The Stand-in Groom (Wrong Way Weddings Book 3)

by Lori Wilde

  “That has to be a scary feeling.”

  “Well, maybe I exaggerated a little,” she admitted.

  Somehow the distance between them had closed, but he didn’t remember seeing her move or moving himself. Her palm was flattened against his chest, and he was sure her fingerprints would be burned through the shirt onto his skin.

  If he didn’t kiss her now, he might never have another chance. He bent his head, and her lips parted under his. Her mouth was the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted.

  When her tongue flicked against the roof of his mouth, his knees buckled. He pulled her over to the couch and collapsed on it, Stacy on his lap and their lips still locked together.

  “This isn’t why I came,” she gasped.

  “I know.”

  He didn’t know anything, but he was at the say-anything-to-keep-her-in-his-arms stage.

  “I didn’t intend for this to happen,” she said.

  Her hand was warm and moist when she slid it under his shirt. Maybe her caresses only felt like a hot-oil massage because he was steaming.

  “This isn’t happening. I’m only dreaming,” she whispered.

  He smiled at her denial and willed her to forget everyone but him. He longed to strip away her clothes and show her how to enjoy her body.

  He longed to take her to his bed and never let her leave. At this moment, he was sure she wanted the same thing. He slid his finger under the leg of her shorts, inside her panties. She trembled under his intimate touch, and their kisses became hard and urgent.

  “Why did you come here tonight?” he asked with an involuntary groan. He pulled his hand away. Much as he dreaded her answer, he had to know.

  She snuggled closer on his lap and pressed her cheek against his shoulder.

  “I wanted...”

  He waited.

  “I needed to know...” Again, the hesitation.

  “If you’d be missing anything by marrying Mercer?”

  “You make me sound so, so...”

  She slid off his lap but still sat beside him.

  “Unsure?”

  “You think I’m shallow and self-centered.” She sounded close to tears.

  He hated it when any woman cried, and Stacy had the power to tear him apart.

  “Never! I think you’re an amazing woman. Smart and funny and real. You’re not afraid to be vulnerable, and I respect the hell out of you.”

  Her cheeks colored, and she ducked her head shyly, clearly having trouble with his compliment.

  He wanted to tell her how much he hated having her marry Mercer. He loathed the thought of the slimebag lawyer putting his hands on her.

  He didn’t want to accept losing her forever, but what could he offer in place of marriage to a solid-citizen type who’d won her before they met?

  Anything he said now might louse up her whole life. He’d long ago convinced himself marriage wasn’t for him. He didn’t know what he wanted to do with his life, but it wouldn’t involve being a junior partner in his brothers’ business. He couldn’t offer her the security of a happily-ever-after relationship when his own future was uncertain.

  “You forgot to say good friend, buddy, pal.” She made it sound like a curse.

  “Hey, who else has been kidnapped with you?”

  “And had a bite of Elvis cake?”

  “The whole thing was kind of fun,” he said.

  “It was once those clowns left us alone to escape.”

  “I’m not even mad at Percy and ol’ Harold anymore.”

  “Do you think they’ll ever be caught?” she asked.

  “Maybe not for snatching you, but two crooks as dumb as they are will goof up on something else and end up in jail.”

  “I really came here just to talk,” she said morosely.

  “I know.”

  “But there’s not much to say, is there?”

  She didn’t react when he covered her hand with his.

  He could say a lot, but not without forcing her to make a choice between Mercer and himself, between a sure thing and a long shot.

  “Guess I do have pre-wedding jitters. Thank you for understanding. I would have—we could have—but it wouldn’t be right, would it?”

  “Very wrong.”

  She’d hate herself if they made love. He wouldn’t think much of himself, either.

  He leaned over and turned on the lamp on the table beside the couch. There was nothing like a hundred watts to make them both face reality.

  Her eyes were glistening, but she was fighting back the tears. She didn’t succeed in erasing the crushed look from her face even though she smiled weakly and quickly averted her gaze.

