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

by Lori Wilde

  Stacy stepped down beside him, yanked off the engagement ring she’d been wearing on her right hand to make room for his diamond-studded wedding band, and handed it over.

  Nick was edging closer, but she signaled him to back off for just a minute. He looked confused but gave her a moment with Jonathan now that it was clear the wedding was off.

  “I want you to reimburse my parents for their share of the wedding,” she whispered, turning her back to the pews in case there were any lip-readers. “And the bridesmaids for their dresses. And my cousin Dana for her plane ticket from Alaska to watch me marry a conniving, underhanded phony. A felon who had his own fiancée kidnapped.”

  “Is everything all right?” Nick stepped up beside her and put his arm around her shoulders, speaking in the same hushed voice.

  He hadn’t heard the kidnapping part. She could tell by the happy look on his face.

  “I’ll tell you later.”

  “I think my work here is done.” Nick grinned so broadly she wanted to jump into his arms and kiss him until he was wearing all her lipstick. But the really important things in life didn’t call for an army of witnesses.

  He grabbed her hand, and she ran beside him down the cloth-covered aisle in three-inch heels. Her feet had wings, and her heart was bursting with happiness.

  “Why were you so late?” she gasped breathlessly outside on steps worn down by generations of Mercer feet.

  “My car wouldn’t start.”

  He gestured at the truck and grabbed her in a bear hug so long overdue she squealed with pleasure.

  The first kiss exploded on their lips, and the second went on and on and on until the crowd noise inside intruded.

  “Let’s go,” he shouted.

  “To your steed, Galahad.”

  “What?”

  “Let’s hit the road!”

  He hastily boosted her into the cab of the pickup, grabbing where he could with the dress billowing out like a circus tent.

  They took off before the fastest—or most curious—wedding guest could catch up with them.

  For several minutes neither of them spoke. Stacy needed to digest what had happened. Until the moment Nick had yelled “I do,” she’d thought he would never be a part of her life.

  “What was it you said in the church?” she asked after he turned north on Lake Shore Drive, the Grosse Pointe name for Jefferson Avenue, and passed some of the stately old homes that auto money had built.

  “It’s all a blur to me.” He grinned mischievously. “Something about objecting to the marriage.”

  “Every time I put on a wedding gown, I’m kidnapped!”

  “You make a cute bride. Who could resist?”

  “Is that why you came bursting into the church and...”

  “Told you I love you and want to marry you? Did I mention I can’t live without you?”

  “No, but it’s nice to hear.”

  “Ahem.” He pretended to clear his throat. “Is there anything you want to tell me?”

  “I love you,” she said shyly. “A bunch.”

  “And?”

  “And I’ll certainly think about marrying you.”

  “Think hard.”

  “Okay, I have.”

  “And?”

  “I’ll do it.”

  She glanced out the window and got a glimpse of Lake St. Clair. Water had never looked so blue. The sun had never seemed so bright.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “I haven’t worked out that part of my plan.” His grin was sheepish.

  “We could...” She trailed off, touched the tip of her tongue to her upper lip.

  “Go to your place?”

  “If you want to.”

  “Who knows you live there?”

  “My family. All my friends. Point taken. Your place?”

  “I didn’t have time to dust.”

  “Be serious!”

  “I am. I’m neat, organized, and efficient, but I hate dusting.”

  “I like it, dusting, polishing, scrubbing, shining...”

  “You’re just what I need.”

  “Wish you’d figured that out a little sooner.”

  She didn’t exactly feel guilty about running away from her own wedding considering old Jon had confessed to masterminding the kidnapping, but she was going to have a lot of explaining to do.

  “I have an idea. Let’s get a motel room and talk about it,” he said.

  “I’m not exactly prepared. No luggage, no real clothes, no toothbrush.”

  “We could pretend we just got married.” He grinned sheepishly.

