Marrying the Wedding Crasher

by Melinda Curtis

  Vince studied her drawing, leaning his dark head of hair closer. And then he leaned back. “I’m not sure how he plans to build those balconies.”

  Harley gave a nervous chuckle and closed the sketchbook. “Me, either. It’s a purely creative drawing. Meant to be entered in a competition to build my name and my company’s reputation.”

  “But if you only enter competitions, when do you get to build something?”

  “That’s just it. The most well-respected architects win awards with designs that cross the limits of modern building capabilities into no man’s land. And then reel their designs back to what’s possible and then sell and build real structures, to make a career.” She hugged the sketchbook to her chest. “This design isn’t pulled back enough and my boss is convinced someone can come up with an idea that will make it viable, still retaining this look. My career...well, if more people knew I was attached to this mess, my career would officially be over.” In four years, it would all come to light before a company hired her, during that time when they did their due diligence and checked into her background and references.

  Vince’s brow wrinkled. “To make balconies like that float on air, you use cantilevers.”

  “These aren’t that kind of balcony.” She moved her hand back and forth, as if tracing a path up a switch-backed road. “They weave in and out, and up and down, like the swirled layers in clouds. There aren’t rows. There are clusters of seats in bends in the structure.”

  He touched her cheek. “Someone will come up with a compromise.”

  “Maybe. Hopefully. But it won’t be me. Because...” She cleared her throat. “Well...what if I wasn’t cut out for architecture in the first place?” She looked into Vince’s eyes, searching for reassurance.

  He put his hands on her upper arms and gave her a gentle smile. “What if you’re destined to dream on the creative side and leave a trail of breadcrumbs for future generations of architects? Never crossing over to mundane realities like ranch homes and four-story office buildings.”

  No butterflies fluttered.

  Instead there was just a feeling in her chest that she was right to have defended this man. And that she’d defend him for the rest of her days, even after he broke off their fake engagement and their fake relationship.

  Even if she fell in love with him and he broke her heart.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  VINCE LET HARLEY sleep a little longer while he showered.

  When it was her turn in the bathroom, Vince sat on the floor of their room, his back against his bed. He brought out his photo album and stared at the picture of his mother. How hurt she’d be to learn Joe and Gabe wanted nothing to do with her. Or maybe he was reading her all wrong. Maybe she never thought about her sons, never longed to pick up the phone and call or to take a trip to California to visit.

  Vince tucked the photo album in his suitcase and stared at the rose-patterned wallpaper on the wall behind Harley’s bed. He missed the job site. He missed being bone-tired at the end of the day and falling asleep almost as soon as his body went horizontal.

  The corner of Harley’s sketchbook was visible beneath her pillow. Her sketch of the playhouse had been unlike anything he’d seen before, much less anything he’d tried to build. He wouldn’t mind looking at it again.

  Vince stayed put on the floor.

  The shower water was still on.

  Vince checked the time on his phone. Nearly eight. He checked for messages. None. And then when he was done checking, he reached for Harley’s sketchbook.

  She’d flipped through it so fast, he hadn’t gotten a good look at it. The first few pages shocked him. Structures that looked like lopsided, flattened muffins. An apartment complex that looked like a swirling soft-serve ice-cream cone. And then her visions took on a more sophisticated feel. The muffin looked healthier. The ice cream like gracefully sculpted snow. He landed on a sketch of her theater, covering a two-page spread. The orchestra was hidden beneath the stage. The walls undulated toward the back in vertical waves. And the balconies ebbed and flowed like a ribbon of water, sometimes pooling in a deep bend and offering ten seats together, sometimes straightening for only two seats across. The heights were different, too. Some sections higher, some lower.

  It wasn’t the best use of space. You’d get more seats in a traditional design. But it was fascinating. She’d created curved theater boxes instead of a usual downsloping balcony. And nothing seemed to hold it up.

