair, as if no odd event was occurring.

  None of them spoke. They were too astounded, then Alex said to his brother, “Geez, Eric, you and Crystal? Really? That is so gross.”

  “It’s not what you think,” Eric claimed.

  Crystal snorted with amusement. “Yes, it is, Alex. It’s exactly what you think.”

  “Shut up!” Eric snapped at her, then he turned to Jennifer and said, “I can explain.”

  Alex answered for her. “I don’t believe any explanation is necessary. I’m positive Jennifer and I are both incredibly clear on what we’re witnessing.”

  Still though, Eric was compelled to try. “It was just one of those things. She was here, and I was here, and . . .”

  His voice trailed off as he recognized there wasn’t an excuse that could justify his conduct, and Alex said, “You’re marrying in four hours, and this is how you’re keeping yourself busy?”

  “Could you promise not to tell Dad?” Eric definitely seemed to be begging.

  Crystal jumped into the mess again. “He won’t tell your dad, Eric. He understands how upset Dennis would be.”

  “How could you imagine I won’t?” Alex said.

  Crystal scoffed. “What would be the point? Eric and I are old friends, and I offered him a little wedding present. He was very excited about it too.”

  Eric winced, and Crystal flashed a simpering smile at Jennifer. It was meant to crush her, meant to make her feel small and unworthy of Eric. Crystal wanted her to accept that Crystal and Eric existed on an elevated plane that she—ordinary, normal Jennifer Layton—could never attain, but Jennifer had never liked Crystal, so her snarky demeanor had no effect.

  Jennifer looked at Eric and said, “I’m relieved to have stumbled on you like this.”

  Eric frowned. “Why would you be?”

  “The wedding is off, Eric. You can be such a prick, and I have no desire to marry you.” She gestured rudely to Crystal. “I’m betting—after you reflect for a bit—you won’t care very much.”

  “I’ll care,” he huffed, appearing insulted.

  She said to Alex, “Let’s go.”

  Alex glared at her. “You’ll leave them here? Like this?”

  “It doesn’t matter to me. As of this moment, Eric is none of my business.”

  She clicked off the diamond bracelet he’d given her, pitched it into the sink, then started out. Alex hesitated, then followed her. They had reached the outer door when Eric called, “Jen! You’re not serious, right? You’re not cancelling.”

  She halted and peered back. “I’m serious as a heart attack. I’m starving, so I’ll have breakfast with my family, then I’m flying home.”

  “But . . . what about the ceremony?”

  He was stunned, and Alex answered for her again. “Pay attention, Eric. She’s not marrying you.”

  “Because of Crystal?” Eric said, as if his having sex with his stepmother was irrelevant. “Jen! She doesn’t have any bearing
on you and me.”

  It was the strangest remark ever, and she wondered if he wasn’t slightly psycho. “Put some clothes on, Eric. I’m fairly sure your dad will show up in a few minutes. You probably shouldn’t be naked when he arrives.”

  Alex added, “And if I were you, I’d get Crystal out of here. Fast.”

  Eric blanched, but Crystal simply tossed her lush blond hair, as if she wasn’t concerned about Dennis Benjamin. Jennifer bristled with disgust, then she and Alex marched out.

  “Look at this.”

  Kyle shoved his phone under Rachel’s nose, and she said, “What am I supposed to be seeing?”

  “Check out the nasty comments about Lindsey Holliday.”

  Rachel scrolled through a bunch of them, and they were so cruel that she flinched. “Wow. She seems like a total bitch, so I’d like to say she deserves to be ridiculed, but . . . wow. That’s harsh.”

  “I feel sorry for her.”

  “Why would you have any sympathy?”

  “You’ve met her mom and stepdad. Would you like to have them as parents?”

  “No!”

  Rachel glanced down again, and a photo caught her eye. It was Kyle, and he had an obviously-intoxicated Lindsey under his arm. He and another guy were carrying her out of a bar.

  “When was this?” Rachel asked.

  “Last night. She had a fake ID, and she was drinking in a bar down in the village. She passed out, and the manager texted me to come and pick her up. A bellman and I drove down there and brought her back to the Inn.”

  “I can’t decide whether to scold you or applaud you for being so gallant.”

  “Why would you scold me? I was being nice. She was in trouble, and I was helping her.”

  “We shouldn’t be involved with any of them. The whole stinking family has so many problems.”

  “People are posting about me,” he said. “I’ve become some kind of mystery man, and they’re working to discover who I am and why I was with her.”

  Rachel was an odd specimen of human being in that she didn’t spend all her time pouring over social media sites, but she understood that his identity would eventually be revealed.