  She stared out the window. They’d left venerable Grosse Pointe Woods behind them and were passing St. Clair Shores’ public waterside park. She had no idea why he was driving in this direction.

  “First I need to ask you one question,” she said.

  “Okay, if I can ask one, too.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me when I came to your place? Why say you could never settle down with only one woman?”

  “That’s two questions.”

  “Does that mean you won’t answer?”

  “No, it means I want to be holding you in my arms when I explain.”

  She said nothing and waited.

  “Do you want to hear my question?” he asked.

  “Why was I going to go through with the wedding?”

  “Bingo.” He pulled over and turned off the engine. “I’ve never been so miserable in my whole life than when I thought I’d lost you.”

  “You sent me packing, actually.”

  “What could I offer you? My brothers were close to booting me off the job—literally so in Zack’s case. How could I ask you to give up a promising future— Well, you seemed to think it was.”

  “But you changed your mind,” she said quietly, taking his hand.

  “More like I accepted what I had to do if I ever wanted to be happy. If I wanted a chance with you, I had to feel better about myself. I’d been tinkering at the plant with my grandfather. I figured out a hinge problem that’d stumped the design team. I finally realized what I should do with my life.”

  “Marry me?”

  She made lazy circles in his palm.

  “It was my darn pride that held me back, but when I realized you were more important, I went to Marsh for a job. I even offered to start at the bottom sweeping floors.”

  “I thought your mom was CEO.”

  “She is, but Gramps still runs product development. When I finally went to him, he told me he’d been saving a job there for me. So I’m not a construction bum anymore.”

  “I loved you when you were.”

  “Why were you on the verge of marrying Jonathan?”

  “When we started dating, I thought he was handsome and smart. Maybe I would have been happy with him if I’d never met you. If he hadn’t had me kidnapped...”

  “He had you kidnapped?” he said, clearly stunned. “He was the mystery man behind it?”

  “Yes, he hired Percy and Harold. He thought I was cooling off. He wanted to be a hero and rescue me, but you foiled the plan. He told me just before the wedding because Percy got caught and was blackmailing Jonathan to be his lawyer and get him off. Guess I never mentioned neither of us ever saw Percy’s face. His real hair is gray, by the way. He dyed it red for the job. Clever, huh?”

  She kept talking because Nick sat up with a murderous expression on his face.

  “That slimy, underhanded ambulance chaser. I should knock him silly. He belongs in jail!”

  “Yeah, well, there doesn’t seem to be much point in that. He’d probably find a way to wiggle out of it anyway.”

  “You were still going to marry him!”

  “On my own terms! I didn’t know what else to do. When he told me, the church was already full of guests; everything was ready. My parents would have been so disappointed— Oh, dear, I’ll have some explaining to do there. Hope Aunt Lucille can convince them I did the right thing running away with yo
u. I guess the marriage wouldn’t have lasted long, not with me crazy in love with you. You did dump me, you know. I was pretty depressed about that, so it didn’t seem to matter what I did.”

  “We weren’t together. I couldn’t dump you.”

  She leaned over and kissed his pout away.

  “You certainly didn’t leave me with any hope. Then you nearly didn’t get to the church on time!”

  “That reminds me...”

  He pulled his hand away from her and reached into his jacket pocket. She loved watching the material tighten around his muscular arms so much she scarcely noticed what he took out of the pocket.

  “Here’s part of the reason I was late, this and my car not starting.”

  He handed her a blue velvet box. It could only be one thing, but the moment seemed too important to rush into opening it.

  “Here.” He did it for her.

  It was indescribably lovely, not a rock like she’d returned to what’s-his-name, but a sparkling stone in an exquisite yellow-gold setting. She liked gold to look like gold. It was perfect.

  “I guess this calls for a celebration,” she said shyly, slipping the ring onto the appropriate finger.

  “We need to start planning our wedding.”

  He was smiling so warmly, she melted.

