by Leo, Rosanna
Or was she supposed to take the high road and be a friend?
She stared at Amber, the woman who’d been her bosom buddy for years. The old Winn would have rushed to console her, would have yanked out a tub of Hägen-Daz, or something stronger, and they would have cursed mankind while getting pleasantly tipsy on Mint Chocolate Chip and merlot.
Only Winn hadn’t had a real friend in some time. Somewhere along the way, she’d become the stand-in, a woman who seemed to have it all together, but acted at being friends. She’d sneered at her brides, thinking them incapable of maintaining friendships, but perhaps she’d been at fault, too. It was easy to blame the theater for fleeting connections, but maybe she should have tried harder. And maybe, when Amber took up with her dad, she should have sat them both down and had a difficult conversation.
Only she’d never been big on confrontation. Her history with Mike proved that.
Perhaps being a stand-in in life no long worked for her.
She knew one thing for sure. Even though her job had led her to Patrick, her role at Margie’s agency no longer satisfied her. In fact, she sort of wished she had a clerical job in a nice office somewhere.
Sighing, she stared at Amber, knowing she had to say something. She got the sense her professional-bridesmaid speeches wouldn’t cut muster in this situation.
She glanced at Patrick. He nodded and smiled.
Sitting next to Amber on the couch, she put a hand on her leg. “You’re not a fool. You made some bad decisions. I have, too. We can’t let them define us.”
This time, when she looked at Patrick, his smile grew wider and his eyes shone with pride.
Amber sucked in a breath. “Oh, Winn. I’ve been such a bad friend. I’m so sorry. Will you ever forgive me?” She held out her arms.
Winn stared at her outstretched arms. After a strange moment in which she felt a burden slip away, she hugged Amber. “I’m willing to try.”
Patrick remained a discreet distance away and allowed them to blubber in each other’s arms some more. However, after a few minutes, he approached, wielding Winn’s wooden spoon. “Ladies, I don’t know about you, but all this forgiveness has made me hungry. Spaghetti all around?” He arched a brow at Winn, looking for her okay.
“I don’t know,” said Amber. “I don’t want to wear out my welcome.”
Winn squeezed her hand. “Stay. It’s just spaghetti.”
Amber excused herself and went to the washroom to freshen up.
Patrick put his arms around Winn’s waist and tapped her bottom with the wooden spoon. “I’m proud of you.”
“Well, it doesn’t mean I’m going shoe shopping with her or sharing all my secrets. I don’t know if I’m ready for that yet.”
“It doesn’t matter. You did the right thing. The rest will sort itself out.” He wrapped her in a tight bear hug. “Although between you and me, I do wonder about our families. They’d give the folks on General Hospital a run for their money.”
“Does that mean you watch General Hospital?”
“I admit to nothing, Busby.” His lips compressed in mock anger and he gave her bum another, harder tap with the wooden spoon. “I like this spoon. I think it’s coming to bed with us later.”
Winn just smiled and didn’t argue.
Chapter 11
“I appreciate you coming in on such short notice.”
Winn smiled at Margie. Her boss had called her in for an “emergency meeting.” She knew her employer had been miffed over Patrick killing the Player article but she’d agreed the magazine might not be the best to represent her agency anyway. Aside from that, she couldn’t imagine why Margie would need to meet with her in person. She normally sent her details on upcoming wedding gigs by e-mail. In fact, Winn had done a couple more since she and Patrick had become an item.
An item. She rolled her eyes at the old-fashioned term. Still, she wasn’t quite sure what to call them as a unit. They’d been sleeping together for about three weeks now. In fact, he’d already suggested it might be prudent for her to keep some of her things at his townhome, just as he’d taken to leaving some of his clothes and toiletries at her place.
Even though Enid cautioned her on a regular basis to take things slowly with Patrick, Winn caught herself smiling all the time. He made her happy and she found herself finding excuses to do little things for him during the course of the day, to make him happy, too. And every night, when they fell asleep together, she knew more than ever that she’d tumbled head over heels in love with him.