  He had to give her a wedding gift even if it hurt both of them.

  “It never would’ve worked out between us,” he said with false heartiness. “You deserve a home. I’d like to be my own man, have the freedom to go where I like and do as I please. Besides, I’d make you miserable. You’re sweet and understanding. I’m crabby as a bear. It’s my way or the highway.”

  “You’re not that bossy.”

  “You’ve only seen my good side,” he assured her.

  “I have a temper. Once I threw my little brother’s tricycle in the trash because he got into my stuff.”

  “There you are. You’re territorial. I own my clothes and car, and that’s all I need or want. I’m living with my brothers’ castoffs in their duplex. I’d make you crazy.”

  “I can see that.” She tried to smile, but it didn’t come off.

  “Anyway...”

  “What?”

  He had to say something she couldn’t dismiss, but he hated lying to her. “I’m not sure one woman will ever be enough for me.”

  She looked stricken, and it was all he could do not to take it back and comfort her in his arms.

  “I’ve known a lot of women...”

  “Thank you for being honest with me.”

  She stood, her face pale and rigid.

  “I take our friendship seriously,” he said, clenching his fists to keep himself from touching her.

  “I feel like a complete fool.”

  “No, you’re anything but that. You’re a warm, kind, loving woman who deserves the best in life. I’m not sure that’s Mercer, but I know damn well it’s not me.”

  “No, it’s not.” She moved toward the door.

  “I’ll walk you to your car.”

  “Please don’t.”

  He watched from the doorway until she drove away, taking his heart with her. He didn’t know loving someone could hurt so much.

  11

  The rehearsal dinner was everything Stacy had expected and worse. The Mercers wouldn’t go to an ordinary restaurant and provide an edible meal. They had to show off by taking the wedding party to a snooty private club where even the doorman intimidated her.

  “How is your capon, darling?” Jonathan asked, giving her knee a little squeeze under the starchy white edge of the banquet cloth.

  He could see perfectly well she’d only managed to eat one tiny bite of the undersized chicken. The poultry might be delicious, but she was put off by dark, wrinkled mushrooms that looked as if they’d been left to rot on the ground, not to mention black pellets of pepper and odd little green things.

  “I’m not very hungry. Too much excitement, I guess.” She gave him her best imitation of a smile.

  “Here, try a bite of the breast.”

  He leaned over and sliced a piece of hers with his knife.

  “Jonathan, I don’t need you to cut my meat.”

  “She just has pre-wedding jitters,” he said, smiling sheepishly across the table at a groomsman whose name she’d forgotten.

  Stacy didn’t know if the men in his wedding party were personal friends or business acquaintances, but she didn’t need Jonathan or anyone else apologizing for her.

  “Not at all,” she contradicted him. “I’d just rather have pizza.”

  Jonathan fancied himself a gourmet, and her plebian tastes tended
to annoy him. He half turned away and started talking to her cousin, Dana, who’d flown home from Alaska to visit family and be her maid of honor.

  Tonight she was willing enough to be ignored by her fiancé, but he wasn’t the one who was making her miserable. He was who he was, and she’d been sure she loved him when they got engaged. That love would come back after they were married.

  She just had to get past her silly one-sided crush on Nick. She couldn’t let an infatuation ruin her life. Nick didn’t feel anything but friendship for her. She looked at her beaming parents. They were so sure their only daughter would have a wonderful life. Her heart swelled, and she knew she’d never do anything to spoil their happiness.

  Maybe Jonathan was right. Men and women couldn’t be friends. She didn’t want Nick as a friend, and Nick didn’t want her at all.

  She picked at something that looked like tomato gelatin with slivers of celery in the congealed glob, then took another tiny bite of capon, more from courtesy than hunger. Jonathan didn’t deserve her bad attitude.

