by Traci Hall
“It’s okay, Sinead,” Christian promised, dropping a kiss to her nose. “Whatever it is that’s got you worried, I’m here.”
Tears leaked down the sides of her face, pooling in her ears. “You are mine,” she said. “No matter what.”
“Always.” He wiped her tears with the edge of the paper sheet.
They reached the hospital and the paramedic unloaded her stretcher from the back, pushing her through the emergency room doors. Christian’s stylish black tuxedo and crimson cummerbund ruined by blood splotches all over his crisp white shirt. The crimson rose and white freesia boutonniere had somehow gotten crushed. If he looked like he’d been in a car accident, she didn’t want to know what she looked like.
Too bad.
The medic parked the stretcher in front of the round mirror attached to the ceiling in the emergency entrance and she got a terrifying eyeful. It looked like someone had dumped blood-colored paint down the front of her custom designer dress. Her liner was smeared and half her hair swept upward in a stiff cone like she was the bride of Frankenstein.
“Oh my God.” She brought her hand to her mouth to keep from screaming.
“You were lucky,” Christian said again, knowing very well she hated blood.
“This is crazy,” she whispered. Her pale face made her eyes seem huge. The white gauze at her temple added to the Bridezilla affect.
“I’ll be right back,” the medic said. “Sorry about the snafu on your wedding day—better luck next time!”
What could she say to that? Gee, thanks?
Christian edged the stretcher out of the line of sight from the mirror. “Maybe we can make it back to have a toast at our own wedding party.”
Sinead swallowed. “I can’t do that.” When she thought of how much money she’d spent on her dress, and now it was ruined? She was glad that the food would still be eaten. She couldn’t face the guests—she’d messed up.
“I’ll have to take home a fallen woman,” he joked. “We can wait until the swelling goes down and get married next week.”
Panic rose up from her belly. “I don’t know, Christian. I just don’t feel good.” Maybe she had the flu?
“We’ll get you out of here as soon as the doc stitches you up.”
Her throat burned. “Water?” she asked, hoping she didn’t hurl. “Oh, Christian—this is a disaster!” In all of her extensive planning she hadn’t accounted for a trip to the emergency room because of her nerves.
Christian realized that if he cracked one more lame joke she might pull the tubes from her IV bag and throw it at him.
Poor thing looked like something the cat yakked up, not that he’d tell her that. Like, ever. Even on their fiftieth wedding anniversary.
He’d never been so scared in his life as when he’d heard Madge scream—he’d sprinted down the aisle to the small room where Sinead waited with the ladies in her wedding party, gladly breaking one of his bride’s wedding rules.
Yes, they were archaic superstitions and this was the 21st century, but that didn’t stop her from having a penny in her shoe, wearing something borrowed, something blue, and insisting that he could not see her before the wedding—she’d even spent last night at her mom’s house.
She and Madge didn’t always see eye to eye, so he’d been surprised by the old-fashioned gesture. But understood a little better when Fianna had slept over, too. For someone as level-headed and practical as Sinead usually was, this wedding had turned her into a woman who feared becoming her mother.
Madge wasn’t a bad sort, but she’d been married almost as many times as his folks combined.
Sinead wanted a guarantee—he would do his best to be there for her no matter how many ways he had to prove it, until she finally believed it. All he had to offer was faith.
He bit back an observation about that and held her hand. Her left hand was hooked up to the IV bag, so he stroked her right.
“You know,” he said. “Depending on how you feel we could skip the wedding party and take advantage of the honeymoon suite.” He lifted her knuckles and lightly brushed a kiss across them.
She pulled her hand back, her eyes wide. “Really?”
“Well, why not?”
“Well, because I…” she trailed off.
“Yes?”
“I might have a headache,” Sinead said softly, but he could see the wheels turning. Why give up the room when it was already paid for?
“They have that Jacuzzi tub overlooking the city lights—that would be very relaxing. Champagne. I mean, we need to get cleaned up, anyway. Who says we have to go home?”
