The Wedding Wrecker, page 15
By six, my feet were killing me and I needed a drink, so I made my way to the bar in the resort’s main lobby.
I heard Dick's voice before I saw him, that distinctive drawl carrying from the bar.
"—perfect timing, really," he was saying to Richard. "Once it’s done, we can leverage her business connections. Those celebrity clients alone—"
"Careful," Richard warned. "Marcus hasn't sealed the deal yet."
What the hell did all that mean?
"Please. The girl is clearly infatuated,” Dick said. “And with our family name behind us, she’d be insane to pass up our offer. This could—”
"Emma!" Richard spotted me, his entire demeanor shifting as he gave Dick a hard nudge in the ribs. "Join us for a drink?"
"I was just—"
"Nonsense." Dick was already pulling out a barstool. "Bartender, get the lady a drink."
"Actually, I should probably check on—"
"One drink." Dick's hand settled on my lower back. "We barely see you except when you're attached to James."
I slipped out of his reach, making sure he didn’t try to touch me again as I kept my eyes on his gross hands.
"Speaking of James," Richard said, "I was asking Marcus, and he said Lily has never mentioned the man. Odd, considering he’s supposed to be an old family friend of your mother’s, isn’t it? And what a coincidence that you should happen to run into him and feel such… chemistry. If you’ve known him for years, why did you two wait so long to get together?”
God. He might as well shine a bright light in my face before he continued the inquisition. I opened my mouth to answer, but a familiar voice cut in before I could speak.
"There you are." James appeared behind me, his hand slipping around my waist as he pulled me toward his large body. The possessive touch sent shivers down my spine despite my better judgment. "I've been looking everywhere for you, sweetheart."
Richard's expression darkened slightly. "We were just getting to know Emma better."
"Were you?" James' tone was light, but I felt the tension in his touch.
Dick signaled the bartender again, who was busy flirting with a woman in a red dress and had been ignoring him so far. "Stay for a drink?"
"Actually," James said, "I have dinner plans with my girlfriend." He emphasized the last word slightly. "Unless you need her for something specific?"
The look that passed between Richard and Dick made my skin crawl. But why? They were just being protective of their family, right?
"Another time," Richard said smoothly.
As James led me away, I was almost tempted to repeat what I just heard Dick and Richard talking about, but I worried he’d read too much into it. After all, James was literally looking for problems. For all I knew, Richard and Dick were simply hoping to help their new in-law with her business. It would be her call if she wanted to accept their offer or not.
For the moment, I let myself simply be grateful that he was here to save me from awkward encounters of the Dick variety—that we could both agree to handle our mutual attraction like adults.
“Are we really going to dinner?” I asked.
“If you’d like.”
I was about to protest, but my stomach betrayed me by growling.
“Your stomach has spoken,” he said. “I know the perfect place.”
Half an hour later and after a bumpy ride in James’ truck across snow-covered roads, we pulled up to a fast-food Mexican place called Terry’s Tiny Tacos.
21
EMMA
“Surprise,” James said. “The reviews online will tell you this is only a three star establishment, but the pictures were fantastic. Personally, I think it’s worth a shot.”
“You drove us half an hour to a three star taco shop?” I asked.
James drummed his fingers on the wheel, smiling at me from beneath a black wool beanie that made his eyes seem dangerously bright and inviting. “It sounded like a better idea until you put it that way.”
“Lucky for you, I happen to be very curious to know just how tiny these tacos are. So I will allow you to take me into this place.”
James hopped out of his side, shut the door, and then pulled my door open, extending a hand. “It’s icy. I’m going to have to insist you hold my hand the whole time.”
“Is that right?” I asked.
“That’s right,” James said, taking my hand and helping me out of the car.
It was cold, too, and James also had to insist that I huddle against him for warmth for the whole ten second walk from the truck to the front door. The inside smelled like grease and beef, which, under some circumstances might have been disgusting. Considering I was starving, it smelled like heaven.
I ordered myself a “tiny taco fiesta,” which was a sampler platter of fifteen tiny tacos, each smaller than the palm of my hand and loaded with precisely one bite’s worth of food.
James ordered a “tiny burrito bomb,” which was basically the same thing, except burrito style.
We took our seats on creaky barstools painted in a gaudy bright green, brown, and yellow color palette. The vinyl covering the seats was splintered from what I assumed were decades of tiny taco enjoyers.
“If nothing else,” I said, lifting my first tiny taco—beef, cheese, beans, and pickled cabbage. “These things are super cute.”
James lifted a tiny burrito and balanced it on the tip of his index finger. “Adorable,” he agreed. “But how do they taste?” he asked with a cocked eyebrow.
I took my first bite, chewed, and considered.
“Hmm,” I said. “Five stars for the tiny factor. Three stars for taste.”
James chewed his burrito, swallowed with a slight grimace, and nodded. “I’m no mathematician, but I’d say that puts us above a three star average. See? Not as bad as people said.”
I was hungry enough to deal with the mostly overcooked meat, slightly stale taco shells, and questionable ingredient combinations. I also had to admit I was having fun.
