Page 21 of The Wedding Wrecker

I tried on the comfiest robe I’d ever felt in my life, tested the acoustics in the shower, and liberally scuffed my feet around in the “Timber Vale” slippers they had waiting by my door.

Even the freaking floor was heated, which put me in a dilemma between my slippers and bare feet—both of which were highly enjoyable.

Leaving my perfect room and entering into the chaotic world of wedding planning was hard, but I eventually pulled myself out of the room and back to the hallway.

I headed to the resort restaurant where Mr. Wellington was waiting and only got lost a few times on the way. Once I arrived, the hostess led me to a private dining room where a distinguished-looking man in his sixties rose to greet me.

"Emma Marshall." Richard Wellington's handshake was firm, his smile genuine. He had salt-and-pepper hair that was slicked back from tanned and lightly lined features. His jaw was strong and his shoulders were broad, and he had the look of somebody who used to be in great shape but had finally relaxed on his strict diet and exercise routine.

His silver eyes sparkled, drawing me from my rambling thoughts as he let go of my hand. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. Martha speaks very highly of your work."

She does?All my interactions with Martha Wellington left me feeling like I was a bit of old cheese she’d found underneath her fingernail. "Thank you for having me," I said, hoping I sounded more confident than I felt.

"Nonsense. You're family now." He gestured to the chair beside him. "Or you will be. Speaking of family..." He looked toward the door. "Ah, perfect timing. Emma, I'd like you to meet my younger son, Richard the Fourth. Though everyone calls him Dick."

A man around my age approached, wearing an expression that suggested he found everything beneath him. Including, apparently, buttons—his shirt was undone halfway down his chest despite the December chill. A gold chain nestled in his chest hair, catching the light as he moved.

Objectively speaking, hewasattractive. He had blue eyes, sharp eyebrows, an aqualine nose, and a chin and jaw I found slightlytooproud. Features aside, his body language was practically radiating “douche” energy at such high levels I thought I might choke on it if I breathed too deeply.

"Dick," his father continued, "this is Lily's sister. The wedding planner I was telling you about."

"Charmed to meet you." Dick's eyes roamed over me in a way that made me want to button up my own perfectly appropriate neckline. "You know, I always say wedding planners are the most... passionate women. A career dedicated to love has a way of… greasing the wheels, if you catch my implication."

Was he actually wiggling his eyebrows? And implications were hardly the first thing I was worried about catching from “Dick.” I’d probably start the list with gonorrhea, or maybe just everyday germs. He struck me as the kind of guy who didn’t wash his hands when he used the bathroom.

"Dick's between relationships right now," Richard said meaningfully.

"How... convenient," I managed, reaching for my water glass. Maybe if I drank enough water, I could drown myself before this got worse.

"Very convenient." Dick slid into the chair next to mine, way too close. His cologne was probably expensive and smelled like he'd bathed in it. "You know, I have a suite with an even better view than yours. I'd love to show it to you. The sunsets are... magnificent. Not that you’d be paying them any attention if I had you alone in there."

He actually licked his lips after saying "magnificent."

Disaster alarm bells began to ring. The situation here was painfully clear. Mr. Wellington’s prized son, Marcus, was marrying my sister. Whether it was some kind of rich person fetish, or just a wild idea that had popped into his head, he wanted to keep adding my family to his.

He was hoping to set me up with this walking ball ofick, and I couldn’t think of a single way to shut this down without making things very awkward.

My mind raced with half-baked ideas. I could lie? Lying wasn’t always bad, right? I could claim I lost my ovaries in a tragic car accident back in 1982.No. You weren’t even alive in 1982, Emma! That plan sucks!

Maybe I could sayIwas the one with gonorrhea?No.Dick probably already has that, and he’d just see it as an excuse to say we already had something in common.

Think, think, think…

Instead of speaking or coming up with any kind of coherent plan, I stared at Dick with my eyes wide and my mouth half-open. I felt the sinking certainty that in a few moments, I was going to get talked into some kind of date, and that I’d have to endure Dick’s advances for the remainder of my time here.

I was about to scream in panic when a familiar voice made my heart stop.

"Sorry I'm late, sweetheart."

Strong hands settled on my shoulders. A pair of lips brushed my temple.

I looked up into eyes I hadn't seen in three years.

James.The wedding wrecker in the flesh.

"Traffic was terrible," he continued smoothly, sliding into the chair on my other side. His arm settled around me possessively. "I hope you weren't waiting long."

I stared at him, my brain short-circuiting betweenwhat the actual fuckandholy shit he somehow looks even better than I remembered.

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