“I suppose that’s true.” She sniffed. “The Jacuzzi could be fun, so long as my stitches don’t get wet—if we are careful.” She looked at him with a sweet smile, beautiful to him despite the dried blood on her cheek and the mottled bruising that ran from her forehead to her jawline. “I did buy some sexy lingerie.”
He grinned and sat on the edge of the stretcher. “Now that I can’t wait to see.”
“You aren’t mad at me, Christian?”
“What?”
“I fainted.” She smoothed the paper sheet with nervous fingers.
“It’s not your fault.”
Her luminous green eyes shimmered.
“Do you love me?” he asked, knowing she did.
“Of course.”
The next question he wondered about. “Do you want to get married to me?”
“Yes!” Her response was immediate and her gaze steady on his. “Only you, Christian.”
Relieved, he said, “Then, we will figure out what to do next later.”
“Thanks for understanding.”
“Do you want me to be angry? Slam my fist into the wall?”
She laughed quietly. “I’ve never seen you lose your cool. Might be interesting, just so I know what’s in store.”
“Not today, Sinead. Despite the circumstances I am a happy man.”
“Oh, Christian.” She scrunched her nose and the bandage at her temple shifted. “You are being ridiculous. We’ve spent a lot on this wedding. It’s ruined.”
He winced at the monetary reminder.
His dad had paid for the service and the rehearsal dinner, and Madge had paid for the flowers, but he and Sinead had wanted to pay for the rest themselves. They made decent money and Sinead wanted the best.
Which meant he wanted the best for her.
“No regrets,” he said. “Hopefully we can get a discount on the photographer for the next time.”
She was wheeled into a curtained cubicle where a doctor with silvery hair and glasses met them and read the chart. He noticed their attire and chuckled. “Before or after the vows?”
“Before,” Christian answered.
“Bummer.” The doc examined the cut on Sinead’s temple. Christian was grateful that she couldn’t see the two-inch gash. She was squeamish when it came to actual blood, despite her love of slasher movies.
“I know,” she lamented and reached for Christian’s hand. “Now we have to do it again.”
“It’s a good thing I know what you mean, Sinead. Otherwise my feelings might be hurt.” For a woman who had planned The Wedding of the Year she seemed reluctant to go through with that last step. He wanted her to be his wife and he’d do whatever it took to make that happen.
“Sorry, Christian.”
The doctor ran his gloved thumb over the cut which had mostly stopped bleeding.
She stilled and Christian felt her panic.
“Two will be enough,” the doc decided.
“Stitches?” she asked.
“Yes. Now, tell me again how this happened?”
Sinead took a deep breath and confessed, “I fainted.”
“Are you pregnant?” The doctor asked the question casually but the impact brought a surge of hope through Christian. He put his hand on Sinead’s lower back.
What a wonderful miracle that would be, considering she’d been on the pill. Sure, his family was loud and cons
isted of his sister and a bunch of step-siblings, cousins and step-cousins, but he loved the connection they had and couldn’t wait to add his own kids to the mix.
“No!” Her tone bordered on horrified. “Of course not.” She paused. “We’ve decided to start a family, though, which is why we are getting married.”
“Sensible.” The doctor agreed with her, reaching for the tray of needles.
Her answer caught him off guard and Christian touched the pocket that held their wedding bands. “So, you wouldn’t want to marry me, except that we want to have kids?”
“No talking,” the doctor instructed, giving Christian a look that suggested now was not the time for such questions.
Suddenly he didn’t feel like joking around.
Chapter Three
It was after midnight when Sinead signed the last insurance form at the exit desk of the hospital. Christian was off in the corner of the empty waiting room returning calls to his best friend Xavier, who had also been his best man, and Paul, his other close friend and groomsman.
