Stealing the Bride

by Lee, Nadia

  Fuck you, brain. You’re a dick.

  Still, I grit my teeth, stumble to the bathroom and down a handful of aspirin. Two breaths later, I decide that they’re taking too damn long to kick in. I need an aspirin IV.

  I lift my head and see my reflection, then shudder. I look like a horror movie villain. Bloodshot eyes. Shit, even the skin around my eyes is bloodshot. Dark circles the size of moon craters. Hair sticking up like I French-kissed an electrical socket. For all I remember—or don’t—I might’ve done just that.

  This is why I don’t drink a lot.

  But somehow, last night…it just seemed fitting. I taste a bitterness that has nothing to do with old scotch as my gaze lands on the bottles of lotion Skittles left behind. I thought she’d come back for them…and we’d have a chance to talk when she was calmer. But that hasn’t happened.

  Why the fuck not, Skittles? Why won’t you even listen to me?

  I close the bathroom door, strip and shower. I need something to make me feel human again, even though I’m feeling deader than a desiccated zombie. A long, hot shower is somewhat refreshing, so now I feel like a brand-new zombie, rather than a hundred-year-old fossil.

  After wrapping myself in a robe, I get out. Nate’s managed to get himself sitting up on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands. “Do you think I can tell her I’m too sick to be auctioned off?”

  “You might dissuade Georgette the psycho from bidding if you throw up on stage.”

  He perks up a little.

  Only Nate would seriously think about tossing his cookies on stage in front of everyone. On the other hand, if I had an ex like Georgette after me…

  I let him use the bathroom so he won’t embarrass me. I even let him borrow my clothes, because friends don’t let friends go out in stale, scotch-smelling outfits. Then we go down to the kitchen to rehydrate. Nate looks like he’s headed for the gallows.

  “You know, the auction won’t be that bad,” I say, making some dry toast to help settle our guts. It’s supposed to soak up all the extra poison.

  He munches on his slice. “How come?”

  “You have a backup plan, right? Your assistant is going to bid on you, just to make sure.”

  “Something like that.”

  “So you’re safe. I’m not. Georgette might decide to bid on me instead.”

  “No, she won’t. You’re not her type.”

  “She has a type?”

  “Yeah. Your first name needs to start with an N. Some fortune-teller told her it would guarantee her happiness.”

  And here I thought I had some crazy exes.

  When it’s time to head out, I grab an Uber, since Nate and I are in no condition to drive. Nate must be feeling terrible, because he doesn’t complain. Not even when it turns out our pickup is a Ford Taurus with a huge rust spot on the trunk.

  But the moment I arrive at the Aylster Hotel, where the auction’s supposed to take place, I decide I should’ve told Elizabeth I died and couldn’t make it.

  Because the hotel contains memories. When Skittles and I were bubbling with the excitement of the first time and high on our fantastic personal chemistry. I still have both when I think of her, but she doesn’t. If she did, she would’ve called by now. And she definitely would know that I’d never do anything to hurt her.

  Now my heart hurts more than my head. Maybe I’ll die for real and get out of the auction that way.

  Nate and I drag each other toward the area where we’re supposed to gather. I spot Elizabeth coming toward us with her mouth slightly parted.

  Despite the expression of shock, she glows. And is perfectly put together. Like…her skin’s perfect, her makeup is perfect and her outfit is perfect. Even her hair is perfectly golden and curled. The only things not photo-ready are her gray eyes, dark with disappointment.

  If she’d just yell, that’d be easier, but nope. That’s not in her repertoire.

  “Who’s going to bid on you looking like that?” she says, her voice soft. “Especially you, Court.”

  “Sorry.” I sniff and look down. My left shoe is untied. Isn’t that fascinating? “If you’re mad, I can just write a check and not terrorize the audience.”

  She sighs heavily. “My makeup artist hasn’t left yet. She’s going to fix you up.”

  I jerk my head, then wince as a shard sticks into a spot behind my eye. “You’re going to make me look like a girl?” Is it really too late to get sick? Maybe I can scrape a piece of gum off a sidewalk and chew it. Die of some horrible L.A. street disease.