  “Not right now.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and maneuvered herself so she was straddling him. “I’m getting tired of these stockings.”

  Epilogue

  Nick couldn’t stop grinning.

  He woke up smiling and smirked at himself in the mirror while he shaved. Three hours later, he was still beaming. Not even his brothers’ off-color wedding jokes made a dent in his euphoric mood.

  Rather than pick one of the twins as his best man and leave out the other, he’d asked Marsh. Gramps looked downright cheery in his brass-buttoned navy blazer, white knit shirt, and tan trousers, the uniform of the day. No monkey suit and rented shoes for this groom.

  The guests were waiting on folding chairs in Marsh’s garden, sixty or so people Nick and Stacy really cared about. The back of the workshop was covered with climbing roses still in bloom on trellises. The noontime sky was brilliant blue and cloudless above the rented canopy.

  His mother still couldn’t believe he’d managed to meet someone and arrange to marry her before her own long-planned wedding came off.

  She winked at him from the front row of chairs.

  The musician pounded out the wedding march on a keyboard with all the gusto usually associated with massive pipe organs, and Stacy stepped into the garden on her father’s arm.

  Nick’s grin faded, but only because he was awestruck. She was every bit a bride in pale-pink lace and a hemline that stopped at midthigh. Instead of a veil, she was wearing a little crown of real flowers that matched her pink-and-white bouquet.

  She’d told him her dress would be a surprise, but he hadn’t been prepared for the impact. His throat swelled shut with pride, and his knees were shaky because this gorgeous woman was about to become his wife.

  He must have said the right things and made the right moves during the ceremony because he heard the magic words.

  “You may kiss the bride.”

  In the reception line, he kissed his mom, Stacy’s mom, the two bridesmaids, and Aunt Lucille. Truth to tell, Aunt Lucille gave it the most oomph. Stacy kissed her father, his grandfather, her brothers, and his.

  “Save some of that for me,” he whispered.

  “Zack is some kisser,” she teased.

  He patted her bottom in a proprietary way and wondered how long guests stayed at a wedding luncheon.

  He hadn’t seen the cake, and Stacy wouldn’t let the caterers bring it out to the garden until the guests had had their fill of lobster salad, cheese puffs, and spinach tarts.

  Zack and Cole had to help two caterers carry it out to a table festooned with pink-and-green streamers. It was a huge, flat production with maybe a square foot of cake for every guest.

  Nick’s jaw dropped, and he was speechless for the first time in his life. Beside him, Stacy was giggling so hard she doubled over.

  A frosting Elvis stared up at him, full-length with guitar in hand and a silvery sugar jacket.

  “Surprise, darling!” she said.

  He lifted her off her feet and kissed her emphatically, squashing her bouquet between them.

  “Hey, I have to throw this!”

  “Line up, single ladies,” Tanya called out in her lime-green lace bridesmaid’s dress with a skirt only slightly longer than the bride’s.

  “You, too, Aunt Lucille,” Stacy insisted.

  The spritely septuagenarian scoffed at the idea but hustled up to join the five single women waiting for the prize.

  Nick didn’t know how Stacy did it, throwing with her back turned, but the colorful bunch of flowers landed squarely in Aunt Lucille’s arms.

  “I’ll be darned!” she said.

  “Now let’s cut the cake,” Stacy called out. “I know exactly what part of Elvis I want.”

  Nick knew he wanted all of her—forever.

  Dear Reader,

  Readers are an author’s life blood and the stories couldn’t happen without you. Thank you so much for reading!

  If you enjoyed The Stand-In Groom, Pam and I would so appreciate a review. You have no idea how much it means to us. You are the best!

  If you’d like to keep up with our latest releases, you can sign up for Lori’s newsletter @ https://loriwilde.com/sign-up/.

  Please turn the page for an excerpt for The Royal Groom the fourth book in the Wrong Way Weddings series.

  To check out our other books, you can visit us on the web @ www.loriwilde.com.

