“That’s where I am. She’s not under the choir robes. Are you sure she didn’t leave?” Velma adjusted the belt on her makeshift dress. She’d added the ridiculous nightgown Eli had brought her underneath Brek’s shirt, so at least it fell above her knee and didn’t threaten to show the world her underwear when she bent over.
“Valet’s on alert. No way she could’ve gone that way, and Jase is standing guard at the back door.” Brek sounded out of breath.
The window creaked open. A small thread of lace flew from the hinge.
Velma clicked her talk button. “I’ve got a lead. Stand by.”
“I’ll be right there—” Brek continued speaking, but Velma pulled off the earpiece so it dangled at her shoulder. She climbed onto the bench in front of the window to search outside. Sure enough, a trail of beads and pieces of lace led across the pine needles through the evergreens. Crud-ola. A runaway bride.
She blew out a long breath. Brek would lose his ever-loving mind.
He had been on edge since the chocolate fiasco. The Buttercup incident had threatened to push him over. But the last hour since Sophie’s disappearing act? He’d been a total basket case. He’d held it together, but with each second that passed, he moved closer to tumbling over the precipice of his temper.
Well, Velma didn’t have much of a choice. Heaving a breath, she wrenched her body over the windowsill—one leg, then the other. Her balance precarious, she kicked her low-heeled pumps below, said a prayer, and jumped unceremoniously the six feet to the ground.
She slipped on her shoes. Her headset crackled against her shoulder. She ignored it. Best she find Sophie and get her bum down the aisle before Brek went bananas.
Stiletto footprints led to a clearing where Velma discovered the white silk Louboutins abandoned. Carefully, she picked them up and wiped dirt from the heel. The dang things, which retailed for over a thousand dollars—half Velma’s mortgage, for goodness’ sake—were tossed aside because a bride had short-circuited in the eleventh hour.
She hurried around the building, following the tracks Sophie had left in the soft dirt. Mountain air wasn’t generally this hot in the summer. Today was the exception. Brek had been certain Sophie wouldn’t leave the building—not decked out in a ten-thousand-dollar wedding gown. Apparently, Sophie had other ideas.
Velma held the headset microphone to her lips. “Brek?”
“Do you have her?”
“She’s outside. I’m not sure where. Looks like she went toward the road. You go north, I’ll head south.”
Brek cursed a slew of colorful words. Velma dropped the headset to her shoulder again and trudged forward, moving aside branches and calling Sophie’s name.
“Sophie,” she called again, her voice scratchy from all the hollering.
Velma paused for a moment to catch her breath. She glanced around. Nothing but an older white house across the road. Sophie couldn’t have gotten far with bare feet. Velma pulled the headset on and pressed the button. More nothing. Apparently, Brek had trekked past the limit of reception. Fantastic. She hurried to the tree house Brek had built near the ceremony arch. A distinct sniffle came from inside.
“Excuse me,” she called. “I’m looking for a bride. Have you seen her?”
Silence.
Louboutins in hand, Velma carefully climbed the boards nailed to the tree as footholds.
“Sophie?” she asked as she came through the opening to the primitive tree shack. The place was beyond cramped. Sophie had squeezed herself into the corner, a half-full bottle of sauvignon blanc in hand. She’d dropped the designer shoes but kept the wine? Sophie definitely had her priorities mixed up.
“May I join you?” Velma didn’t wait for an answer as she heaved herself into the tight space.
Tears trailed down Sophie’s cheeks, smearing her meticulously applied eyeliner and blush. First thing when they got back to the church, Velma would grab the makeup artist. Hopefully she had something in her bag of tricks for red eyes and tear-stained cheeks.
“This is cozy.” Velma squeezed next to Sophie.
Sophie offered her the wine, and Velma took it, setting it aside with the shoes.
“Everyone’s really worried about you.” Velma adjusted her legs beneath her.
Sophie doodled a fingertip along the beads of her dress. “I’m making a mistake.”