  “You too, Nate,” she says.

  “Me?” He spreads his arms. “Come on.”

  “We’re going to make you look like you weren’t out binge-drinking last night. She won’t be use mascara and eye shadow, unless you ask.” She arches an eyebrow. “You aren’t going to, are you?”

  “No,” I say slowly, still debating the merit of the street gum.

  “Then come on. I’m going to make sure I get the right price for both of you.”

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Pascal

  The hot red dress I borrowed from Curie fits me like a second skin. She also lends me a strapless push-up bra, saying it goes with a low sweetheart neckline like Klingon and grunting. (She knows me too well.) I add a silver heart pendant for luck and courage.

  I step into the luxurious Aylster Hotel and breathe in deep as the memory of my and Court’s first time floods my mind. It’s a good omen. Right? Maybe the location will remind him of how it was before.

  To be honest, I have no idea what I’m doing or how I’m going to win him. Should I put it on my credit card? Do they even take credit cards? And what the hell is my credit limit, anyway? I don’t remember, since I never charge more than I can pay off in a month.

  But is my money going to be anywhere near enough? A hundred million dollars is nothing to these people. The most I can spend is maybe two thousand.

  As I approach the ballroom, I understand what Gavin meant. Security is tight, and the guy who’s in charge—or, at least, I think he is in charge from the way he commands others—looks like he eats broken glass every morning to stay mean and sharp. I give him my ticket, and he squints like I shouldn’t be the one handing it to him. I swallow, nerves raw. Is he going to kick me out?

  “Gavin Lloyd, huh?” he says, his voice gravelly.

  My mouth dries. “I’m sorry?” How does he know who the ticket really belongs to? There’s no name on it.

  “Nothing.” He smirks. It transforms him into an even scarier horror show. “Enjoy the evening.”

  “Thanks,” I say weakly, and run inside before he changes his mind.

  Although the huge ballroom is full of people, I don’t recognize anybody. Everyone seems to know everyone else, though. The buzz of chatter is constant, occasional laughter breaking the hum of words. Nobody seems to care I’m standing awkwardly by myself. No one tries to say hello, either, which is fine by me. I’m too nervous to make small talk, as I realize I’m hopelessly outclassed. Curie has great taste, and the dress is gorgeous, but it’s nothing compared to people decked out in dresses you only see on the latest fashion magazines and who have real gemstones sparkling from their ears, throats and hands. No wonder the security guy looked at me funny. My pendant is silver, not platinum. Bet he could tell from a glance.

  I pluck a glass of white wine off a passing tray and start to run my hand down the dress until I realize my palms are sweaty. Ugh. This is not good. But I’m nervous as hell. Worse than going in for the interview with Gavin. My belly’s a full-blown swarm of locusts, gnawing at my courage.

  He’s going to laugh at you. He’s going to pick somebody else. Somebody more like…that woman over there covered in diamonds.

  Shut up, I tell my negative self. Who cares if she has more diamonds than Africa? She probably can’t do matrix algebra or speak Klingon or be happy watching Buffy while sharing a bowl of popcorn. Besides, didn’t Nate say I make Court happy because I shoot rainbows or whatever? I do
n’t know exactly what that means, but I’m sure it’s positive. Guys don’t talk about stuff like that unless they’re at least seventy-five percent serious about the girl. Do they?

  Soon an MC goes up on the stage, and people start sitting down. I take a seat in a corner and take a deep breath as the MC talks about the great cause they’re trying to fund with the auction. She also speaks of the surprise substitute bachelor, who’s not on the program but is bound to make everyone’s heart flutter. Harcourt Blackwood is not only the most endearing, but one of the hottest and most eligible bachelors in the country. “Surely, all the ladies can agree on that,” she says with a titter, “and give him the proper welcome and love he deserves.”

  Ugh. Acid bathes my belly, and the locusts inside grow more vicious. I put a hand over it, and I swear I can feel the flutter against my palm.

