The Wedding Wrecker, page 1
THE WEDDING WRECKER
PENELOPE BLOOM
CONTENTS
Prologue - James
1. Emma
2. Emma
3. Emma
4. Emma
5. Emma
6. James
7. Emma
8. James
9. Emma
10. James
11. Emma
12. Emma
13. James
14. Emma
15. James
16. Emma
17. Emma
18. Emma
19. James
20. Emma
21. Emma
22. James
23. Emma
24. James
25. Emma
26. James
27. Emma
28. James
29. Emma
30. Emma
31. Epilogue - Emma
32. Epilogue - James
33. Don’t Forget To Review!
34. Orion
35. Ember
36. Orion
37. Ember
PROLOGUE - JAMES
My wife looked stunning in her white wedding dress as she moved across the reception hall. Occasionally, she stopped to mingle, give a soft smile, or say something that made people laugh.
My wife.
"Strange, isn't it?" my best friend, Derek, said.
"What's that?" I asked, eyes still locked on Katie as I tried to memorize the way she moved tonight. She noticed me looking, tucked a hair behind her ear, and winked before turning back to our guests.
Logan shifted in his chair, his dark eyes clouded as he considered his next words. "Forever. That's the idea, right? But can you really love one person forever? People change all the time. What happens if you two change in different directions?"
I gave him a soft punch on the arm. "Save it. It's my wedding night. I'm planning to enjoy forever, not sit around wondering how it'll go."
"Right. You're right," he said, but there was something in his eyes I didn't particularly like.
I licked my lips, considered asking him, and then let the topic drop as I got up to circulate around the room with my drink in hand.
"Another scotch?" The bartender held up the bottle as I passed.
I shook my head, raising my still-full glass. "Thanks. Trying to remember this night."
He smiled knowingly. "First day of the rest of your life, right?"
"Something like that."
What was it with people saying that like it was a prison sentence instead of something to celebrate?
My brother Chase clapped a hand on my shoulder, nearly making me spill my drink. "There's the man of the hour." His words were slightly slurred. "Did I mention how honored I am to be your best man?"
"Only about fifty times." I smiled, used to Chase's drunken affection. He'd always been the emotional one between us.
He stumbled slightly and caught himself on my shoulder. “Dude. Did I show you the fish I caught last weekend?”
“You told me about it,” I said, grinning. Chase was an obsessive fisherman, and always had some new trophy to brag about.
“Forty pounds,” he said, opening his phone and fumbling for his camera roll. I was watching the screen as a text popped up.
A text from my wife.
On my brother’s phone.
Only an hour after we said our vows.
I leaned forward as the world shrank in around me.
Chase’s eyebrows rose, and he drunkenly tried to swipe it away. Instead, he tapped the message and opened it for both of us to see.
I saw Katie in what looked like a bathroom stall. She had her tongue out, almost casually. She was winking at the camera and she had her wedding dress pulled down so one of her breasts was in plain view. My blurring eyes drifted to the message below.
Katie: Your turn. You look hot in that tux, so send me something for later.
Everything suddenly felt too tight. My tie. My suit. The air pressing in around me and the laughing, dancing people.
I blinked through a suffocating tangle of emotions just as I saw Katie come walking out of the bathroom hallway. She gave her dress a little tug, as if readjusting it, spotted me, and blew me a kiss.
I felt numb as I looked at my brother, eyebrows drawn together. I realized I was waiting for him to explain, as if there was any possible way to explain what I’d just seen on his phone.
His face was pale. “James—”
"How long?" My voice sounded strange, distant.
He swallowed hard, running a hand through his hair—a nervous habit we both shared. “I’m sorry, James, I—”
“How long?” I asked again. Numbness was starting to be tinged with rage.
"Eight months, maybe?"
Eight months. They'd been sleeping together while she helped me pick out wedding bands. While she wrote her vows. While she promised forever.
"Is she..." I had to force the words out. "Is she with anyone else?"
His silence was answer enough.
I laughed then, a sound that held no humor. "Who else?"
"Come on, man... Do you really want to know?"
"Who else, Chase?"
He told me three names. All friends. All people who'd been at my wedding, smiling and congratulating me while knowing exactly what kind of woman I'd just pledged my life to.
"You deserve this," I said simply before punching him across the jaw hard enough to knock him on his ass. "If I see your face again tonight, I'll punch it again. In fact, consider that a running promise. Show me your face, and you're going to get knocked on your ass. Forever."
People gasped and backed away, giving us space. The general air of light conversation hushed in a moment.
"James, please," Chase said, touching his reddening jaw as he lay sprawled on the floor. "She said you wouldn't even care. She said you probably cheated on her, so it was—"
I stopped in my tracks, turning to face him. "I never fucking cheated. I never would."
I walked toward Katie, moving through the crowd like a ghost. Everything looked different now. Faces that had seemed friendly hours ago now held secrets. Smiles that had seemed genuine now looked painted on.