  A turn of the page revealed a house with a roofline like the big hill on a roller coaster. A gentle climb up and a dramatic drop down. It was simultaneously sophisticated and fun. Whoever lived in that house would need to be confident in their own skin, because people would either love it or hate it.

  Vince came down on the side of love, if only because it would be so much fun to make.

  The shower had stopped.

  He returned Harley’s book beneath her pillow and searched the internet with his phone for any information on the architect who’d inspired Harley. They both had the same loathing of right angles. And then he searched for information on the companies that built those designs.

  Before Vince had a chance to find any companies in the US, there was a soft knock on the door.

  “Vince.” It was Gabe.

  Vince stepped into the hallway to talk to his brother, who was grinning like he’d just been promoted. “You’re talking to me?”

  “I’m never going to stop talking to my brother.” Gabe’s grin turned into a half frown. “But, hey—” that grin went back on high beam “—I found the perfect gift for the bride and groom.” Without waiting to see if Vince was interested, Gabe headed toward the lobby.

  Before they got there, an old woman in a blue dress stepped into their path. She had gunmetal-gray hair swept behind her neck and a severe expression reminiscent of their former high school principal. Her bony hands were gripped in front of her as if she needed that grip to hold herself together. “Well, if it isn’t the Messina boys.”

  Gabe halted in his tracks. “Mrs. Lambridge?”

  If this was Mrs. Lambridge, she was Brit and Reggie’s grandmother, and the sourpuss who’d looked down her nose at the Messinas since the dawn of time.

  “I know how you boys like to joyride.” She may have been old, but she still knew how to put people in their place. “I told Reggie to lock up my car keys.”

  Gabe held up his hands as if the old woman had a gun. “Little Joe took your car, ma’am. And Vince here dared him to do it.” Gabe flashed a sly glance at Vince. He still knew how to throw his brother under the bus.

  “In all fairness, Mrs. Lambridge...” It was a struggle to keep any amount of civility in Vince’s tone. “You used to leave your keys in the ignition and you walked everywhere. That car practically begged to be taken out for a ride, just to clean out the carburetor. Joe was doing you a favor.”

  “That’s what your uncle said.” Mrs. Lambridge didn’t sound as if she believed it, then or now.

  Since Uncle Turo was currently in the big house, the two Messina men kept silent.

  “Turo’s argument wasn’t what swayed me not to press charges.” She went on in a triumphant voice the way villains did as they spilled all their dastardly plans. “It was the idea that sitting behind bars for an afternoon was punishment enough for a boy. I believe Joseph learned a lesson.”

  “He did.” Gabe nodded. “Look at him today. About to marry your granddaughter.”

  “But you seemed not to have learned anything.” Her snooty words echoed in the foyer. She raised a bony hand and pointed to the door. “There’s a motorcycle on my front walk.”

  Vince frowned at his brother. Gabe definitely could not be taught.

  “That’s ours,” Gabe said with pride. “It’s a wedding present for Joe and Brit.”

  “I suggest you look at her bridal registry. They still
need a cake plate.” She walked toward the dining room with the careful steps of the aged, pausing in the arch. “I don’t want to see that motorbike on my property again. Understood?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” they both said smartly.

  Her footsteps echoed on the hardwood and then became muffled when she went into the kitchen.

  Gabe shuddered, and beelined to the door. Vince gladly followed, relieved until he saw what had upset Mrs. Lambridge.

  Shades of Easy Rider.

  A bright red chopper with ape hanger handlebars stood on the walk. It was the kind of motorcycle people rode for show, not comfort. The handlebars stretched more than two feet above the gas tank, leaving the grips and controls at head height.

  “Ta-da.” Gabe stared at the bike as if it was his first love, Franny.

  Vince stopped on the bottom step, unwilling to stoop to Gabe’s level. “What is this?”

  “It’s called free and I couldn’t resist.” Gabe rubbed the teardrop gas tank as if it was Aladdin’s lamp. “It doesn’t run, but you’re going to work your magic to make it run, and then we’ll give it to the happy couple. They can use it to tour up and down the coast.”

