Accidental Romeo: A Marriage Mistake Romance

by Snow, Nicole

  “No one's killing your fish. Or ruining your wedding,” Wendy says. “Accidents happen. We planned for a few, remember?”

  “Not this! There’s...Jesus, there's not nearly enough to have three in each vase. I have to have three in each one, Wendy. You know how to count? Three! And...and the photographer will be here in an hour! God. An hour!”

  “Okay. Deep breaths.” Wendy puts an arm around her sister, stroking her back. “I’ll take care of this, don't you worry. It’ll be fine. You go finish getting ready with your friends.”

  Other women dressed in robes arrive, and I step out of the way as they gather around, clucking like minions. They finally convince Rochelle to go with them.

  “You’ll take care of it, Wendy?” Rochelle asks. Tears have made her makeup run, making her look worse. “You really will?”

  “You heard me the first time.” Wendy waves a hand. “Go. Get ready. Marco's waiting.”

  “Three, three, there has to be three,” Rochelle moans back at us as they lead her out.

  “I know. I’ll make sure there are three in each vase.” Somehow, Wendy is still smiling.

  I’m not. I'm floored.

  Her sister may just be the most psychotic, rampaging nut I've ever met, and that's saying something considering all the meltdowns I've seen at conferences over the years. Whenever the drinks start to flow and emotions get high, you'd be amazed how unhinged even the most buttoned down corporate suits can become.

  Wendy’s smile is still there for a second as she looks at me, before it turns into a grimace. “So, um....would you mind giving me a ride to buy some stupid goldfish?”

  “Not even a bit,” I say, even though that's not what will happen. I wave one of the workers over. “You, how many fish have died? Answer quick and I'll make it worth your while.”

  His face lights up as he looks me over, and I tap my wallet through my pocket for emphasis.

  “Damn, oh, I don’t know, sir,” the young man stammers. “Let's see...”

  It’s the same guy Rochelle latched onto, and he still hasn't recovered. Bad choice, maybe.

  Still shaking in his shoes, he says, “Give me a second and I'll find out! I can go get my boss. He had an inventory of the fish, the chairs, the tables – everything!”

  “Do it,” I say. As the boy shoots around us, I ask Wendy. “Why three?”

  “God only knows. Supposedly, it’s symbolic in some weird way. There’s a mall only a few miles away. I’m sure they’ll have goldfish. I know, I know, Rochelle said these were specially imported, farm raised for their delicate color, supposedly, but...they're fish. Freaking goldfish. Let's just go buy a couple dozen and dump them in. How hard could it be?”

  Not even as hard as this shit already is.

  The disgust in her voice makes me smile, anyway. There's something endearing about her trying to pacify her sister after seeing the woman in nuclear meltdown.

  I loop an arm around her shoulders and tug her against my side. I can relate to what she’s going through, as insane as it is.

  No matter what, a person loves their siblings and does whatever they can for them. I know that better than most people.

  “Mr. Forsythe! My, my. I wasn’t aware that you were connected to this wedding.”

  I turn, giving the woman approaching a polite nod, even though I don’t recognize her. She’s middle-aged, a brunette with long legs and bright red lipstick.

  “I manage your company’s Christmas party every year.” She holds out a hand. “Melody Swanson.”

  I'm racking my brain. Total blank.

  “You do a wonderful job each year,” I tell her. Honestly, besides attending and making a big pep speech, I have very little to do with the company events. I nod toward the tables. “It appears as if we have a fish issue. Any advice?”

  “I’ve heard! It seems that, well...even though it was explained we wouldn't be responsible for any live decorations, the fish were dropped off last night and left inside the plastic bags. All night. One of my staff found a tub and dumped them in this morning, but there were already several casualties, I'm afraid. And several more by the hour.” She shakes her head. “I do apologize, but it was noted in advance. Thoroughly. To both the bride and groom. Numerous times.”

  I hear Wendy sigh, nodding in vigorous agreement.