In seconds, I moved through the people who had seen me punch Chase and entered back into the blissfully unaware—the ones who didn’t know this thing was already doomed.
Katie was by the cake, champagne flute in hand, laughing at something her maid of honor had said. She looked up as I approached, her smile faltering slightly.
"There you are! I was just about to—"
"We need to talk."
She must have seen something in my face because she set down her glass and followed me without argument. I led her to a quiet corner, away from prying eyes.
"How many?" I asked simply.
"What?"
"How many men have you slept with while we were together?"
The color drained from her face. "James, I don't know what you—"
"Don't." My voice cracked. "Don't lie to me. Not now. I already know, but I want to hear it from you. You owe me at least that much. How. Many."
She stared at me for a long moment, then lifted her chin. "Four."
"Including my brother?"
She flinched. "Who told you?"
"Does it matter?"
Katie's eyes filled with tears. "I'm sorry. I never meant to—"
"To what? To fuck my brother? To fool around with half our friend group? To make me look like an absolute idiot in front of everyone we know?"
"Keep your voice down," she hissed.
I stepped closer. "Why? Worried what people might think? Worried they'll realize that while I was saying my vows, promising to love and cherish you forever, you were probably thinking about your next hookup?"
"It's not like that." She grabbed my arm. "I love you, James. I do. Things just... got complicated. I get nervous when you're away. You’re so handsome, and women always want you. I only do… that… because it helps me take my mind off the fear that you’re cheating.”
I jerked away from her. "Complicated," I repeated. "Right. For the record, I never laid a hand on anyone else while we were together. So let me uncomplicate things for you."
I turned and walked to the center of the dance floor and let out a sharp whistle for attention. The band stopped playing, confused. Three hundred pairs of eyes turned to me.
"I'd like to make a toast," I announced, grabbing a champagne flute from a nearby table. "To my beautiful bride, Katie. And to my brother Chase, who's been fucking her for eight months." I raised my glass. "Oh, and to Mike, Steve, and Zander. Thanks for making my wedding day so memorable. Have a great night, everybody."
I lowered my glass, considered it, and then smashed it on the floor.
The silence that followed was deafening.
I straightened my tie and walked out. Behind me, chaos erupted. People gasping, shouting, crying. Katie screaming my name.
I kept walking.
The worst part? I was stupid enough to try to make it work after that. For three months, I listened to her excuses, her promises that she'd changed. That it was just cold feet, that she'd been scared of committing. That she'd never do it again.
And like an idiot, I believed her. Right up until I found out she was still sleeping with my brother. But she had changed, she said. It was only with Chase, and since we were family, was it really so bad in the end?
My lawyer called the next day after I finally filed for d ivorce. Katie wanted half of everything.
"She already took half my family," I had told him. "Might as well take half my stuff too."
It took months to finalize the divorce. Months of lawyers and paperwork and well-meaning friends asking if I was okay. Months of watching other couples plan their perfect weddings or finding new love, knowing they might be heading for the same trap I'd fallen into.
It felt like something inside me died a little every day of it, and by the time it was final, I wasn’t the same James I’d been before. Maybe I still believed in silly things like love, but I knew better than to think a wedding could fix a relationship built on shaky ground.
That's when I decided it.
I sold my law firm and used the money to start a new business. A business that would allow me to help people from making the same mistake I made. If I did my job well, I could expose lies before they turned into legally binding vows. I could stop weddings that should never happen, and in the process, I could save men and women from getting destroyed the same way I had.
Some people said it was cynical and ridiculous. Others said worse things. But I was just a realist. Some weddings really shouldn’t happen, and I was the necessary evil in an industry built on blind fantasy.
I became the Wedding Wrecker, and I was damn good at my job.
1
EMMA
"Emma Marshall, if you tell me you're measuring light angles instead of enjoying Ireland, I swear I'll reach through this phone and strangle you."
I laughed, adjusting my camera strap as I climbed another winding staircase in Ashworth Castle. I had my phone connected to one earbud so I could use both hands on my camera. "Maggie, the perfect photo happens at the perfect moment in the perfect light. I can't just wing it."
"Yes, you absolutely can," my best friend said. "That's literally what candid photography is."
"This isn't just photography," I argued, pausing to peek into yet another room that definitely wasn't the one I needed. "This is my chance. My big break. If I nail this wedding, I go from 'Oh, you do weddings?' to 'Oh my god, you're the Emma Marshall.'"
There was a slight pause. “You’re not still working on that secret wedding Pinterest board are you? The one you claim is just for ‘research’ and definitely not all about your own dream wedding?”
I gasped in mock outrage. "You promised never to mention… The Board."
"The fact that you say it with that weird emphasis like it’s a holic relic is concerning. I can almost hear the capital letters.”
"I'm hanging up now."
"Wait!" Maggie's voice turned serious. "How are you really doing? And don't give me the 'I'm fine' bullshit."
I sighed, leaning against a stone wall. "Honestly? I'm terrified. This is a massive wedding. The venue is incredible. The couple is gorgeous. Everything needs to be perfect."
