by Amanda Aksel
I gulp. “A date?”
She giggles and covers her mouth, but I can still see her crinkled nose. In this moment, we might as well be twelve years old having a sleepover at my house. “Calm down. It’s Garret. His date backed out last minute.” Kate introduced me to Garret when she first hired him as her publicist. Since then, we’ve become buddies. Not those kinds of buddies though. I’m not exactly his type.
I let out a very relieved sigh. “Oh, my God. I was about to kill you.”
“C’mon. You know I’d never do that to you. I think what you’re doing is great. I’m proud of you for sticking it out this long.”
“Thanks.” It wasn’t that long ago that I was lying in a hotel bed like this one, telling Kate that I was proud of her for meeting Drew in nothing but a trench coat and heels.
“I’ll text Garret your room number. He’ll pick you up at seven.”
“Okay.” I let out a final yawn and curl up. “I’m just gonna close my eyes for a minute.” And with that, my lids shut.
***
“Beau, wake up,” Kate whispers, nudging my shoulder. “You fell asleep and I have to go get ready.”
“What time is it?”
“It’s almost five-thirty.”
I sit up, blinking my eyes open. “Okay, I’m up.” Sort of. My eyelids seem to weigh a thousand pounds, and I feel like I could sleep for the next three days. Kate pecks a kiss on my cheek and reminds me that my “date” will be at my door at seven. The moment she leaves the room, I slide back down, burying my head in the pillow. If only I could skip the evening. Then again, I bet Garret would blast a tweet that I’m the maid of dishonor. And I definitely don’t want to be that.
I grab my phone and pull up my workout playlist, hoping it will help generate enough energy to get me into the shower. It does. I shave my legs, wash my golden tresses, then spend a good hour on my hair and makeup while I guzzle coffee and grab a few bites of my wilted salad and cold soup.
It’s six fifty-four when I pull my cocktail dress out of my bag. I love the Seattle-sky color and finely fashioned, feathered ruffles. And—
Crap. I completely forgot that it buttons down the back. I might need to call for backup.
I slip into the soft fabric and attempt to twist my arms around to fasten the back. Twenty seconds in, I’m beginning to sweat off my fresh foundation. “Dammit!”
Knock. Knock.
I shuffle over to the door and pull it open, praying it’s Garret or Vivienne Westwood.
Garret looks up from his phone and his jaw drops. “Hello, gorgeous! Why do you always make me wish I were straight?”
I blush, so glad he’s my “boyfriend” for the evening. “Be thankful, I’m an emotional, hot mess.”
He smirks. “Who said anything about emotions?”
I roll my eyes and spin around, sweeping my hair over my shoulder. “You came right on time. Can you help me with this?”
“This dress is fabulous. Are you trying to show up Kate tonight?” He clasps the buttons in place, all the way up to my hairline.
“No! Besides, that would be impossible.” I smooth out my dress and check myself in the mirror one last time.
Garret appears in the reflection next to me, adjusting his red bow tie—the only color against his all-black suit. He bends his arm. “Come on. Let’s show each other off.”
2
I HATE WEDDINGS. I’ll probably always hate them. But my brother’s getting married. So, for this weekend, and only for the weekend, I’ll pretend that I don’t absolutely fucking hate weddings. And love. And happily ever after. And all that bullshit.
I wouldn’t do it for anyone else.
“Mick, you all right?” Drew nudges my shoulder.
I snap out of my love-loathing trance, blinking myself back to the reality of this wannabe British pub in the middle of Manhattan. “Yeah. Fine.”
Kent, the classic middle brother, hits his hand against the bar and shoots me a bug-eyed glare. “Did you hear what I just said?”
“Sorry,” I say, “I zoned out for a minute. Probably jet lag.”
He lets a sigh out through flared nostrils. “I said that I’m going to propose to Liz.”
I gulp back my mouthful of beer, nearly choking. “No, not you too.”
“What kind of response is that?” Kent asks.
“A reasonable one. It shouldn’t surprise you.”