  “I’m sure it was, and we certainly don’t hold you accountable in any way, Ms. Swanson. However, currently, we do need several goldfish. No two ways about it. At least enough for three in every vase. You can make it happen, can't you?” I remove my arm from around Wendy in order to pull out my billfold. Handing the woman my black, metallic credit card, I say, “I understand the difficulty and the short notice. I’ll look at it as a personal favor and be very appreciative.”

  She takes the card and nods, wrenching it in her hands. “Well...I’m sure I can make that happen. For you, Mr. Forsythe. I’ll leave your card at the front desk after I've found a suitable supplier.” After nodding at both Wendy and I, she walks over to talk to the workers.

  “We could just buy some goldfish, you know,” Wendy says.

  “Yeah, Sugar, we could. But if the photographer shows up in an hour, you need to go get ready.”

  I remember that from Cory’s wedding, the day he married Juno. All the pictures that were taken. Endless poses, the kind that make your face feel frostbit from smiling too much.

  I still have copies somewhere in a box in the garage.

  Wendy lets out another pent-up sigh. “I should protest, but I’m not going to. Screw it, Hunter, you're right. We'll let her take care of it.” Her smile grows as she adds, “I really hate fish.”

  9

  Ricardo! (Wendy)

  My hand shakes like a leaf as I carefully apply eyeliner. So embarrassing.

  Then again, it's not like I can blame myself too bad.

  One, I’m not used to doing this. I can count on one hand the number of days I ever wear makeup.

  Two, Hunter is on the other side of the bathroom door. I’m in his hotel room suite. With him. Alone.

  If that’s not enough to make me nervous, nothing is.

  I draw in a deep breath, lifting the liner pencil to my other eye. I’m not even sure how all this happened.

  Wait, I do.

  Mother threatened to fire Ben if Hunter didn’t escort me to the wedding, which still pisses me off. After this is over, I swear I'll have words with her.

  I might've done it already, if Rochelle hadn’t called me shortly after I’d arrived home from the light tour with Hunter.

  She’d been pissed. More than pissed. Livid.

  Her big, jealous mouth insisted that there was no way I could have a friend like him. And that we didn't have the budget for actors. And that she was just being prudent.

  Right. Prudent. Totally not a spoiled brat bitch up in my business.

  I didn't back down. Said if Hunter didn’t go, I wouldn't either.

  She’d said that was fine with her in a sassy, cold way that really meant totally not fine.

  Honestly? It would've been fine with me if she'd pushed her limits. But it wasn't with my parents.

  I’d known it, as soon as Mother went after her, and the following day she said Rochelle would calm down.

  I don’t know if she really has or not. She didn’t speak to me during the spa bachelorette party, and I haven’t seen or heard from her since then. Until today.

  I wish I'd protested. Not let Hunter save the day when it came to those effing goldfish, but it was too perfect.

  Just the way he stepped in, convinced the hotel to handle it for a price, which I'll definitely be paying him back for, no matter how much it is.

  Rochelle was furious that the hotel refused to have anything to do with safeguarding the fish. She’d even tried moving the wedding, but she couldn’t find another venue.

  Leaning in closer to the mirror, I examine the liner on both eyes, making sure they look even.

  Satisfied, I then pick up the mascara I’d
bought just for today and go to work.

  Once that’s on – as good as I can get it – I pull the ponytail band out of my hair, give it a good brushing, and then hit it with the curling iron.

  I finger-comb out the curls, turning them into waves, and then step back to give myself a full appraisal.

  “Not bad,” I whisper to myself, pushing up my breasts.

  The dress is short, black, and of course, snug. It'll do by my standards.

  But Hunter...

  I'm already flushing just thinking what he'll think the instant I step out of this room. Two possibilities come to mind, and I'm not sure which is worse.

  Him, laughing me out of the room. Or him, so turned on he gives me that blue-eyed animal look. The one that's far too good at forming bristling goosebumps over every inch of me.

  Holy hell.

  I can practically count the number of days I wear a dress per year on one hand, too.

  Twisting, so the mirror catches my backside, I give another critical appraisal. It’s cut low, but not too low. My bra straps don't show.