  Sweat beads along my hairline. I’m barely paying attention to the MC or the men she brings to the stage. My focus is three hundred percent on the bidding. Holy shit. Most women open with a thousand at least. For some of the more sought-after men, they bid like crazy. I think some of it is ego-driven because they don’t want to lose.

  I don’t even know how much I’m supposed to bid to win Court. He’s the most perfect man. But is money enough to show him I’m in love with him?

  Probably not after you walked out on him.

  Finally he’s on the stage. I gaze at his gorgeous face. For a guy who went clubbing and drinking until he passed out the night before, he looks amazingly good. If it weren’t for the slightly bloodshot eyes, nobody would suspect anything.

  But there’s something grim about him. I’d like to think it’s because he misses me, but maybe he’s just missing a bed and some aspirin. Or maybe he doesn’t like the long, breathless introduction the MC is practically crooning into the mic.

  Finally, she says, “Now, ladies, show him some love!”

  “Five thousand,” somebody calls out in front of me. Oh my God. It’s the diamond woman. My instinct was right!

  “Five thousand one hundred,” another says.

  “Six,” the diamond woman counters.

  Damn it. I need to stop this madness before it escalates any further. Nobody’s going to get him except me, because I’m the only woman in this room who loves him for all that he is.

  “Fifty!” I say.

  Gasps go up. Court swivels his head in my direction, his eyes wide. A smile slowly brightens his face like a sunrise.

  Relief floods me until I’m feeling shaky and lightheaded. Good thing I’m seated, or I might land on my ass.

  “Oh my goodness. Fifty thousand!” The MC starts fanning herself.

  What the hell? Then I remember everyone else was bidding in the thousands. Shit. Is that why he’s smiling—because I just committed fifty thousand bucks to the charitable cause?

  She continues, “Can anybody—”

  “No, I mean fifty dollars,” I correct her. “Just fifty. Five-oh.”

  “Excuse me?” the MC says, taking a step forward. Lines form between her eyebrows, and she stares at me like I’m not speaking her language.

  I turn away from her. Court’s smile’s still there, but his brow is furrowed.

  “Fifty bucks. Plus my heart, if that’s still what you want.”

  For one horrible, terrifying, interminable heartbeat, he says nothing. He merely stares.

  Did I screw up? Am I too late?

  Suddenly, the grin on his lips widens. “Sold!” he says.

  I jump to my feet, my fists in the air, exhilaration shooting through me like a rocket. “Yes!”

  The MC sputters. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but we have six thousand on the floor.” She gestures at the diamond lady.

  “Her heart is priceless. Nobody can outbid that,” Court says, and steps off the stage. “But I’ll donate a million bucks to the children you’re raising money for.”

  Oh my God. I’m melting now. He knows exactly what to say and do to make me feel whole again.

  The crowd parts as he makes his way toward me. Then he stops three steps in front of me. “You can’t take it back, Skittles.”

  Tears of relief prickle my eyes, and I shake my head. “I won’t. Ever.”

  “Good. I love you too.”

  My breath catches in my throat. He’s telling me he loves me, and I have my man back. So I should be screaming and jumping, but instead my knees shake as tension leaves me in waves. “I love you more, Court.”

  I don’t know which one of us moves first, but his arms are around me, and I have my arms around his neck, and our mouths are fused. In the background, I hear, “But just wait until you see who’s coming next!”

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  –three weeks later

  Court

  “Oh my goodness, I’m so thrilled for you,” Esther says, clasping her hands. She’s so excited that she can hardly sit still on the comfy couch in her living room.

  Steve is studying me like a market chart he can’t decipher. “So you’re going to marry my daughter?” He nods to himself. “Well, can’t say I’m surprised. Always comes down to rings and gowns. What does Pascal think about all this?”

  “She and I are on the same page,” I say, mildly annoyed he’s suddenly acting like he cares about her opinion. It’s good that she’s out shopping with Curie, not knowing this is going on, because she might’ve said something sarcastic. But I wanted to speak with her parents first, alone, before I pop the question. Call me traditional. “Just so you know, married or not, she’s still going to do whatever she wants. That’s what I want for her.”