  Everyone seemed to be enjoying the dinner, and the rehearsal before it had gone well even with Aunt Lucille making little tut-tut noises every few minutes. Her parents were beaming, and the senior Mercers didn’t look as dour as usual.

  Once the meal was over, there was nothing to keep the two rival camps together. Guests started scattering. A couple of groomsmen hovered near Jonathan, waiting to whisk him away to the main event of the evening, the bachelor party.

  “You can go,” she said after assuring him it had been a nice dinner. “I wouldn’t want you to keep the stripper waiting.”

  “It won’t be that kind of party.”

  He flushed, not unusual with his blond hair and light complexion. It was sort of cute, him not wanting her to think the party would be down and dirty.

  “Just don’t change your mind and elope with the lap dancer,” she teased.

  He made a politician’s quick exit, shaking hands and slapping backs without slowing his retreat. Well, it was the first bachelor party in his honor. He had a right to be eager.

  Her friends took her for a round of drinks at a tavern, where big baskets of peanuts were on the tables and the floor was covered with the shells. She forgot about Nick, but only for a few minutes.

  “Here’s to Stacy and Jon,” Dana said, holding up a beer glass with foam running over the side.

  Her cousin had only been here from Alaska for two days, and she called him Jon. Why wouldn’t it come naturally to his fiancée? Stacy smashed a peanut with her fist and winced because it hurt.

  “I probably should go now,” she said.

  Everyone protested, even Tanya, their designated driver, who ordered another lemon-lime seltzer water and started telling a story about her wedding night.

  Jonathan wouldn’t do anything dumb like Tanya’s husband had, locking the keys in the car with all their luggage still in the trunk. Would he be nervous? All Stacy felt tonight was resignation. Tomorrow she would get married. They weren’t leaving on their honeymoon trip to Las Vegas—Jonathan’s choice—until Sunday afternoon, so they’d spend their first night at his house.

  What if it was a mistake for her to get married? Maybe that was why she was attracted to Nick. Had been attracted. No more. He’d squelched her infatuation.

  She wanted to ask Tanya, the oldest of her attendants and the only married one, whether she’d had any last-minute doubts before her wedding. Maybe it was a phenomenon all brides experienced before the big event.

  Her nine attendants—nine because Jonathan had magnanimously included her four brothers as groomsmen—banged the bottoms of their mugs on the table and chanted, “Speech, speech, speech.”

  “No way!”

  “You don’t want your bouquet to go missing.”

  “Or your shoes to have bubble gum on the soles.”

  “Bug spray instead of hair spray.”

  “You’re completely at our mercy.”

  She told them the story of the Three Little Pigs, but not the version her preschoolers were used to hearing. It was only a coincidence Nick had two older brothers, too. She wasn’t going to think about him anymore.

  She told herself that all the way home when the party finally petered out in the wee hours.

  Her alarm rang at eight o’clock the next morning. She pushed the snooze button, remembered she was getting married that day, and pulled the sheet over her head. This was absolutely the last time she’d go to sleep and wake up thinking about Nick.

  By noon, her hair was styled, her nails gleamed with pearly polish, and her makeup had been professionally applied at Veronica’s Salon. Her face felt stiff, and her scalp itched from the hair spray, but she was officially ready.

  There was nothing to do but wait for her mother to pick her up so she could dress at the church. She made toast to make up for the breakfast she’d skipped but was afraid to eat it for fear of disturbing her lipstick.

  Her mother was as excited as a kid going to a circus as they drove to the imposing stone church an earlier generation of Mercers had helped build. Stacy regretted caving on the wedding site. She got a chill just looking at the massive fortress with its medieval bell tower.

  The wedding coordinator, employed by the church to oversee the marriage ceremony, met them at the side door closest to the parking area and ushered them to a roomy lounge which served as the bride’s changing room. She barked out instructions and suggestions faster than Stacy could absorb them. She hoped Mom was paying attention.