  It’s sleeveless, and for a minute, I wonder if I should've gone to a tanning salon just a couple of times. My skin doesn’t get much sun. Not even in the summer.

  Stepping forward, I gather up the makeup and drop it back in my bag. It’s all a moot point.

  Half the crowd, our family, will probably be pastel white from a long Minnesota winter. Leave it to Marco's side from Miami to have the splash of color where there's plenty of sun.

  Besides, no one’s going to be looking at me.

  No one ever does.

  I grab my bag and exit. As I walk past a chair in the bedroom, I set the bag down and continue to the other room, looking for Hunter.

  There’s still time for me to let him off the hook. I probably should. He's gone above and beyond, maybe into another universe helping out.

  I don't see him before I get my ears blown out.

  A wolf whistle sounds as I step out of the bedroom. It's so absurd, I burst out laughing.

  He's there, wide-eyed and intense, holding up a finger he twirls in the air, silently telling me to turn around.

  So I do, but keep one eye on him as much as possible. I'm about to die.

  He looks good in everything he wears, but right now, dressed in a black suit from head to toe, he's a human torch specially made to ignite my blood. My thighs press together, desperately trying to ignore the heat, the wetness, the ache that only builds with every passing second his eyes are fixed on my slowly revolving body.

  They never leave me.

  That black makes his blue eyes stand out even more. It isn't fair.

  “Wendy,” he mouths, pausing for a husky breath. “Yeah, Sugar. Yeah, fuck. You look fabulous.”

  I notice how his voice hitches down an octave when he says the last word. Then it's hard to notice anything because I'm fighting not to give in, not to stumble, not to pass out.

  “Y-you, too,” I whisper. So lame I want to smack myself.

  He makes a mockery of rolling his eyes. “This old thing? It was just hanging in the closet. Probably haven't worn it since June, when I had a presentation for the Armed Services Committee.”

  I laugh, shaking my head again. It blows me away how he talks like it's nothing. This man, who's richer than Midas and hobnobs with Senators. This beast, who for some godforsaken reason actually finds me attractive.

  It's ridiculous.

  And I realize just how much I'm starting to love ridiculous things.

  The way he makes me laugh.

  The way he kicks my libido into overdrive.

  The way he's always there with a kind word or a strong hand or one of those kisses that leave me feeling like I've just survived a hurricane.

  That's ridiculously beautiful. Ridiculously dangerous. Ri-donk-ulously scary.

  Especially for a girl who's never had a serious boyfriend.

  My phone dings, and I jump. It’s on the coffee table, and I really don’t want to look at it.

  “That's been happening. Went off a couple of times while you were in the bathroom,” Hunter says. “My advice would be ignore it. It's almost time.”

  “Oh?” I eye him softly, drinking him in, loving his beard and his blues and those two broad mountains he calls shoulders. I love his chest, his abs, and just the hint of dark, feral ink that's always at the edge of peeking out of his clothes. As if he's got this strange, mad thing tucked away inside that's always pulling at his chain.

  Hunter nods. “Time, Sugar. Not much of it.”

  Damn, he’s hot. All fire. Those eyes. That grin. That suit.

  I can't handle this anymore.

  “I have another piece of advice,” he tells me, taking a step closer.

  “You do?” I ask, craning my face up to look at him as he towers over me.

  He steps forward and takes both my hands. Oh, God.

  Heat rushes through my system, making my legs weak. I’ve tried so hard not to think about the way he’d kissed me in the limo that night, but it’s been impossible. Utterly.

  “You ready for this, Sugar?” he asks. “Later, I mean? After all's said and done and we're back here...”

  He pauses, leaving me in brutal anticipation. I can't even form words so I just moan, leaning into him.

  “Fuck yeah, you're ready. Picture it for me.”

  I'm biting my lip, but that's not what hurts. Before the next words are even out, I notice my thighs burning, twisting and writhing, desperately pinched together for an iota of relief.

  There's an itch I can't scratch – not right now – and its name is Hunter Forsythe.