Considering the two of them were shoved into a tree house while several hundred guests anxiously waited for their pineapple-topped steak dinners, Velma agreed with Sophie’s assertion.
“You told me you love Troy when we were picking tablescapes.” A trickle of perspiration dripped down the center of Velma’s back. “You love him. He loves you. That’s what today is about.”
“It’s not about love. It’s about Dad showing off to his friends. It’s about Troy being inducted into their boy’s club. I wrote him a note and went to slip it under his door at the church.” Sophie hiccupped and handed the crumpled piece of paper to Velma. Velma unfolded it and smoothed the crinkles—a love note that was absolutely none of her business. “Do you know what he said?”
Velma handed it back, but Sophie shook her head. “He and Dad were talking behind the door. They didn’t know I heard them. Dad told Troy once the marriage certificate is signed, then he’ll have paperwork ready to make him a full partner.” Sophie paused. A new onslaught of tears slid from her eyelids. “That’s why Troy’s marrying me. Not because he loves me. He’s marrying me so he can be a partner.”
That explained so much.
Velma tucked the note into her pocket.
“Have you ever been married?” Sophie asked.
Velma shook her head. “No.”
“Engaged?” Sophie continued.
“Nope. I’m holding out.” For a man like the one who got away—straight into the arms of my sister. “There was someone once, though.”
“What happened?”
Dull pain settled under Velma’s ribs. “Turned out he was really into my sister.”
Sophie slumped against the wooden wall. “Do you think any of them are good?”
Velma’s mind drifted to Brek. “I think so.”
“What do I do?”
Velma was definitely not the one to be dishing out relationship advice. “Do you love Troy?”
“I thought I did. Now, I’m not sure.”
“When you have that thing that makes you want to be with someone, I think you act on it.” Velma brushed away a sticky thought of what that might mean for her in regard to Brek.
“But how do you know if you really love them?”
Velma shrugged, the knot in her stomach tightening. “I guess if you have to ask, then the question’s already answered.”
“I think I fell in love with the wedding.” A sliver of light traced its way across Sophie’s tear-stained face. “I spent months worrying what our guests would want to eat and drink, and I don’t even know how Troy likes his steak cooked.”
“What?”
Sophie’s chin trembled. “We’re having steak at the reception, and I’m supposed to marry a man when I don’t know how he likes his steak? What if he likes them well done, and I only like medium well?”
“Then I suppose you’d compromise,” Velma replied.
“What if I don’t want to compromise?” Sophie asked, her words serious.
“Then I guess your decision is made, you know?”
“Velma? Sophie?” Brek’s panicked voice sliced through the stifling air.
Velma leaned over the opening. “Up here. I found her.”
“I’m coming up,” Brek replied immediately.
“There’s no room.” Velma shook her head. “Give us a minute.”
“I’m ready. I know what I have to do.” Sophie stood as best as she could in the cramped quarters.
“We’re coming down.” Velma extended her hand to Sophie.
Sophie squeezed her hand. “Thank you for listening.”
“You go down first.” Velma helped Sophi
e adjust her dress so she could climb down the steps before gathering the shoes and the wine.
Sophie cleared the opening and Velma checked to ensure she made it down all right.
“On my way,” Velma hollered. She dropped the shoes. Bottle of wine gripped in one hand, she carefully stepped down the makeshift ladder.
Brek met her at the bottom and took the wine with raised eyebrows.
Velma shook pine needles from her sleeves. “Don’t ask.”
“Let’s head back for the ceremony.” Brek herded them toward the church.
“No.” Sophie stopped midstride. “Like Velma said, if I have to ask if I love Troy, then the question’s already answered.”
Velma’s pulse stopped beating for three solid seconds.
“That’s what Velma said?” Brek’s glare lanced straight through Velma.
“That’s not what I meant. I meant for me. Not for you.” Velma looked to Sophie and hurried to correct herself.
“What you said makes loads of sense. I can’t marry Troy. I’m sorry. I’ll be the one to tell him.” Sophie wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, smearing mascara across her temples. She reached for her shoes, slipped them on, and headed for the church.