In love. A couple of months ago, she wouldn’t have believed it.
Of course, neither of them had said the words yet, but she tasted their sweetness as they teased the tip of her tongue. She’d caught them as they almost slipped out of his mouth a couple of times. His bewildered gaze told her time and again.
She somehow understood he hadn’t voiced the words yet out of respect for her past. He knew she’d been hurt. In fact, she’d given him all the gory details of her almost-wedding. Her frantic need to strip herself of her wedding dress and feel the hug of regular clothes again. Her hushed, awkward words with Will, Mike’s brother, as he attempted to explain what might be going on in Mike’s head.
Her fear she was unlovable.
Patrick had assured her of the opposite.
Despite not hearing those three words, life was good. In fact, she hadn’t even had panic attacks at the last couple of weddings. Perhaps she’d finally gotten over her bizarre allergy to matrimonial bliss.
“Winn, did you hear me?” Margie asked. “You seem to be in your own little world.”
“My apologies. I’m a bit distracted.”
“So you’ll do the wedding?”
Boy, she’d really tuned out. “I’m sorry. Which wedding?”
“This Saturday. Ava left me in a lurch. She was scheduled to take this one but flew off to Aruba on a last-minute holiday.” Margie shook her head. “If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s people who don’t keep their commitments. When Ava gets back from globe-trotting, she’ll find she’s out of a job.” She exhaled and smiled at Winn. “That’s what I love about you. Always reliable.”
“Thanks.” She didn’t mind squeezing in a wedding this Saturday. Patrick had said something about taking her to the Distillery District farmer’s market, but she figured they could do it Sunday. She’d give him a call as soon as she left the office.
“Great. Let me confirm with the bride while I have you. She was fit to be tied when Ava backed out.” Margie picked up her phone and dialed a number. “Stacy? It’s Margie Kent. Look, I have a fabulous new stand-in bridesmaid for you.” She smiled at Winn. “Absolutely. She’s my very best. I know she won’t let either of us down. I’ll text you her information in a few. Now you go enjoy your pedicure and leave the rest to us. Ciao.”
Winn stood. “Great. We’re all confirmed. I’ll look for your e-mail with the details.”
Margie held up a hand and rummaged in her desk drawer. “Just a minute, Winn. I have the wedding details right here. It’ll save me an e-mail later.” She pulled out an embossed, eggshell-white envelope and handed it to her. “Here you go.”
Winn took it but only gave it a cursory glance to inspect the eye-catching silver scrollwork around the script. Lovely. Just the sort of design she might have chosen. She shoved it in her purse. “Okay, thanks.”
Margie stood. “Winn, darling. You’re an absolute star. I think it’s about time we start talking raises. You’ve earned it.”
“Thanks, Margie.”
As Winn left the office and headed to the subway stop, she considered her job situation. Before she’d even taken a seat on the northbound subway, she was feeling pangs of guilt stabbing into her chest. Ever since talking to Amber, since growing closer to Patrick, something about her role as a stand-in bridesmaid felt wrong. Although Margie’s business was booming, the whole scenario now felt uncomfortable. Like a pebble wedged in her shoe.
Who was she kidding? It was a sham.
She no longer wanted to perpetuate her position as a substitute friend. It didn’t feel right.
Patrick had been encouraging her to look elsewhere for work. “You’re the genuine article, Busby,” he’d said a couple of times. “Why play at being friends? You have lots of people who care about you. You’re worth better.”
It was a message Mike had never given her. When he’d left her at the altar, he’d let her know, in no uncertain terms, that she was second best. A place marker until someone more exciting came along.
A stand-in.
The idea of being one at work now left a tinny taste in her mouth, like sucking on a paper cut to ease the pain and swallowing yucky blood. Unpalatable, despite the fact it kept her in ten-dollar lipsticks and rent money.
However, she didn’t feel like returning to the soul-crushing world of the theater either.
She supposed her job as a stand-in would have to do for now, until she found something else.