"So," I said, picking up my fourth tiny taco, "how did you even find this place?"
"Would you believe me if I said I have a sixth sense for questionable Mexican food?"
"Absolutely not. And if you did, I’d say your sixth sense was more of a curse for leading you to a place like this."
He grinned. "Fair enough. Truth is, I spent an hour this morning looking for the most ridiculous place I could find. Figured you could use a break from all that resort perfection."
"My hero," I said dryly, but something warm bloomed in my chest. He'd been thinking about me. Planning this.
"Enough about me and my talents,” he said. "How'd you get into wedding planning?"
"My parents, actually." I picked at the shell of my fifth taco. "Dad's a perfectionist who can't handle social interaction. Mom's a dreamer who can never follow through on details. So I ended up being the family organizer. Every event, every holiday—if it needed planning, it landed on my plate. I think my first official family job was a trip to Boone, North Carolina. I was twelve, and I got super into it. I called hotels, trail guides, and tourist destinations. I planned the whole thing on this giant poster board. Dad was worried about letting me handle it, but mom convinced him to give me a shot.”
“And tada. The vacation was a smash hit. After that, they basically forced me to be the vacation planner. And that evolved into planning birthdays, anniversaries, and so on. When mom and dad wanted to get remarried in their fifties, I was twenty-two, and they asked me to plan it. At that point, I was working as a wedding photographer. I’d already been taking notes upon notes about what made weddings perfect, and I knew exactly how I wanted to make their day amazing.”
I sucked on my drink, eyes lingering on the straw as I jabbed at the ice in my cup. “I think some part of me used to believe you could set the stage for a happily ever after if you just got the details right. The perfect wedding was like the perfect foundation. Part of me believed I was helping bring more love into the world, and that… I guess it mattered to me. It made me feel like I was doing something worthwhile."
His expression softened. "Emma—"
"What about your family?" I cut in. "You mentioned a brother and a sister..."
James hesitated. He looked like he wanted to say more—maybe even to make an excuse or apologize for the role he might have played in the way my views had changed. But he finally sighed, then nodded with a tight jaw. “Just a brother. I made the sister up for that story. But, yeah, I used to be close with my family. My dad is a structural engineer who works on bridges and things like that. As a kid, we used to take trips sometimes to drive across bridges he worked on when they were finished. Mom would joke that we were putting our lives in his hands, and he’d tell us how mathematically impossible it was for the bridge to fail.”
James’ expression went distant as he stared at his plate, the ghost of a smile touching his lips. “He had this thing he used to say. ‘That’s the thing about bridges, Son. You build them from materials with known stress ratings and known tension strengths. It’s just a numbers game. If you do your job, get the numbers right, and take your time, they’ll never surprise you. People are the ones who surprise you, which is why I avoid them whenever I can.’ When things with Katie went south, I found myself thinking about that a lot. How much simpler life is if you stick to predictable things. Known quantities…”
“But not all surprises are bad. Sometimes, people surprise you in good ways.”
James lifted his eyes to meet mine. He nodded in a way that made warm things flutter all around in my chest.
“So, um,” I said, feeling suddenly uncomfortable, as if we had accidentally stumbled into another full-fledged date night. “You said you used to be close to your family. You’re not now?”
The glow of warmth from James vanished in an instant, replaced by pure ice. “My brother, Chase… He was the younger brother, and the golden child. He never lived up to their expectations, and they took my success almost as an insult, like I was rubbing in how wrong they were to think the world of him. And when my wedding imploded, I think they almost enjoyed it on some level. Everything had gone so well for me before that, and then Katie didn’t just cheat on me, she cheated with my brother. A few months later, Chase got engaged to her.”
I choked on my sip of lemonade, leaning forward. “What?”
“Yeah,” James said with a twist of his lips. “Needless to say, I wasn’t too pleased. I had no feelings for Katie at that point. None at all. But I thought I was patching things up with him, and then he dropped that nugget. We had some heated discussions, and my parents ended up taking sides. They thought I should be happy for him and move on. They thought family was family, and I shouldn’t hold a grudge. Anyway, they were married two months before they got divorced. In a shocking turn of events, Katie was cheating on him.”
I put my palm over my mouth. “God. What’s wrong with that woman?”
“A lot,” he said. “Last I heard, my brother is still sleeping with her, but she’s married to someone else now.” He took a long drink of his soda. “Makes it hard to believe in happy endings.”
"Do you ever..." I hesitated, heart pounding. "Do you ever think maybe some relationships are worth fighting for? Even with obstacles?" I thought about how impossible it would be for a “wedding wrecker” to ever stay in a successful relationship with a wedding planner. But every time I was with him, even back in Ireland, I felt… good. When he was around, it was almost like he carried some part of me I didn’t know I was missing—like I was only really complete when I was with him, and every time he was away, he took that piece of me with him.
Wasn’t that the kind of thing worth fighting for?