Brek turned on Velma. “You told her if she has to ask, then she doesn’t love her fiancé?”
A sinking feeling settled in Velma’s stomach. “Not exactly like that, no.”
“It’s their wedding day. She’s stressed and confused. How could you add to that?”
“She misunderstood—”
He held up a hand. “You’re done.”
His words weren’t harsh. They were spoken calmly, but with such a certainty that Velma’s heart ached. “Brek…”
“I’ve got to figure out how to salvage this.” He shook his head and walked away.
Brek took in the remains of the chaos that had ensued after Sophie’s declaration that she wasn’t getting married. He wanted to throttle Velma’s pretty little neck. He wouldn’t, because he was wrapped around her beautiful little finger.
Sophie and Troy sequestered themselves in the pastor’s office to talk. Troy’s perfect exterior cracked when Sophie told him she wasn’t his bride anymore. Brek felt for the guy. Sophie was wrong. Troy did care.
On damage control, Brek sent the guests to the reception to eat hundred-dollar steaks instead of waiting for a wedding that wasn’t gonna happen. Jase dismantled the orchid archway where the vows were supposed to take place, and Brek waited for Sophie and Troy with the parents of both the bride and groom. He arranged for cars to take them wherever they wanted to go once they finished.
“Sophie is taking some time.” Hands in his pockets, Troy moved along the aisle to where the parents waited. “I saw her to one of the cars. Thanks for arranging that.” He nodded to Brek.
Brek rose from the chair and moved to Troy’s side. “Really sorry, man.”
Troy swallowed forcefully. “I didn’t realize she was so unhappy. I’ll go to the reception. Tell everyone the wedding’s off.”
He left with his parents. Brek moved to the altar to touch base with Jase about the teardown before heading to the reception hall himself.
“It wasn’t her fault.” Jase climbed down the ladder to stand with Brek.
“Sophie?”
“Velma.” Jase replied. “I know you’re blaming her for telling it like it is, but you’re wrong.”
Velma hadn’t intended sabotage. Still sucked she had talked to Sophie without him.
“Are you quoting bad rock lyrics to me again?”
“No, sir. That is a Jase Dvornakov original.” Jase taped a box of flowers closed. “Sophie would’ve walked no matter what. Saw it in her eyes when she couldn’t pick the flowers. Your girl’s taking it hard, though. Thinks you blame her for Sophie walking away. You should go ahead and make that right.”
“When did you become my conscience?”
“Around fourth grade.” Jase went back to boxing up another large batch of orchids.
Brek headed for the door. He had amends to make with a certain blonde.
Sophie’s pissed-off parents stood cross-armed in the foyer. Mr. Winthrop wore a tailored tuxedo Brek estimated cost around five thousand dollars. Maybe more. Mrs. Winthrop still wore Velma’s clothes.
“Mr. and Mrs. Winthrop.” Brek cleared his suddenly thick throat.
He’d nearly asked, How are you? But that didn’t seem like the best idea at the moment.
“May I ask a question?” Mr. Winthrop had the same edge to his voice that guy on that legal show got when he interrogated someone on the witness stand.
“Absolutely.” The tension in Brek’s shoulder blades strung tight.
“Do you handle all of your engagements with such an exemplary disregard of decorum?” The fury in his expression countered the saccharine-laced tone of his words as Mr. Winthrop sauntered forward.
Shit fucked as it was, these people held the connections keeping Montgomery Events afloat. Brek squared his stance. “I’m sorry the day went sideways.”
Apologize. That was a good start.
“No. You’re not sorry.” Mr. Winthrop had to look up to meet Brek’s stare. Sometimes height had its advantages. Like, when one needed to reach something off the top of the refrigerator, or when a pompous prick with too much extra spending money had to stretch his neck to make eye contact.
Winthrop never blinked. “I expect there will be a refund.”
Brek steadied his deteriorating nerves. “There’s time to discuss all of that once the final numbers come in.”