  Love and light,

  Lori and Pam

  Excerpt: The Royal Groom

  My other car is a limo.

  Leigh Bailey returned the heavy gasp pump hose and glimpsed the bumper sticker on her shabby little convertible.

  Rain blew in her face, obscuring her vision for a moment and taking away her breath.

  Her chances of ever owning a limo on her salary were nil, but wouldn’t it be nice to sit in a spacious backseat while a chauffeur braved the Florida storm to tank up for her?

  Never mind that she shared the same last name as her wealthy cousins, the billionaire Baileys from Detroit. Her branch of the family was church mouse poor.

  Well, a girl could dream, couldn’t she? Meanwhile she had a long trip ahead of her. She sprinted toward the convenience center, unsuccessfully dodging puddles.

  The rain tried to follow her into the small building, adding to the water on the floor before she could shut the door. For a storm that was supposed to bypass Florida, Hurricane Jeff was delivering a deluge.

  She stood for a moment, letting water run off her red nylon poncho, and brushed away the drops streaming down her forehead. Her car was less than twenty feet away at the pump, but she’d still gotten soaked.

  In a hurry to be on her way before the storm worsened, she got in line behind a tall dark-haired man in a bottle green jacket. By the time she located the right credit card in her oversize canvas shoulder bag, she realized he was reading, not paying for gas.

  In fact, he was literally studying the front page of the Insider, one of the country’s sleaziest tabloids.

  “Excuse me,” she said, stepping around him and catching a glimpse of his long lean jaw and strong features— hardly the kind of profile she’d expect to see buried in a gossip rag.

  He gave a small start and hastily shoved the copy of the Insider back on the rack, as though she’d caught him doing something dirty. Without meeting her gaze, he hurried over to the beverage case.

  There was something unusual about the way he moved—an ease that was hard to define. She’d never seen anyone who looked less like a tabloid junkie, even though she hadn’t had a good look at his face.

  “The power of the fake news,” she muttered under her breath, annoyed by her own curiosity. What was so interest
ing in the Insider?

  She ignored the bored-looking boy waiting to take her card and quickly scanned the tabloid headlines. She didn’t think it was the story on aliens landing in Ohio that had him so intrigued. It had to be the other page-one story: Soap Heiress Dumps Prince Max for Bullfighter.

  Darcy Wolridge shocked friends and family by eloping with the idol of the Spanish bullring, Jose Perez, amidst rumors she was number one on Prince Max’s list of prospective brides.

  The brokenhearted Maximilian of Schwanstein is believed to be in the U.S. shopping for a bride. Who will be the lucky lady now that lovely Darcy has shattered his hopes?

  A huge grainy picture showed the heiress draped on the shoulder of a macho-looking guy in a snakeskin jacket. The article was continued on page eleven, but Leigh had seen enough. Darcy and the prince had been an item for weeks in the fairy-tale world of the tabloids. Leigh didn’t want to read some sappy fiction about Maximilian’s broken heart.

  Her article about the prince would be classy—if she could find him. And if he’d talk to her.

  Her credentials from Celebrity magazine carried more weight than an Insider reporter’s, but only because she worked for the hippest gossip magazine around.

  A magazine that served up content in print, online and TV. Both magazines chased the rich, the famous and the ridiculous, but Prince Max could change all that for her.

  If she could convince him to give her a serious insightful interview, it might be her ticket to a better job. She’d have a good chance at moving to Issues, owned by the same media conglomerate as Celebrity, but a world away in content.

  Their writers didn’t ride in limos, either, but neither did they have to write about rock stars in rehab and supermodels’ skin secrets.

  First she had to find the prince. All she had to go on was a tip from her uncle Paul Donovan in West Palm Beach. An avid stamp collector, he’d picked up a rumor on the Internet that the prince might pay a visit to the president of the Schwanstein Stamp Collectors Society.