  “This isn’t a motorcycle for touring farther than down the block.” Vince could feel a scowl etching itself into his face. “We talked about this. We decided to get Joe and Brit a riding mower, not a motorcycle.”

  “But...” Gabe held out his arms to encompass the bike as if it was a desired prize to be won. “It was free.”

  “It wasn’t free. You traded something for it,” Vince guessed. It was a skill Gabe had learned from Uncle Turo, otherwise known as Prisoner 05045-123 in the federal penitentiary.

  “So what if I did?” Gabe scoffed. It took more than a poke at his technique to rile him. “The other day I noticed Grandpa Phil was having a yard sale. He had a riding mower—”

  Anger snarled its way up Vince’s throat.

  “I went back today and he gave me that mower for free.”

  Vince refrained from rolling his eyes. He knew better than to expect Gabe to stop at one trade. “And then...”

  “I took the mower back to the garage and put it on the battery charger, in case it was merely a dead battery.”

  Vince came down the last step. “And this thing?”

  “While the mower was charging, I drove by a house a couple of blocks over where I’d seen this beauty sitting in the side yard. The old woman who answered the door said she’d give me the bike—free!—if I mowed her yards. You fix that mower to give to the bride and groom, and we’ll own this cycle.”

  Vince had to admire his brother’s skill, even if he didn’t always use his powers for good. “Do the Marines appreciate your talent?”

  “No, sir.” Gabe rolled his shoulders back into military attention. “I’m on permanent report, although, not that it matters when my guys show up with what the troops need.”

  Vince took in the sleek lines of the gas tank, noted the rust on the mufflers and the grime on the carburetor. It wouldn’t take much to make the bike shine brighter than a new nickel. The inner workings might present a challenge, but to ride all that power, to experience all that freedom...

  It was irresponsible. He would not be sucked into one of Gabe’s schemes. “We need to take the motorcycle back.”

  Gabe’s grin fell.

  “We can give Joe and Brit the riding mower as a wedding gift.” Vince stopped dreaming of the open road and started thinking of his younger brother. “This chopper...it’ll upset Joe.”

  A small motorcycle that was one step above a moped turned onto their street. The rider wore tight, red, riding leathers, the kind professional racers favored. He brought his bike to a wobbly stop near the curb and removed his helmet. It was Irwin. “Saw Gabe pushing that motorcycle over here. I’m ready to ride with your posse.”

  Vince and Gabe exchanged glances.

  Harley joined them. She wore a blue-velvet skirt, a gauzy blue blouse and a hesitant smile that said she either regretted telling him of her failure or she regretted the fact that they—the recently engaged couple—had an audience. It was a toss-up as to whether she’d go back inside or come forward and kiss him to put on a show for Gabe.

  She yawned and came forward, resting her hand briefly on Vince’s shoulder before taking in the monstrosity Gabe had succumbed to.

  “What in the world is that thing?” Harley’s gaze landed on Gabe’s chopper, but Irwin misunderstood which bike she referred to.

  “This is Barbara.” Irwin got off his bike and took a step toward them. His motorcycle almost fell over since the old man had neglected to put the stand down. He caught it just in time. “She kicks gear. But she’s nothing like that hog.” He pointed to Gabe’s find. “That thing is a monster. A classic. Aged to perfection. Like me.” He yanked up his too tight leather pants.

  Harley squeaked.

  Vince kept his eyes on Irwin’s face, sucking back a smile. “How long have you been riding?”

  “Just a few months. Before my wife died...” Irwin paused, fighting the face-crumple of grief. “She didn’t let me do anything dangerous. And I didn’t want to make her worry.” This last was spoken softly, without the bravado Irwin normally exuded.

  “You loved your wife enough to stop doing something you loved.” Vince spoke to Irwin, but he made sure Gabe was listening. “Joe’s made a lot of changes to his lifestyle for Sam.”