"You always make everything perfect."
"Yeah, well, easier said than done in a castle that apparently rearranges itself when I'm not looking." I pushed off the wall and continued my search. "I swear I've passed this same suit of armor four times."
"Maybe it's following you."
"Not helping." I checked my watch, then gave the suit of armor a nervous look over my shoulder. "Look, I need to find the west tower before I lose the light. Apparently, there's this amazing view of the sunset that would be perfect for—"
"For the Golden Hour shots, I know." Maggie sighed dramatically. "You're hopeless. A total wedding junkie."
"Says the woman who cried at a toilet paper commercial because the puppy was 'wearing a tiny bow tie like a little gentleman.'"
"That puppy was adorable and you know it."
I rounded another corner, hoping to see something—anything—familiar. "I might be lost."
"Might be?"
"Okay, I'm definitely lost. And I really have to pee."
"Of course you do. You always have to pee when you're lost."
"It's a nervous bladder thing!" I protested, then lowered my voice as the sound echoed off the stone walls. "Oh god, what if I can't find my way back? What if I have to live in this castle forever, surviving off of tourist water bottles and wedding mints?"
"Emma."
"I'll become a legend. The Phantom of the Wedding. Haunting halls with my fantastic, minty breath and critiquing flower arrangements—"
"Emma!"
"What?"
"Stop catastrophizing and find a bathroom. You always think better with an empty bladder."
She had a point. "Fine. But if I'm not back to civilization in twenty minutes, send a search party. With snacks."
"Deal. Love you, crazy."
"Love you too."
I hung up and surveyed my surroundings. The castle's corridors stretched out in three directions, each one looking equally medieval and impossible to navigate.
That's when I saw it—a small wooden sign with a universal stick figure that had never looked so beautiful.
I broke into what could generously be called a jog, my camera bag bouncing against my hip as I followed the signs. When I finally reached the bathroom, I nearly cried.
Out of order.
"No, no, no," I muttered, doing what my sister calls the 'pee pee dance.' "This isn't happening."
Then I saw it—the men's room. I glanced around. I pushed open the door, my bravery fueled only by how badly I needed to pee.
“Yoo hoo! Anybody in there?”
No answer.
"Desperate times," I whispered, then made a break for it.
I pushed the heavy wooden door open further, wincing at its dramatic creak. The men's room was small but clean—well, clean-ish. Medieval castle standards were different from modern ones, I supposed.
One lonely stall occupied the far wall, flanked by two urinals. I approached the stall with hope in my heart and a prayer on my lips.
That hope died a quick, brutal death when I saw the toilet. It looked like it had survived several wars, a plague, and possibly an exorcism. There was no way any part of me was getting anywhere near that thing. It wasn’t even suitable for a hover-pee-style attack.
Nope.
That meant I was left with the urinals, those strange, bafflingly not private things I sometimes thought only existed in movies and not real life.
I stared at them, hands on hips, weighing my options. "Okay, Emma," I muttered. "Cowgirl or reverse cowgirl?"
The porcelain gleamed mockingly in the dim light. I'd need good aim, a steady stance, and ice in my heart to pull this off. And if anybody walked in while I was mid-stream? Yeah. It was better not to think about that.
"Reverse it is." I hiked up my dress, grabbed some paper towels, and started my awkward backward approach. Just as I was perfecting my stance and mentally preparing for the feat of engineering I was about to attempt, the door creaked open.
I froze, dress bunched around my waist, underwear at half-mast, pasty ass exposed, and in what had to be the least dignified position of my entire life.
At least I hadn’t already started peeing…
The universe, apparently deciding I hadn't suffered enough, chose that moment to fully reveal my visitor. He stepped into view, and my brain short-circuited.
He was tall—the kind of tall that made you want to climb him like a tree. Dark hair fell across his forehead in that perfectly messy way hot guys across the world seemed to have a monopoly on. And his face was… chef’s kiss. A sharp jawline, strong nose, and eyes so blue they made the Irish sky look washed out.
A black sweater hugged broad shoulders and what had to be an illegal amount of muscle. He looked like he'd walked straight out of a magazine ad for "Rugged Rich Guy Casual Wear."
And for some reason, I was still frozen in position. That was also the exact moment the pee started to flow.
Just wonderful.
One of his thick, dark eyebrows lifted and he turned his back to me. “Good for you. A lot of people get gun shy at the range, if you know what I mean.”
I should have been mortified. Should have died on the spot. Instead, I found myself fighting back a laugh. "This isn't what it looks like."
"No?" I could hear the amusement in his voice and picture the smile on his full lips. "Is it at least what it sounds like? Because it sounds like you’ve got your ass out and you’re pissing in a men’s urinal.” He leaned to the side, then nodded. “With impressive aim, I should add."
"Okay, it's exactly what it looks like." I straightened up when I finished and tried to resurrect my long-dead dignity by fixing my clothing. "But in my defense, the women's room is out of order and that toilet"—I pointed to the stall—"is probably a portal to hell."