The funny thing is, a year ago my brothers were the two least likely blokes to ever take a wife. But now that they’ve each met the American woman of their dreams, they’ve become something entirely different. They’ve become wannabe husbands.
Bloody hell.
I’ll never understand how they could’ve changed so much and so quickly. Then again, I used to be a wannabe husband too.
“So, you think it’s a bad idea?” Kent’s eyes shift back and forth like he’s second-guessing everything.
At the same time that Drew says no, I shout, “Yes!” Based on my experience—if there’s even a single doubt—don’t do it.
Kent looks even twitchier than when he asked a moment ago.
“Don’t listen to him,” Drew cuts in. “He’s just bitter.”
“Don’t listen to me? Don’t listen to him!” I say, pointing a severe finger at future husband number one. “He’s getting married. Of course, he wants you to do it. Then he can have someone to commiserate with.” I guzzle what’s left of my lager.
“Mick, how can you be my best man if you’re against me getting married tomorrow?” Drew asks like he wants to throw me out of his wedding party. Fine by me. I’m not against him getting married, per se. I’m against him putting himself in a vulnerable position. Like I did.
“It’s not your union that I’m against, it’s marriage altogether. But I’m still your best man. I’m your brother.” I glance at Kent, thinking that at this point he’d make a much better best man. “Besides, you were there for me when . . .” I can’t say it. I don’t need to say it. They know what happened. They were there. No sense in repeating the excruciatingly painful past.
“Okay, then.” Drew fraternally pats my shoulder and sets his empty glass on the bar. “We better head off.”
The three of us walk down the crowded sidewalk back to the hotel. I glance up at the tall, steel buildings that line the street, while my brothers chat about something that sounds a little too American for my blood. My gaze wanders to the park across the way. The leaves haven’t even begun to turn yet. I bet the parks will be covered with autumn foliage by the time I get home in a few days. And I can’t wait to return.
When I get back to my suite, I sit on the edge of the bed, feeling the stiff linens beneath my hands. It’s getting late in London, and I want nothing more than to crawl under these sheets, preferably with someone. I bet that would take the edge off. My mind wanders back to the woman at the airport. Damn, I wish she had taken me up on that ride.
When it comes to women, I try not to look back. Getting hung up on one girl can be very dangerous. But there was something about her. The way her hips swayed in the flowy dress, her naturally pouty lips, her silky, tan skin, and those eyes that, I swear for a moment, were begging me to stay. But it was more than that. I think it was her heartbeat that drew me in. Obviously, I couldn’t really hear it over the impatient chatter and rolling luggage wheels, but sometimes I think I can feel someone’s heartbeat from a close distance. It’s like a sixth sense. Maybe it’s due to the fact that I work with the organ. But I think it’s because when I learned that heartbeats are as unique as fingerprints, I listened to as many beating hearts as possible. Ask me about any of my patients and I can repeat the rhythm sounding inside their chests. It’s too bad, really, I would have loved to make that woman’s heart race.
I step into a steaming shower and scrub away the day’s travel. I can never get used to the stale, recirculated air on a plane. And it doesn’t help to know that it’s filled with potential viruses from unsuspecting passengers. It’s pretty much the ant
ithesis of a sterile hospital. Sure, hospitals are filled with sick people, but I swear it’s ten percent illness and ninety percent hand sanitizer.
Toweling off, I wrap the terry cloth around my waist and slam my body down on the bed, reminding myself why I’m here. My insides twist and begin to ache. “Okay, Mick,” I say to myself as I stare up at the intricate molding of the ceiling. “You can do this. It’s just a rehearsal dinner. Just go down there, eat your steak, drink your wine, smile like a good doctor, and don’t say anything untoward. That’s it. Just get through tonight and everything will be fine.” I take a deep breath and hear the quiet echo of my elevated pulse.
“And relax, for God’s sake!” I reprimand myself, then roll out of bed.
***
Wearing my freshly pressed, black Armani suit, the one that makes me feel like James Bond, I walk down the corridor toward the dining room. There’s no question as to which room it is because the solo pianist playing Billy Joel’s “Just the Way You Are” gives it away.