“Nothing to discuss. Services were not rendered, due to the willful disruption of this wedding by your staff.” Winthrop hooked his thumbs at his belt, elbows wide.
“Sir, with respect, your daughter took off before any of our staff talked to her.” Brek held up his hands. He did not want to argue with this guy. “We’ll go over it all once things have settled.”
“I’m very disappointed in how this day has turned out. I’m certain you understand there are consequences to actions of this sort. Be prepared for them.” With that, Winthrop headed out the doors to his waiting limousine like the goddamned King of Screw You, his wife on his heels. The only thing missing was her cape.
Well, shit. The guy had no power over Brek, but he and his wife could make business impossible for Aspen. And fuck if Brek would let that happen on his watch.
The reception hall was only about five minutes away. He made his way through the packed parking lot and the somber banquet room. Velma stood in the hallway near the kitchen, holding a clipboard against her chest and carrying on a conversation with Troy.
“Hey, V,” Brek said as he got closer.
She looked at him, her eyes void of emotion. “Hi. I, uh, had the bartender put away the champagne, and he said he will give a refund on the other unopened drinks. The guy who runs the hall understood our situation and said he’ll give a partial refund, as well. That’ll at least take care of some of the costs.”
Troy dropped his shoulders. “I’ll head off now. Sounds like you’ve got everything under control.”
“Yeah,” Brek replied. Even though he had nothing under control. “We’ll handle it.”
“Troy?” Velma pulled a crumpled note from her pocket and handed it to him. “Sophie gave this to me. It’s addressed to you. Given everything, she’d still want you to have it.”
Troy took the paper and stared blankly. He stuffed it in the pocket of his tuxedo jacket without glancing at the words. “Thanks.”
“There’s an exit that way,” Velma suggested.
Troy nodded and slipped out through the kitchen.
Velma pinched her bottom lip under her teeth. Brek’s lungs squeezed tight. Velma hadn’t said anything that shouldn’t have been said. Sophie would’ve left anyway, with or without their conversation.
“I haven’t talked to the band about money. I figured that was your department. But I asked them not to play right now. Not until you gave them direction.”
Velma paused. “I’m so sorry, Brek.”
Brek tucked a stray hair behind her ear, his fingertips lingering there. “I’m sorry I blamed you for Sophie. Wasn’t fair. Wasn’t right.”
She slumped to one of the benches lining the hallway. “I screwed up.”
“Not our place to force someone to get married. She walked out long before your conversation. I’ll talk to Aspen about everything. She wouldn’t have pushed Sophie, either.”
Velma hugged the clipboard close. “They picked cheesecake. What do you think that means?”
“That they’d never make it down the aisle, apparently.”
“Sophie worried she’d be making a huge mistake by marrying Troy.”
Velma hit him with those gray eyes of hers, and his pulse stumbled over itself.
“I understand the whole not-making-mistakes thing,” she continued.
“What mistakes have you made, V?”
“I have a professional knack for dating horrible men.” The back of her head dropped against the wall.
“That’s because you want them to paint their fingernails.” Brek laid his hand across the back of the bench and leaned in.
Velma was silent. The only sounds came from Eli’s catering staff in the kitchen.
Brek glanced away to the empty bulletin board along the wall.
Her hands went limp against her lap.
He slung his arm across her shoulder and pulled her into his side. She fit perfectly. “I get it. You know what I think?” He inhaled the scent of her hair.
“I bet you’re going to tell me.”
She leaned into him, her hand against his chest. Fuck, that was nice.
“You’re trying to control things that are out of your control instead of embracing what can be.”
“Are you shrinking me?” Arching back, she caught his gaze.
“Nah. But I get it. You’re scared as shit to move forward with anything other than what you already know.” The hair along her temple practically begged to be touched.
“Are you using your mind powers to manipulate me?” Her hand was still on his chest.
“Silly girl, I don’t have mind powers.”
“Brek?” she asked.
Just the Tip of the Iceberg: Mile High Matched Books 1-3 Page 12