The Mistletoe Wedding

by Izabella Brooks

  The Mistletoe Wedding

  The Brides of Christmas Book 1

  Published by Izabella Brooks, 2019

  All Rights Reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locations is purely coincidental. The characters are all productions of the author’s imagination.

  Please note that this work is intended only for adults over the age of 18 and all characters represented as 18 or over.

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  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Epilogue

  More Books by Izabella Brooks

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Breona

  “What is he doing here?”

  He being Karsyn Diswell. Dark-haired, blue-eyed devil who thought he was god’s gift to female kind. He likely still thinks so. Sinfully good looking. It was a crime that his looks were totally wasted on someone who had the personality of a stone. I’m sure that still applies too. Hot enough to be on every billboard lining every street and he knew it. Also looks like he still knows it. The Karsyn Diswell. Unfinished business, public enemy number one in my world, a bottom feeding thief, and the man who ruined my life ten years ago.

  Arla Stanley, just about my favorite person in the world, blinks hard and sets a dainty hand on my arm. My eyes flick to the restraining hand. Large square set rock on her ring finger with a band encrusted with diamonds. Perfect gel nails with those little diamond stones and the white tips. I tear my eyes back to her face, aware that I’m probably baring my teeth like a junkyard dog.

  “You know I can’t stand him!” I hiss in her ear, which is perfect, just like the rest of her.

  Arla is blonde, bubbly, and big hearted. If you imagine the high school or college cheerleader type, that’s her to a T, because she was both. She’s gorgeous, but she’s also brilliant and she never let the fact that people assumed she didn’t have a brain slow her down. She’s also my best friend for life.

  And, apparently, she’s managed to keep a few minor details from me regarding her wedding. And the wedding party. It’s a big deal considering Karsyn and I are like oil and water. Cancel that, we’re more like a match and gasoline. One spark and the whole thing could go up in flames.

  The fact that Arla and Jake are getting married in Malibu, on neutral ground, doesn’t make a difference. I still want to look my best because I know everyone from back home in San Diego will be coming to the wedding, and likely half of them will show at the rehearsal and dinner after.

  I want to put on a brave face. Show them that I’m not poor little Breona Smyth who came in second place anymore. I want to show them that it didn’t matter that I didn’t get a free ride. That I worked my ass off and I’m in a good place now.

  I also might have picked my dress, an expensive red lace number that I splurged on back in North Carolina that flares out at the waist to end at my knee, to make a statement. It may just showcase the fact that my legs are indeed my best asset, and that I work out a couple times a week. Not that I normally care, but the past still hovers, like a lingering odor that refuses to be washed away.

  “Seriously! What’s he doing here?” I hiss after I’m dragged away from the main doors to the main part of the church, back past almost to the entrance. The church is old and quaint and looks like it has basically two rooms—quite a feat in Malibu where everything seems like it’s shiny, new, square, and modern.

  “Well…” Arla drags in a breath. Her full, pink lips part and her huge blue eyes water. She’s so beautiful that it almost hurts to look at her, like a real live angel. I used to hate her, back in junior high when we met, then I actually got to know her and all it took was a few days to fall in love with her. She might be insanely pretty, but no one can stay angry at her for it for long. “You know that we were all friends back in high school. Like really good friends. Jake, Karsyn, Trell, and Bryn. Like you and me and Cozzie were. Are. I mean are. Jake stayed close with everyone. No one moved away but you.”

  “I just thought…after what he did…”

  Arla’s lips flatten out right before she sinks her top teeth into her bottom lip to chew on it nervously. “I didn’t ever talk about him because I knew that you didn’t want to know. I didn’t want to upset you. Jake and Karsyn, though, are good friends.”

  “How good?” I can’t help that I’m growling now. I can tell from Arla’s expression that junk yard dog is an apt description. I try to school my features into a more welcoming mask. It’s her wedding after all.

  “Uh…” Arla twists a strand of her flowing blonde hair over her index finger. She drops her eyes, studying the floor like it’s her life’s mission.

  Arla and Jake met in junior high. First day. Loved each other right from the start. No one gave them a fighting chance. In high school, they were the ultimate cliché. Jake was blonde, stacked, and the quarterback. Arla was blonde, beautiful, and she loved cheerleading more than just about anything in the world.

  Their love story is so completely epic that it puts the entire world to shame. Not only did they make it in high school, Jake got a full ride playing football. Arla went to the same college and was head cheerleader for all but her last year, when she stopped so that she could coach cheer for kids ages four to seven in her free time. She and Jake both have business degrees. As if their love story isn’t gag worthy enough, they run an environmentally friendly boutique which sells eco products because they seriously do care about the planet. She still coaches cheer. He helps out with football. They’ve been together so long that their wedding almost seems redundant.

  “How good?” I repeat, this time a little more gently. It is Arla’s wedding, and that means, unfortunately, that she gets a pass on this one.