  Annoyance crosses his face. “What are you going to do, then? All alone in your home? It isn’t like you’re working.”

  “Steve!” Esther says.

  I raise my hand. “It’s okay. Your husband has every right to ask that before giving me his blessing.” I turn to Steve. “Look, it doesn’t matter what you say because I’m not going to be her shackles. I want to be her wings so she can soar.”

  His expression turns even more mulish. All he has to do is pout to complete the look. “Is that so?”

  “As for your question, Pascal says that my talent is making people happy. So that’s what I’ll be focusing on. I’m already looking into championing some causes in conjunction with the Pryce Family Foundation and Blackwood Energy’s charities department.” That’s about the extent of the involvement I want with Dad’s company. He’s happy—for now—because he thinks I’m giving in.

  “You could do something more important,” Steve says pettily.

  “What’s more important than doing what I’m good at, something that makes people happy?”

  “Darling, stop being stubborn and give him your blessing. I’m certainly giving mine. They’re perfect for each other.”

  Thank you, Esther. You’re going to be my favorite in-law.

  Steve purses his mouth. “Fine. You better make her happy, or I’m going to personally kick your ass.”

  Normally a lanky man in his sixties threatening me with physical violence would make me laugh. But this is a father’s sentiment, and I respect that. “Of course.”

  I scratch Nijinsky’s belly before heading out. Esther invites me to stay for tea, but I have a lot of things on my plate today.

  My phone rings just as I climb behind the wheel. Nate. “Hey, man. How’s the date?” He’s finally taking his assistant, who won him at the auction, out to Vegas. During the auction he actually said his ideal date would be a drunken orgy, although I don’t think he and she had one, drunken or otherwise.

  “It’s…good. Great. Nothing goes wrong in Vegas.”

  Probably not, especially when you’re as rich as Nate and it doesn’t matter how much you lose.

  “Hey, listen,” he says, “is a wedding ceremony valid without proper witnesses?”

  Huh? Where the hell did this come from? “I don’t know. Don’t you have lawyers on retainer for that sort of questions?”

  “I’m not asking them. Goog
le didn’t help, but I thought you might know.”

  Everything inside me stills. “Uh… Nate? Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, I told you that already. Hey, can you ask your lawyer?”

  “I don’t have a lawyer. Percy’s Dad’s lawyer.”

  “All right. Never mind.” He hangs up.

  I stare at the phone. What was that about? Then I say, “I’m doing fine, too, thanks for asking,” and start the car.

  I have her parents’ blessing. I have the ring. And I have the place (not Z, even though Tony said I could use it if I wanted). It’s going to be freakin’ perfect.

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Pascal

  When I arrive at Z with Curie after a day of shopping, we don’t go to the regular line. We go straight to the VIP line, and the huge, bearish bouncer who let us in last time smiles.

  “Hey, Pascal.”

  “Hi, Zack.” I smile back.

  Curie winks. “Hello, handsome.”

  “Handsome? What does your husband think about that?” the bouncer says. “I mean, it’s true, of course, but…”

  “Nothing, because he knows he’s the handsomest in my eyes.”

  I giggle at her deadpan delivery, but I also know it’s true. Joe and Curie are super tight, just like me and Court. Although I was worried that things might be awkward or somehow different than they were before, our relationship couldn’t be better. Curie told me it’s because every trial that doesn’t kill us makes us stronger. Not that I plan to repeat the experiment ever again.

  Zack lifts the rope, and we go inside, weaving through the pounding music and the crowd. The gang’s already on the upper level—Tony, Ivy, Yuna, Edgar, Joe and, most importantly, Court.

  He looks breathtakingly gorgeous, his eyes smiling at me. I slide next to him on the long, round seat and kiss him. “Missed you.”

  “You too.”

  “You were only apart for a few hours,” Edgar says.

  “You don’t get it because you don’t have anybody you love,” Court replies.

  “You mean, I’m a rational, normal human being.”