  Her attendants were already milling around in their princess-style plum gowns, which were floor-length with tiny cap sleeves and modest V-necklines. Her mother looked better than any of them in regal beige lace with her naturally silver hair in a sleek pageboy.

  “You look nicer than anyone here,” Stacy whispered when she had a chance, hugging her affectionately.

  Mom looked at her with teary eyes, and Stacy backed away. If her mother started crying, she’d probably bawl like a baby herself.

  With more help than she could handle, she finally got into the bridal gown without smearing her makeup and donned the veil without ruffling her hair. It was the signal for her attendants to rave and her mother to sniff into her emergency lace hanky.

  Stacy walked to the full-length mirror thoughtfully provided on the back of the door.

  She was in the twilight zone. The image staring back at her looked more like Wedding Barbie on clearance than Stacy Moore.

  So this was how she looked as a radiant, glowing bride. Or was she still a bride-to-be? When did she become the bride? When she put on the dress or when she said “I do”?

  Suddenly there was a loud pounding on the door, and the room got very quiet.

  “Stacy.” Knock, knock, knock. “I have to see you.” Knock, knock, knock.

  Her mother raced over to handle the wholly inappropriate summons from the groom. Or groom-to-be.

  “Jonathan,” she said through the smallest possible opening. “You know it’s bad luck for you to see the bride before the wedding.”

  Her mother hadn’t had as much to do with planning the big event as she would’ve liked, but on this she was keeper of the door and upholder of traditions.

  “I’ve seen the dress. I have to talk to Stacy.”

  “But...you just can’t!”

  Her mother was obviously groping for some reason besides an old superstition to keep him out. Maybe she was afraid he’d come to call it off.

  “Please, everyone, leave us alone,” he shouted, wedging his body through the opening.

  Red-faced and flustered, he waved his arms frantically, trying to shoo everyone away. One by one Stacy’s plum-colored bridesmaids slowly filed out. Her mother held out for a few more seconds, then reluctantly marched out of the lounge.

  “It really is bad luck,” her mom solemnly warned Jonathan.

  “What’s wrong?” Stacy asked, more curious than alarmed.

  “I have a confession to make.”

 
He sounded penitent, humble, even sad, and she waited tensely, imagining all kinds of disasters. Or maybe he had decided to elope with a lap dancer or the girl who jumped out of his cake at his bachelor party.

  “Well, tell me.”

  Inside the wedding-doll disguise, the real Stacy was seething with impatience. What the heck was going on?

  “You’re not going to like this, but please, please, darling, hear me out and try to understand.”

  “Are you dumping me? Now? In church on our wedding day?”

  “Oh, no! I’d never do that.” He paled and squeezed his hands together.

  “Then what’s going on?”

  “One of the kidnappers has been arrested.”

  “That’s good news! But you could have told me later instead of making my mother a nervous wreck worrying about why you’re here. Which one did they catch?”

  “Percy Krump.”

  “Percy Krump? How did they get him? Nick thought they’d commit other crimes and get caught sooner or later.”

  Whoops. She probably shouldn’t have mentioned Nick judging by the expression on Jonathan’s face.

  “Something about his van. It doesn’t matter how.”

  It did to her, but she was more curious about why Jonathan was so agitated.

  “They didn’t find Harold?”

  “No, apparently the pair had a falling out, and Harold took off.”

  “Imagine, ol’ Harold turned out to be the smarter one.” The thought boggled her mind.

  “Please, Stacy, listen. This isn’t about a couple of lowlifes. I have to tell you something.” He looked more miserable than she’d ever seen him.

  She had a bad feeling but only nodded.

  “We seemed to be drifting apart. We were planning our wedding, but you seemed distant, not as warm and enthusiastic as you’d been.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You couldn’t even pick out a dress to be married in. You were indifferent to our plans...”

  “Your plans. And your mother’s.” She wanted to set the record straight on that.

  “Is it too much to ask, having a wedding as nice as my parents’? Most women would be grateful for a fiancé who’s hands-on.”