  “Well…” She chews on the ends of her hair. She’s always done that when she’s nervous.

  My heart kicks up into a furious pace. That’s a lie. I should say more furious than before because the minute I walked into the church beside Arla and spotted him, it’s been a mess all over my chest. My stomach feels like I tried to eat rocks for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I feel like I’m sweating off my makeup. In short, I’m a huge freaking mess.

  “He may be Jake’s best man.”

  “What?” I whisper-shout, not wanting the guys or Arla’s and Jake’s parents to hear us through the open double doors only a short distance away.

  “I’m sorry,” Arla begs, her eyes wide and filling up with tears. “I wanted to tell you, but I didn’t know how! I didn’t think you’d come if you knew Karsyn was going to be here and…and I needed you to come. I need you to be here. You’re my maid of honor for a reason!”

  She’s one of those people that is even magically more beautiful when she cries, but I don’t want her to cry. Not because of me. Not on her wedding. Not when I’m her maid of honor and I’m supposed to be keeping it all together for her, not causing her to have a break down because I can’t put on my big girl panties and be a decent bff for a night and a day. Oh, and by the way, it’s Christmas. The time for forgiving and playing nice.

  Technicall
y, it’s coming in two days. Yes, Arla and Jake are getting married on Christmas Eve, right before the Christmas service. They didn’t even have to decorate, seeing as the place is already decked out in all its festive ho-ho-ho cheer.

  I reach out and grip Arla’s hand between mine. Her palm is cold and clammy and mine is so slick that it nearly slides right out and I have to slap my other hand overtop to keep it there.

  “It’s okay. Everything is fine.” I draw in a huge, shuddering breath that says everything is not going to be fine. “It’s just one night and one day. We can get through that.”

  “I know you hate him. I tried to tell Jake no. To pick Bryn or Trell, but he wouldn’t do it. He and Karsyn are close. Like us. They always have been and I’m sure they always will be. They’re a package deal.”

  “It’s okay,” I try to assure her again, but my voice cracks. “Like I said. I can be a big girl. You don’t have to worry about me. I was just shocked. I don’t know why. I knew he was going to be here in some capacity. I just didn’t think it was in the wedding party, since you didn’t say anything.”

  “I know. When I came to Raleigh a few months ago, I was going to tell you, but I just couldn’t figure out how to do it. We had such a good time, I didn’t want to wreck it, and then I-I didn’t want to leave on a sour note and tarnish the whole week.”

  “It’s okay.” I wish I was capable of saying something else. I wish I was a better liar too.

  “We…shit.” Arla nearly gnaws her lip off. I squeeze her hand, since I don’t want her to walk down the aisle tomorrow with a fat lip because of me. Her eyes dance all over the place, flitting around the wood walls, the ornate stained glass windows at the entrance, and finally back down to the red carpet that blankets the entire small church.

  I gulp. “What is it?” An impending sense of doom strangles me, blocking off the possibility of air.

  “We…oh god. Jake totally wants this to be traditional, well, his parents do, which is why we’re getting married at all.”

  “Yeah, you said that…” I keep waiting for the ball to drop. Right on my head and squish me.

  Arla chews her lips a little harder, until all her pink lipstick is completely gone. “You know Jake’s mom is kind of pushy about this. She wants the wedding party to walk out in pairs. Which means—”

  “Karsyn and me,” I say flatly. My heart stops dead in my chest before it restarts with a kick so hard it nearly bruises my ribs. I never thought I’d say those words again in my life.

  “Yeah.” Two tears trail down Arla’s pale cheeks. “Do you hate me?”

  “No.” I don’t have to think about that, just like I don’t hesitate to pull Arla into my arms. She’s just a hair shorter than I am, at five nine, but she’s taller in the bright pink heels she’s wearing. Arla loves pink. She also has on a pink blazer and skirt set, probably just to please Jake’s mom, because she doesn’t dress in power suits ever. “No, I don’t hate you. You know I never could. I’ll get through this. Don’t worry. It’s all going to be fine. You and Jake will have a beautiful wedding. You’ll make the most incredible bride. Even Jake’s mom will be blown away.”

  Jake’s mother, Barbara, was inheriting the world’s best daughter-in-law, and, as usual, she was the only one who didn’t seem to know it.

  “Hey, who died?”

  Arla breaks away and we both turn to face Cozzie. Stunning, model-like, insanely smart Cozzie Miller. She’s wearing a bright yellow dress and it compliments her flawless dark skin. Her hair, as usual, is done up into a tight bun that she somehow manages to keep under control, unlike my own wild curls. I never could grow them out past my shoulders, so I got a weave put in. I chose bright purple, because if you’re going to get a weave, why the hell not make it count?

  “No one died,” Arla says flatly. She wipes her tears away and gives Cozzie a dazzling smile.