Signing Sinead Monroe instead of Sinead Sharp brought a stab of disappointment and she turned from the desk to Christian. His stiff back was to her as he spoke on the phone and she figured they had two choices as they left the hospital: they could go home as if nothing had changed or go to the hotel and enjoy the honeymoon suite they’d paid for and wouldn’t get refunded.
She didn’t feel like head-banging sex, but she owed Christian an explanation. The two Tylenol she’d taken for the slight discomfort at her temple staved off any pain, but didn’t help with exhaustion or the emotional after effects of a failed wedding.
His sister had dropped off his car while they were in the ER, rushing in to kiss her cheek and give Christian the keys to his beloved BMW. Collette had hugged them both, telling them that their suitcases were still in the back of his car.
“Everybody sends their love.” Collette’s crimson dress and dark hair turned heads in the austere emergency room. “Go to the hotel. Go on your mini cruise—try to relax and call me when you get back.”
“Thanks, Collette,” Christian had said, his tone subdued. “We’re probably going to spend a quiet evening at home.”
“Go to the hotel,” she’d insisted. “Don’t worry—I’ll take care of everything at Crispin’s as well as the gifts from the church.”
Sinead adored Collette, who made any task look easy. Her help planning the wedding had been invaluable and she felt as if they were sisters already. Christian hung up and searched the waiting room until he found her, then he smiled. They’d lived together for four years, moving in right after college. She knew his moods better than her own and understood that despite his jokes, he’d been hurt by her unintended actions.
It would be easy enough to claim fatigue and talk about it later, but that wasn’t fair. She reached out for him, her heart full of love. “Let’s go to the hotel, Christian.”
“Good idea.” He brushed her hair back from the bandage at her temple. “I think we’d regret it if we went home.”
“Agreed. Part of me feels like a fraud, though, enjoying the honeymoon without a ceremony. It feels unfinished,” she said.
“We can fix that next week, once the bruising goes down.” He brushed her hair back from her forehead. “You look beat, honey. Wait here and I’ll go get the car.” Christian went out through the automatic doors to the parking lot at the hospital, then drove up to the ER exit and honked for her to come out.
Exhausted, she hiked her purse over her shoulder and hoped she could stay awake during the ride to the hotel. She averted her gaze from the pathetic image in the wavering glass. Lank hair, flattened lace skirt. Head high, she lifted her train and swooshed through the automatic doors. Her dress caught on the metal edge and the hem tore with a loud ripping noise. Sinead didn’t bother looking back.
Christian hopped out and opened her passenger side door, carefully tucking in the reddish-pink lace before shutting it. “Buckle up.”
Sinead brought the seatbelt across her bodice, the beads catching the light from the street lamps. “One thousand beads,” she informed Christian as he slid behind the wheel. “Sewn by hand.”
“Ah honey. Maybe we can get it fixed.”
She couldn’t even think about it.
The drive took twenty minutes, in which she dozed but she jerked awake when Christian pulled up in front to valet park. They were supposed to be Mr. and Mrs. Christian Sharp.
The concierge, a man in a navy blue uniform with gold braid trim, came out and opened her door. His smile slipped and his “congratulation—” trailed off as he got a good look at her face and blood-spattered wedding gown. The lacy underskirt had a red-tinged hem.
“Oh my God,” he said. “Are you all right?”
She nodded and blinked away tears at his reaction. “You should have seen me before the trip to the hospital.”
Christian joined her and scooted the man aside to pull her gently from the car.
The concierge then noticed Christian’s stained shirt. “Were you both in an accident? Man, I’m glad you’re okay. On your wedding day!”
“We are okay.” Christian’s hand under her elbow guided her toward the lobby. He handed the concierge the keys. “Would you have the bellhop get our bags from the trunk, please?”
She noticed that he avoided the man’s question. “What are we going to tell people?” Sinead asked under her breath as they entered the marble foyer, her hand tucked into the crook of his elbow. Their heels clicked along the shiny floor. Low music hummed from hidden speakers and a large flower arrangement took center stage on a round wooden table.