  “Joe is boring.” Irwin hitched up one knee and tried to sit on the chopper. His red leather pants were so tight, he couldn’t get his leg over without Gabe’s assistance. When he was settled on the seat, he flashed a grin decorated with silver crowns. “Joe isn’t like us. We’re men of action. Men who take risks and live life on the edge.” He had to stand on his toes to reach the hand grips.

  Gabe gestured to Vince, as if daring him to destroy the Messina image by refusing a free motorcycle.

  “Living on the edge is tiring.” Vince wasn’t perpetuating any image, edgy or otherwise. “Gabe just brought this bike over for me to admire. It’s not ours.” And the look he gave Gabe said as much.

  “That’s a shame,” Harley said. “I bet Brit could use it to make a mermaid for her art display.”

  “Ahh,” both Messinas said at the same time, having found common ground.

  Vince looked at Harley and mouthed, Thank you.

  “This hog is a lady magnet, not art.” Irwin released the handlebars and sat back down. “Don’t destroy this road-worthy beauty by making it into a mermaid.”

  “Not even one with red riding-leather flippers?” Harley teased.

  “Not even.” Irwin was having none of it.

  A red Thunderbird convertible zipped around the corner. A very thin woman with a very tight white bun waved as she passed.

  “Did you see that? Rose waved at me,” Irwin said breathlessly. “I have to have this bike. Rose would go out with me if I had a chopper like this.”

  The motorcycle was too big for the small man. He’d kill himself before he ever rolled out of the driveway.

  “You know what might be better than this bike to win Rose?” Gabe had that look in his eye, the one that said he was onto something.

  “What?” Irwin was all ears.

  “Pointers from the ultimate chick magnet.” Gabe tapped his chest.

  “You?” Irwin stood and gripped the handlebars again. “You’d help me?”

  “I’m out.” Harley skipped past the chopper and reached the sidewalk, turning toward the town square.

  Vince didn’t want to wait to hear what cockamamie scheme Gabe had hatched, but his brother caught his arm. “I know you think I run through life without considering the consequences, and that might be mostly true.” He glanced over his shoulder at Vince’s fake fiancée. “But consider the consequences of your actions with her before you take this farce any farther.”r />
  “I have.” In addition to fixing her tile saw, Vince was going to help Harley return to architecture. He just had to figure out how. He hurried after Harley and, when he reached her, he said the first thing that came to mind.

  “Hey, you ran off before I could kiss you goodbye.”

  * * *

  “ALL RIGHT. Kiss me like you can’t live without me, honey,” Harley said with forced cheer for their audience. And here she’d thought a simple touch in front of Gabe would suffice.

  Harley moved closer to Vince to face the music of the engagement she’d created, smiling when Vince’s face came into view, so familiar, so handsome, so sad that he’d never be hers. At least, not outside of Harmony Valley.

  Vince’s head jerked back. His body didn’t tilt toward hers and the offered kiss.

  Did he have a case of stage fright?

  She checked. Two houses back, Gabe was paying no attention to them as he talked animatedly to Irwin, probably imparting those love tips he’d promised. Two houses ahead, a toddler with dark brown hair shrieked happily as he ran through a fountain sprinkler with a small golden dog. And in front of her, Vince stood as if waiting for his cue. It was the perfect time to convince Gabe they loved each other despite their differences, that they cared, and yada-yada.

  She’d expected Vince’s eyes to shine with humor or his lips to turn upward impishly. Instead his eyes regarded her apologetically and his lips formed a firm straight line.

  There were no butterflies. No rapid heartbeat. No feeling of connection like they’d had while discussing her wreck of a career.

  Literally, she’d never faced a man and seen him be less interested in her affection.

  How had she fallen from homecoming queen and the girl most likely to succeed to a woman living on the edge of ruin obligated to bestow an unwanted kiss?

  Oh, she knew how. She could start that hypothesis with, Well, I envisioned floating balconies...

  “Let’s get this over with,” she mumbled, leaning toward Vince.

  “Stop.” He placed his hands on her shoulders.