  “Sorry I’m late. The damn traffic was insane. I should have come last night like I planned, but Bryn couldn’t get away. His boss is an asshole. I wish he’d try a different firm, but because he’s new on the scene, you know. Blah-blah-blah. Then I had to go home and get ready and he beat me to it so we took separate cars, which is why he got here way before me. Anyway, enough about me.” She glances between the two of us and her eyes widen. “Oh shit. She didn’t know.”

  “I’m right here,” I say sarcastically, but despite everything, I have to smile.

  Cozzie is like a ray of sunshine. Probably why yellow is her favorite color. She’s gorgeous. Just the right mix of tall, streamlined, and curvy. She’s just a shade taller than me, and has bigger boobs and a better ass, which I always bugged her about because I was, of course, completely jealous and she knew it.

  She also has better skin. Never seen a pimple in her life. Better lips, bigger eyes, longer lashes…basically everything. Out of the three of us, I was probably the ugly duckling, though my best friends never treated me like that.

  “Well? Shall we get on with it? I’m late, which means you’re both late, and I know someone’s mom in there is probably got her panties in such a wad she’ll never dig them out of her—”

  “Cozzie…” Arla warns.

  Cozzie just laughs, loops her hand through mine and Arla’s, and tugs us towards what I’m sure might actually be the worst few days of my life.

  I’m so screwed.

  Chapter 2

  Karsyn

  Whoever said time heals all is a fucking liar. Time heals nothing. At least not where Breona Smyth is concerned. Ten years hasn’t dimmed the look of hate she threw my way the second she set eyes on me when she, Cozzie, and Arla entered the church together. Time also hasn’t dimmed her beauty.

  She’ll never be one of those Hollywood queens. She doesn’t have movie star good looks like Jake and Arla. Heaven help the world if they ever decide to reproduce. Their kids will put the rest of the world to shame in just about every department. She’s not outright gorgeous like Cozzie is. Breona is and always has been her own person. Her beauty is like that. Unapologetic. Classic. Timeless.

  She’s got these curls that my hand has always ached to touch. Once, in eleventh grade science class, they grazed my face when she turned. I was rendered useless for days after. She smelled like roses and apples and a hint of vanilla. Yes, I had it bad for her.

  And she friend zoned my ass so hard it was a miracle I had any ass left.

  Ten years has been kind to her. She was pretty in high school, but now she’s gorgeous. Rich, dark skin. Huge, thick eyelashes, the softest of soft velvety brown eyes. Her eyes always reminded me of a horse. I liked horses, so it was a compliment. Her nose sits perfect on a heart-shaped face, bracketed by perfect brows, set off by softly rounded cheekbones, and the finale—the most perfect set of full, dark lips you could ever imagine.

  Within ten seconds of seeing her, my cock agrees with my brain’s assessment of her flawless beauty and I have to slam my hands into my pockets. The fact that I’m wearing jeans and still sporting wood that is likely noticeable says something right there. The red dress she has on, which hugs her pert breasts, narrows at her waist, and flares out at her ass, only to display the best set of legs in the entire world, isn’t helping matters either.

  Breona glances in my direction just to send me a second scathing look. After that, she fixes her attention on the pastor, who is yammering on about positioning, steps, the scripture readings… I really wish Jake had grown a set of balls and stood up to his mom about the church wedding. Not that there’s anything wrong with getting married in a church, but they might as well have planned for a wedding and a funeral right after, because this shit is so boring it’s likely that someone is going to topple over dead from it before the night is out.

  And I still have another day of this best man crap to get over.

  Jake wanted to take Arla and elope. Like, ten years ago. He should have. The fucker wanted to marry her when they were sixteen, but his mom would have killed them, so instead they did everything by the book.

>   I shift my attention to the women’s side. Our side isn’t much to look at, as pretty as Jake is. Trell, Bryn’s better half, looks bored out of his mind. The bastard is built like a pro wrestler and a giant had a baby. Like Jake, he also went to college on a free ride for football. Bryn, whose real better half is Cozzie, is just as beefy. Dark-haired, dark-eyed, built like the proverbial brick shithouse. Guess what. He also went to college on a football scholarship.

  Out of the four of us, I’m the only one who didn’t. I actually had half a brain and wasn’t afraid to admit it. Currently, I’m one of those scummy bottom feeder types that like to make fake news. Kidding. I became a journalist to make real news. Okay, also kidding. I wanted to be a writer. Not that macho or sexy, I know. I became a journalist because our school got offered a number of full scholarships every single year. One for education, , a whole bunch for dumb jocks, and one for journalism.

  Which brings me right back around to Breona and why she’s staring daggers at me. No way has ten years eased her heart. She thinks I stole something from her. Twice. She can’t stand that I was just the better writer, and no, I’m not sorry for saying so, even if that makes me look like a conceited asshole. I’m not, I just know that her portfolio was sub-par and I told her so. She chose not to believe me. The rest, as they say, is history.