He was quiet for a long moment. "I used to. With Katie, I thought if I just loved her enough, if I just tried hard enough..." He shook his head. "Some things just aren't meant to be. I think people lie to themselves. They think their love or hard work will overcome the obvious obstacles and incompatibilities. But in the end, those things just get worse. They don’t go away. And they eventually ruin everything."
The words hit like a punch to the gut. He had to know I was asking about us, so his explanation was a gentle rejection. He was telling me we needed to keep this thing light and unserious. He still believed there was no overcoming obstacles, and the issues between us would only get worse if we took things further.
"Right," I said, pushing away my plate. "We should probably head back."
"Emma?"
"It's fine. I just... I realized how late it is. And I still have a lot of things I need to check on before tomorrow.”
He studied my face, confusion clear in his eyes. "Did I say something wrong?"
"No. You said exactly what I needed to hear. And… I appreciate you being straightforward and upfront with me. It’s refreshing when people can just say what they mean. No games. No confusion." I forced a smile.
James frowned. Probably because he thought I meant what I said when I told him I didn’t want anything complicated. And here I was, implying I wanted exactly that. Why should I be put off when he is the one sticking to the original plan?
The more I tried to pretend his rejection didn’t hurt, the more I found myself emotionally curling inwards. I hardly spoke on the drive back. I rested my forehead against the cold window and watched the snow-covered trees pass by and listened to the crunch of the tires on ice.
I told myself this was good. It was better to get clarity on our future—or lack of one—before I let myself get even more carried away with silly thoughts about what might be possible between us.
I should thank him for not leading me on or letting me have false hope.
So why did it feel like my heart was breaking all over again?
22
JAMES
"So let me get this straight," Derek said through the phone. "You’re already pretty sure there’s a sinister angle when it comes to the Wellingtons. So… what’s the hold up?”
“Pretty sure doesn’t warrant the destruction of a wedding, Derek. You know how this works.”
“Yeah, except you’re saying pretty sure. The information you emailed me tonight looks more concrete than ‘pretty sure’. It looks like a slam dunk.”
I paced outside my room, keeping my voice low. "It's complicated."
"Because of the wedding planner you're sleeping with?"
"I'm not—" I stopped myself. “Wait. How did you even know about her?”
“You’re not the only one with investigative abilities, James. The girl from Ireland. Emma Marshall. She’s the same wedding planner up there in Breckenridge. Daughter of the lady who hired you. Did you really think I wouldn’t catch that?”
I sighed. “It doesn’t matter. What matters is I need to be sure Marcus is the problem. This situation is… unique. I’ve never wrecked a wedding just because the family is full of pieces of shit with bad intentions. I haven’t tied the groom to any of this yet.”
"What is your instinct telling you right now?”
I ran a hand through my hair. "That maybe I've spent so long looking for problems, I’m going to see them around every corner. That it’s weird I never stop to think if I’m sabotaging a relationship that could’ve worked out if the bride and groom are willing to sort through it.”
Derek was quiet for a moment. "This isn't like you, man. Usually by now you'd have all your evidence in hand and be rehearsing your dramatic reveal.”
"Emma would never forgive me if I'm wrong about this." The words slipped out before I could stop them.
"Ah. There it is." I could hear the smirk in his voice. "You're compromised."
"I'm being thorough."
"You're stalling because you don't want to hurt her. Or her sister." Derek sighed. "Look, I get it. But if these guys are what you think they are—"
"I'll handle it," I cut in. "I just need more time."
"Time for what? To fall harder for someone who's going to hate you all over again when this blows up?"
I didn't have an answer for that. After ending the call with Derek, I stood outside my door for a long moment, forehead pressed against the cool wood.
When I finally went in, Emma was already asleep. She'd showered—I could smell her shampoo from here—and was curled up on her side of the bed wearing one of my t-shirts. The sight did things to my chest I wasn't ready to examine.
I wondered if she chose my shirt because of the smell, or just because her only remaining nighttime clothes were too revealing. My hardening dick didn’t seem to care about the specifics, at least. A very large part of me liked seeing her in my shirt. It made her feel like she was mine, even if the feeling was as fleeting as it was foolish.
I wanted to wake her up. To pull her into my arms and forget about the Wellingtons and their schemes. To pretend, just for a little while, that we could have something real.
Instead, I grabbed my own shower and tried not to think about how I said something wrong at the tiny taco joint. I’d replayed the conversation over in my mind a few times, and wondered if maybe she thought I was still hung up on Katie. It was ridiculous, of course. Katie was completely dead to me. Hell, even the thought of her made me vaguely nauseous at this point.
The kind of woman who could lie to a man’s face and go through with a wedding while cheating… it wasn’t somebody I wanted to keep associating with.
I wondered if I should tell her plainly tomorrow morning—tell her in no uncertain terms that I’m completely, totally, and unequivocally over Katie.
I stood in the shower, letting the warm water run down my back as I leaned against the wall.
But what kind of message would it send if I looked like I was trying to clarify how emotionally available I was? She’d think I was trying to jump from “fun and easy” to “stressful and committed.”
Damn it. I should’ve just kept my mouth shut and ate my tiny burritos earlier.