* * * *
That night at dinner, Winn didn’t joke with him so much. She usually had a snappy comeback for his comments, but tonight she seemed pensive. Patrick watched as she pushed her omelet around on her plate, separating the chucks of green pepper from the bits of tomato.
“Hey,” he said. “I know I’m a shitty cook, but I make a mean omelet. Don’t you like it?”
She managed a grin. “You make an awesome omelet. I guess I’m just not hungry, after all.”
He put his own plate aside and stood, moving behind her. Putting his hands on her shoulders, he proceeded to give her a good rub. Her shoulders, tight balls of tension if he’d ever felt them, loosened under his touch and she let her head fall back. As she closed her eyes, he leaned down and kissed her forehead. “What’s up, Busby? This can’t be because you had to postpone our date at the farmer’s market. Although, personally, I’m devastated.”
Her chest rose and fell in a quiet laugh and she opened her eyes. “I guess I’m just not keen on this professional-bridesmaid gig anymore.”
He let go of her shoulders and moved in front of her, crouching. “Then do something else.”
“I don’t know what yet.”
“You’ll think of something.”
“But in the meantime, I have to pay my rent.”
So move in with me. He wanted to say the words. He really did. But no matter how much he wanted to keep Winn in his bed, he was always careful not to rush her. God only knew, he’d wanted to share his feelings with her for some time. The feelings that kept him up late at night, that kept his stomach gurgling with wonder and happiness. However, she’d been hurt before, and he didn’t want to give her an excuse to run out of his life.
After all, he loved her.
And he didn’t want to scare her away.
“It’ll all work out in the end. I promise.” He ran a hand up her thigh, loving the fullness of her flesh. “Look at me. I almost have a job again.”
As soon as Gloria Dietrich’s admission became public, along with her husband’s bad behavior, Patrick’s contacts seemed eager to speak with him again. Even Joe at the World wanted to have coffee. And coffee with Joe was basically a job offer. Scheduled to meet him tomorrow, Patrick couldn’t wait to see what he put on the table.
“I’m excited for you.”
“I’m excited you’re here with me.”
“Patrick.”
“I mean it. You make me happy, Winn.”
Her face did that adorable crinkly thing, the same expression she assumed when commercials featuring kittens appeared on TV. Only her kitten look was all for him and he loved it. It made him feel important, big and warm, like Prometheus bringing fire to humankind.
He stood and pulled her with him, enfolding her in a hug. Her scent, a powdery, rose-petal perfume, claimed his senses and he breathed deeply. Forget food and drink. He could live on her scent and on her touch. They nourished him as nothing else did. And if his touch made her feel a fraction of the same pleasure, he’d give it to her until his body expired.
That thought in mind, he led her to the couch and they tumbled onto it, kissing and bumping noses.
Life was good.
It got even better when she straddled him there and pulled her shirt over her head.
Patrick grinned. He so loved this woman.
* * * *
They lay, tangled on the couch, and Patrick combed his fingers through her hair. “Hey,” he said, nuzzling her head. “You never told me the deal with the next wedding. More pirates? No. Let me guess. Zombies. A zombie wedding.”
“I certainly hope not.” She laughed. “Actually, I didn’t really look at the details. I suppose I should.”
He slapped her ass. “Where is it? Let’s have a laugh.”
Smiling, she got up from the couch and walked over to where she’d stashed her purse by the door. Patrick took the opportunity to ogle her naked wiggle and whistled when she put a little swing into it for him.
“Busby, you have a luscious ass.”
With a coquettish wink, she bent over at the waist and stuck her luscious ass up in the air as she searched for the wedding invitation. When she retrieved the envelope, she waved it at him.
He let out a growl. “Get over here, woman.”
She walked back, holding the invitation over her breasts, as if trying to preserve her modesty. It hardly mattered when her beautiful pussy was on display for him, still wet with her juices. Fuck. He had half a mind to spread those gorgeous legs again and eat her until she cried for mercy.