Inside the dimly lit room, a long table with about thirty elegant place settings sits in the center, while the crystal chandelier floating above reflects every touch of gold garnishing the room. Drew and Kate stand near the table, so close that their noses are practically touching. Some of the guests have already taken their seats, while others are still mingling around, nursing cocktails from crystal glasses. I only recognize about half of them. Just as I step forward to find my seat, my father approaches.
“Mick, I’m glad to see you’ve made it,” he says with that stern look he always gets when he wants to keep me on my toes.
Well, nice to see you too. “Of course I made it. Why wouldn’t I?”
He says nothing, just raises his brow with a knowing look.
So, maybe I did call last week and say that there was a slight possibility that I would have to stay behind because of work. That’s one thing I love about being a heart surgeon. When someone’s life depends on you, it’s a good excuse to get out of shit you don’t want to do.
“Mick, darling, you’re here.” Mum rushes up to me wearing her signature dark mauve lipstick. She pecks a kiss on my cheek. I don’t need a mirror to confirm she’s left a mark.
“Hi, Mum,” I say as she swipes her thumb over my cheek. “You look beautiful this evening.”
She blushes. “What a blessing to have all boys. Now I have four handsome men who think I’m beautiful.” Mum slips her arm around mine. “Now escort your mother to her seat, darling.”
I nod and walk her over, my father not far behind us. After my parents are settled, I find my place right next to Drew and Kate.
The bride-to-be greets me with a warm hug. “Mick, I’m so glad you made it.”
“I wouldn’t miss this for the world.” Though I wish I could.
She smiles and I look into her green eyes shining in the golden light. There isn’t a trace of malice in them . . . but I’ve been fooled before.
“Take a seat, my maid of honor should be here any second. I’m excited for you two to meet.” I almost ask if her maid of honor is single but think better of it.
By now, all of the guests have been seated with the exception of two empty chairs directly in front of me. Waiters in black ties walk around the table, pouring wine into each delicate glass. I quietly sip my cabernet as the guests converse around me with a mix of London, New York, and LA accents.
Then, a pair approaches the two vacant seats. My gaze draws up the slender figure in a light blue fitted dress. Her arm is tucked in with the overly fashionable gentleman standing next to her. Our eyes meet and I have to blink.
Wait? Is that?
Yes, there’s no mistaking it. It’s her.
The woman’s glossy lips part in clear surprise, and I feel a bit of pride as I keep my jaw from dropping and instead manage to smile
“Hey, Beau!” Kate calls. “Hey, Garret!”
The woman, presumably named Beau and not Garret, doesn’t take her eyes off of me. “Hi,” she says as Garret pulls out her chair.
I smirk. This dinner just got a lot more appealing. “Hello, nice to see you again.”
Drew’s brow flinches in surprise. “You’ve met? When?”
“At the baggage carousel. Just today,” I reply.
Even out of the corner of my eye, I can see Kate’s jaw practically fall to her plate. “Wait. You’re the guy from the airport?”
Beau forces a smile and grits her teeth. “Kate.”
“I mean . . .” My future sister-in-law clears her throat, grabs her wine, and takes a long drink as she turns away from the conversation. A laugh bubbles up in my mouth but I bite it back.
“Did you two know who each other were?” Drew inquires further.
“No idea.” Beau’s eyes shift back to Kate. It appears that I made just as much of an impression on her as she did on me during the ten minutes we spent together. The only question is—what kind of impression did I make?
“That’s hilarious. You’re paired up in the wedding.” Drew grins with a chuckle like it’s a happy coincidence, and I have to agree.
“You’re Mick? The best man?” Beau doesn’t seem to think it’s a happy anything.
“I am.” Tempted to add, And in bed too. But if all goes well, it will go without saying. That is, unless she can’t help but scream, Mick, you’re the best man in bed! And she wouldn’t be the first. Since my last relationship, if you can even call it that, I’ve perfected my technique. You don’t have to be a doctor to know that the clitoris has eight thousand nerve endings, but it doesn’t hurt that I always got the highest marks in anatomy and chemistry.