The night manager saw them and her eyes widened, her hand at her throat. “Are you hurt?”
“We’re fine,” Christian said. “Had a bit of trouble at the church, but she’s stitched up and we, er, I, she, we’d like to just check into our room, please.”
Christian held the woman’s gaze as if daring her to probe further. Sinead certainly couldn’t look away and she tightened her hold on his arm.
After checking them in, Christian accepted the plastic key card from the manager. “Congratulations.” She studied Sinead and her eyes narrowed the slightest bit. “We’ve sent champagne and fruit to your room.”
“Thank you,” he said in a strained voice.
Sinead nodded, and then winced as the action brought a jolt of pain across her brow.
The bellhop waited with their suitcases by the table with the flowers. “The valet has parked your car, sir. Can I help you to your suite?”
“No, thank you.” Sinead watched Christian give the young man a five dollar bill in exchange for the handle of his wheeled suitcase. He took hers, too. He muttered as they walked to the bank of elevators, “Ten to one they think I beat you. Did you see that look she gave me? Probably thinks she needs to call the cops.”
“She does not.” Truthfully, the woman had made eye contact with Sinead. Had that been an offer of assistance? Poor Christian.
“We should have changed our clothes at the hospital,” he said.
“Maybe.” She shivered. “I just wanted to get here before I turned into an icicle. They keep the hospital like a meat locker.”
“Kills germs.”
“Really?”
“I don’t know. Sounds good. We can Google it later.” He pressed the button for the elevator to the 18th floor.
There were no other passengers in the car so they went straight up. She avoided looking at her ruined gown in the side mirrors until the very end. She’d had such high hopes for today. Technically, yesterday. “Christian, we could be extras at Universal for Halloween Horror Nights.”
He’d been standing on the other side of the elevator, but he took her hand and brought her next to him to look up and smile at the interior camera.
“We should take our wedding photo now, as a keepsake.”
“Not funny. Oh, man! We didn’t get any shots of us together before the wedding.” She’d been adamant a
bout sticking to tradition. Stupid.
“I had all kinds of wild ideas about what I was going to do to you in this elevator. And in the hall, and how I was going to get you out of that dress.” His glum expression made her feel worse.
“I’m sorry, Christian.” She lifted her face for a kiss and he granted her a gentle one that barely touched his mouth to hers.
“Shit happens.” He sighed. “There’s no fixing the dress?”
She studied the delicate lace that was stiff in places and drooped in others. “We can send it to the dry cleaners. It’s worth a shot.”
“How much was it again?”
“You don’t want to know.”
The bell dinged signaling the eighteenth floor. She rolled her suitcase one-handed behind her and followed Christian to the right and the penthouse suite.
This was not the giddy happiness she’d anticipated feeling when they opened the door for tonight. Dim romantic lighting played across the dark marble tile and electric candlelight flickered against the picture window that showed the moonlit sea.
To the left were a mini kitchen and a bathroom, while to the right were a king-sized bed and a sunken Jacuzzi tub overlooking the nighttime city lights.
Impressed, she did her best to smile at the man she’d thought would be her husband. “This is pretty nice, Christian. I might feel up to a glass of champagne.”
His slow grin let her know he agreed. Without words or explanations, the mood between them shifted into something hopeful.
“Let me pop the bubbly.” He gestured toward the bathroom. “Want to take a shower? I can help shampoo your hair.”
They might not be married, but he was still her best friend. “A shower could be fun,” she said. “I’ll wash your back.”
“I’ll wash your front,” he offered with a wink.
She laughed and unzipped her suitcase, taking out the silky blush negligee and matching peignoir. “Meet you there?”
Maybe they’d spend the night communicating in the language of lovers, where things like botched wedding ceremonies could be forgiven. He poured two fizzy flutes of champagne and followed her into the tiled bathroom decorated in aqua and navy blues.