He sat up on the couch and made room for her between his legs, patting the couch in front of him. She sat with her back to him, nestling her bottom against his crotch. Jesus. As she opened the envelope and read the invitation, he fondled her breast with one hand and slid his other hand between her legs. His fingers met with her slick seam and penetrated easily. Still so wet, still hungry for him. Fucking awesome.
She sucked in a breath and read out loud. “‘Together with their parents, Michael Robinson and Stacy Blair’…oh, my God…”
“I know, baby. You feel so good.”
“No. Wait.”
He circled her clit, so desperate to see her come again. “I can’t wait.”
She wiggled in her seat and pulled away. “Patrick, stop!”
Her cry yanked him out of his lusty haze. “What’s wrong?”
She dropped the invitation, as if the paper was on fire. She then bent over to retrieve it and scanned the script. As she stared at the pretty paper, her gaze taking in each whorl of silver script, her face paled. She must have reread it a couple of times because he saw her gaze flit from the bottom to the top of the invitation, as if not believing what was written.
He pulled her onto his lap and took the paper from her, reading it. “I don’t understand. Why are you upset?”
“Because this man…Michael Robinson…is Shithead Mike. And Margie just contracted me to act as his bride’s maid of honor.”
“No, Winn. It can’t be. Surely there’s more than one Mike Robinson in Toronto.”
“But his girlfriend, his fiancée, is Stacy Blair. That was her name, Patrick. Because of this woman, he left me at the altar. And now I have to stand up for them at their wedding…in front of people I used to know.” She gulped at air. “Oh, God. Can’t breathe…”
Even as he passed a comforting hand over her back, even as he sought to help her, he could tell her throat was closing. Her face turned red and white and red again, and he could almost envision the walls of her trachea as they thickened and swelled. She opened and closed her mouth, in an attempt to retain air in her lungs.
Shit! She hadn’t had a panic attack in some time. He wouldn’t let her endure one over fucking Shithead Mike.
Keeping his voice as calm as possible, Patrick held her gaze. “Breathe with me, Winn, sweetheart. In. Out. In. Out.”
Tears formed in her eyes but her chest still did not rise.
“Dammit, Winn! Do not let this bastard defeat you. Do you hear me? Now, breat
he, or I’ll turn you over my knee and paddle your cute ass.”
The hollow at the base of her throat went concave, as if she were trying to suck in air. She opened her mouth, like a dying fish, and then let out a huge breath that whooshed out of her. All at once, she clutched at air, her chest rising and falling, and made loud sighing noises.
His heart pounding, Patrick touched her cheek and mimicked her breaths, in an attempt to steady hers. Still far too erratic for his liking, he watched her for a minute or so to ensure she didn’t suffer another attack. He then bundled her in the spare blanket he kept on the couch and carried her to his bedroom. He lay her down and joined her on the bed, holding her close.
When he was certain her breathing pattern had returned to normal, he said, “You are not doing this wedding, Winn. Not in a million years.”
“Margie confirmed it while I was there,” she whispered. “She told the bride…Stacy…that I’d be there.”
“I don’t fucking care if Margie told her you have seventeen toes. You are not going to this wedding.” He dragged her closer to his body, all too conscious of how she shook.
And all too aware of how his muscles trembled with fury.
* * * *
“What do you mean I can’t get out of this wedding?” Winn demanded.
Margie drummed her perfectly manicured fingers on her desk. She blinked once and smiled. “I think I was clear when I answered you the first time, Winn. You’re booked now.”
“Didn’t you hear a word I said? That man left me at the altar. For her. I can’t be her bridesmaid, not even her fake bridesmaid.”
Margie’s smile barely faltered, the edges barely registering a downward twitch. “I would have appreciated knowing this information before I hired you. You gave me no indication you had trouble with the functions of the job, and now I discover you’ve been having panic attacks?”
“I know. I’m sorry, but I needed the job and the panic attacks didn’t start right away.”
“But they’ve continued. Winn, this is not the image I want my girls to present.”