Studying her face in the candlelight, I remember where I recognize her from. There’s a picture hanging in Kate and Drew’s apartment of Beau and the bride sunning themselves on some beach. I wanted to ask who it was, but thought it might be rude to go after Kate’s friend from a single photograph. But now that we’ve met and will be spending some time together, I don’t see the harm. As long as the guy sitting next to her isn’t her boyfriend. Because if I’m being honest, what’s the point of being in a wedding if you’re not going to shag a hot bridesmaid?
3
T HIS IS BAD. This is really, really bad. Not only did I meet a man who has the ability to seduce me away from the straight and narrow, but now he’s in the wedding party too. Tomorrow, the two of us will be walking down the aisle arm in arm. If that’s not priming me to spread my legs, then I don’t know what is.
I take a long drink of my wine and swallow it back along with any residual temptation from earlier.
“So, you must be Beau.” The troublemaker stretches his hand across the table.
“Yes.” I’m hesitant at first for the sake of my abstinence but give in for the sake of propriety.
The warmth of his hand envelops mine in his strong, yet tender, grip. A tingle shoots to my elbow and then bursts throughout the rest of my body. His blue eyes sparkle with glimmers of gold like the water off the coast of Valencia in Spain. No doubt my eyes are glinting right back at him. My heart pounds so hard that I think it might break out of its cage and land right smack on his dinner plate.
“See,” he says with an almost smug smile. Of course, he has the cutest dimples ever. “I told you we weren’t strangers.”
“I’m not sure this qualifies as knowing each other.”
“Don’t worry. I’m sure we’ll become quite acquainted,” he says with absolute certainty.
I’m a sucker for two things: foreign men and confident, sexual innuendo. This man is going to bring my panties down—I mean me down. I mean . . . never mind. I turn to Garret next to me, giving him a can-you-toss-me-a-lifeline look.
“Where’s your date, Mick?” Garret asks with a hint of trouble in his eyes.
“I don’t have one this evening.”
Garret wrinkles his forehead as if he’s listening intently. “Hey, neither does Beau.”
“You’re my date, remember?” I kick his foot under the table, just enou
gh to urge him to knock it off. But I’ll stab him with my stiletto if I need to.
“Yes, but not in the traditional sense, seeing as I’m gay.” Garret looks to Kate. “By the way, are there any eligible Manhattan . . . or Brooklyn men coming to your wedding tomorrow? I’m so over dating in LA.” It’s true. Garret told me himself last week that if he meets another tanned hunk with bleached hair and teeth, he’s going to throw himself into a canyon.
“Actually, there is someone I think might be perfect for you.” Kate smirks.
“Really?” Garrets eyes widen as he leans in. “Tell me more.”
“No, Kate!” I cut in a little shriller than I intended. “This is your wedding. You should be completely focused on that. We should all be focused on you, and Drew, and not hooking up with other wedding guests.” I give Garret a stern stare but can see Mick holding back a laugh out of the corner of my eye. He’s the one I should be glaring at. But with that face, it might be impossible.
“Okay, killjoy. What’s wrong with her making a friendly introduction after the ceremony? Or before. You know, whatever.”
“Yeah, Beau, it’s not a big deal,” Kate says.
“But what if it turns into one. What if something catastrophic happens as a result of Garret pursuing this man and it ruins your wedding. Besides, nothing can come of it. You live three thousand miles away. He might as well live across the globe.”
Drew takes Kate’s hand and looks at her fondly. “Don’t worry, Beau. As long as Kate shows up tomorrow, nothing can ruin this wedding.”
Mick clears his throat and sets his linen napkin on the table. “Please excuse me.” He rises to his feet and quickly heads for the doors. Kate and Drew share a concerned stare.
“I’ll be right back,” Drew says, going after his brother. What could’ve happened in the sixty seconds between him introducing himself and wanting to leave the table?
But before I can ask, Kate leans in. “Oh, my God! I can’t believe Mick is the guy from the airport. That’s so crazy!”
“What did I miss?” Garret asks.
