Page 5 of Three Grumpy Groomsmen

Before Harrison can make some other dumbass comment, I decide to just spill it.

I take a deep breath, blow it out, then look at Ivy. “He’s…not here. At the venue.”

Her brows arch. “Where is he? Stuck in traffic?”

“No. And I’m not sureexactlywhere he is. Well, I know where he is but not where he’s going.”

Her eyes narrow now, and she props a hand on her hips. “What the hell is going on, Ford?”

I wince. Her words are angry, and there’s no getting out of this. It’s time to just be honest. And deal with the fall-out.

“He texted me. From the airport. He’s not coming. He…”Fuck, fuck, fuck.“...doesn’t want to get married. I’m so sorry. I’m really, really sorry.”

Please don’t cry. Jesus, please don’t cry.

But then you could hold her. Comfort her. Stroke her hair.

No! You do not want her to cry! This woman is sweet and doesn’t deserve this.

Just… please don’t cry.

Ivy is staring at me. “What?”

Then she looks at Harrison. “Is this a joke?”

He just grimaces and shakes his head.

Then she looks at Liam.

“Jesus,” he breathes, running a hand over his face. “That fucking asshole.”

Then Ivy takes a deep breath, swallows, nods, and says. “Okay. So…someone needs to find me some tequila. Right now.”

Fuck. This is going to be so bad.

Thanks a lot, Brad.

CHAPTER 2

Ivy

I’m suppressingthe urge to laugh.

I press my lips together and work on swallowing against the snort that’s trying to escape. It causes my eyes to water a little and I figure that will make me look sad, whichisappropriate.

Laughing is not.

I have three men staring at me with varying stricken expressions because my fiancé has skipped town—on our wedding day—and I really do have an overwhelming urge to giggle.

Not because it’s funny.

Oh, it’snotfunny.

But ever since I was a little girl, whenever something shocks me or makes me uncomfortable, I laugh. It’s a nervous thing, but so, so inappropriate. It either freaks people out or makes them blind with rage, which was the case when I giggled at my grandfather’s funeral when I was seven. My aunt Becky spanked me for that because I couldn’t explain how the sheer horror of seeing his coffin overwhelmed me, and laughter leaked out.

It’s the same feeling I have right now.

Horror.

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