  He moves closer, brushing his lips against mine, eyes narrowed, taking me over. “Later, Sugar. Dress on the floor. Tongue on your clit. Legs wide open. Shaking. Ready. So fucking ready for every inch of me.”

  Oh.

  Hell.

  It's incredible how few words it takes to completely destroy me. I fall into his arms as he lets out a low, sultry chuckle. His hand moves up to my face, cups it, gingerly presses his thumb into my cheek until I find the courage to look at him.

  “Excited, babe?” His eyes already know I am. I couldn't deny it to save my life, and I couldn't control my body right now to save an entire country. “Ready?”

  I don't answer. I can't. I'll die.

  “Sugar?” His thumb strokes me again, rounding its way to the end of my lip.

  At last, I nod wildly. Needing a moment to find my voice.

  It's officially a game now. A dangerous one for me, but more so for him, with higher stakes.

  My family can be brutal. Still...there's no ignoring the fact that this man just told me he'd lay me down and make me stupid in all the right ways. I can't stop picturing his huge, lethal body on mine, hips driving hard, bent over and screaming as I struggle to take everything I've seen in every dirty movie.

  Everything I never thought would happen to me. Sweet mercy.

  “Ready. Are...are you?” I'm whimpering.

  He chuckles again. “More than ready, Wendy. Been waiting for this from the first day we met.”

  My phone goes off again. I jerk my head up at the ceiling and sigh like sandpaper.

  Hunter plants a quick kiss on my forehead and then grabs my phone.

  “Go ahead. Check it,” he says, handing it to me. “Can't ever say persistence doesn't pay off.”

  I flip it over, still so hot and bothered it's got me mad.

  Six text messages.

  All from my mom.

  Wondering where I am. Family pictures start in ten minutes. Ugh.

  “Rochelle?” he asks.

  “Nope, Mother. Pictures start in ten.”

  “Then that's our cue to go.”

  “You don’t have to. The wedding doesn’t start for a couple of hours.”

  “Too bad. You’re stuck with me all day.” He winks and then walks to the door. Before he opens it, he digs in his pocket and pulls out a key card for the door.

  I gl
ance down at my dress. “Crap, I don’t have any place to put it.”

  “Okay, then I’ll keep it.” He tucks it back in his pocket. “Anything else you need me to carry for you?”

  “No. We're good.”

  “Not even your phone?”

  I shake my head.

  “I won’t need it.” I grab his hand as he reaches for the door. “What’s your other piece of advice? We never really got that far, did we?”

  With a knowing smile, he says, “More like a rule: have fun.”

  Then he opens the door and we leave the room and I'm bathed in all kinds of awkward emotions.

  Dread. Fear. Excitement. Something akin to a whole new feeling touching every one of those fills my stomach. Fun?

  Heck, I don’t know that I can even pull this boyfriend act off without losing my mind. Maybe Rochelle's right.

  No one's going to believe he’s my friend. Our family will swarm. Everyone peppering him with questions until he's drowning.

  Tons of them.

  “Breathe, Wendy,” he whispers in my ear. “Just breathe.”

  “I...” I shake my damn head. “This isn’t going to work.”

  But it's too late for that. The elevator door is open, and we step in.

  As it closes, he leans forward and captures my lips so fast, I’m stunned. That smoldering heat I'd felt in the room returns full force. It hits me like a train on fire.

  His lips are so warm, so perfect, so delicious, I lose myself in them. In him.

  For now, just this once, I shut my mouth and give in.

  When he pulls his lips off of mine, I don’t even know what planet I'm on.

  Until I realize the elevator door is open, and Aunt Charlotte stands there, open mouthed and gawking.

  Hunter takes my hand and leads me out of the elevator.

  “Aunt Charlotte, isn’t it?” he asks coolly, almost like nothing happened.

  “Y-yes.” She blinks, nodding her head a second later.

  Her makeup makes mine look like amateur hour. She’s sold cosmetics for years, and she's decked out in every beauty product imaginable.

  “Pleasure seeing you again,” he says, leading me away. “I knew I'd have a reason to remember you.”