Page 15 of Always a Bridesmaid

“If it weren’t for you getting away with excessive track limits in Bahrain, golden boy, I would be world champ, and you know it,” Jake said with no heat behind his words.

“Do you want to talk about your DNF in Austin?”

Jake groaned. “The only reason I didn’t finish was because that rookie took me out in the first turn of lap one.”

“Always avoid the rookies,” Enzo said, as if they all hadn’t been taken out by a rookie or two.

But it was something Henry was going to take to heart. He’d made a rookie move back there with Elle. He had no business playing games with his sister’s friend, especially one he’d loathed. Ball-buster attitude aside, she didn’t seem like the type who would put bleach in another girl’s shampoo. Maybe she was right, and kids did do stupid things. He’d done some pretty stupid things in his youth.

Stupid, but never mean. There was a difference.

Yet nothing about Elle came off as mean. Stubborn and judgmental, but not mean. Just look at how sweet and velvety she’d been with Wayne and his family, and how special she’d made Sarah feel.

Jesus, why was he still thinking about her?

5

Jane awoke at the crack of dawn against the wishes of every single cell in her body. But lying in bed wasn’t going to burn off the six hundred calories she’d consumed in chocolate cake last night when she’d returned to her room and ordered room service. Because when in doubt, order chocolate cake.

She glanced at her smut and Clitorator on her nightstand and wondered how many calories an orgasm burned, then stopped herself because last night’s big O had been sponsored by one Henry Norris. And she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of adding two notches to his headboard. Not that she’d ever tell him about her night. It was bad enough that just thinking about it made her thighs all tingly.

So she threw on her leggings and running shoes, secured her hair in a ponytail and went for a long run in the frosty London morning. Her brain was always more alert and sharp when she’d put in a good five miles between her and her thoughts. In fact, by the time she returned to her room for breakfast and a shower, she didn’t have a single Henry thought in her mind.

Nope, Jane had channeled Elle, pulled on her Upper East Side attitude like a Burberry coat and was ready to jump intoher role. First up was a spa day with the bridal party followed by afternoon tea at the Dorchester. It was one of the things on the week’s itinerary that she was most looking forward to—a way to soak up some of the local culture.

She’d never been to high tea before. Sure, she’d gone to bridal showers that shared the theme, but not the real deal. In fact, for a girl who had lived all over the globe, Jane’s world had existed mainly of military bases since her mom lived to work and worked to live. The only time Jane was able to take in the sites was on a field trip or when one of the other families invited her along.

After a hot shower, Jane ordered a light breakfast off the room service menu and ate it on the balcony in her silky robe, imagining Elle doing the same. And instead of the sundress she’d packed for the day, Jane went for something more refined, a couture number Sarah had sent her, and hung it in the bathroom as she finished her hair and makeup.

With every swipe of the brush and lipstick she became Elle. Even her freckles, which were made from an old mascara wand and fake tanning lotion, screamed Elle. She put on the final touch—green contacts—then slid into her dress.

It was a strapless, sweetheart neckline dress, that flirted with her thighs. She paired it with a cropped angora cardigan, light-cream pumps, and a cute cream-colored clutch. She pulled her hair into a fancy knot at the base of her neck so she could still wear her fascinator at tea.

Spinning in the mirror, she smiled. She’d spent most of her teenage years bemoaning her hair which was neither blond nor brown, her eyes that were somewhere between green and blue, and her face that was decidedly ordinary. But she’d been Jane Pearce—someone she’d liked just fine. But now she was Elle Vaughn, primped and contoured and looking like a spring day in February. Nothing could throw her off her game. Not today.

She had just finished packing her bag for the spa when an urgent pounding started at her door, startling her and making her drop her tote.

“Jane, Jane, open the door. There’s been an emergency!” Only one person here called her Jane and she’d been specifically told, many times, never to use that name in case someone overheard.

Jane’s heart pounded out of her ribs, and she raced to the door to shush Sarah before someone blew her cover. She opened the door to find a frazzled bride-to-be, looking as if the sky had fallen.

“Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

“It’s the wine!”

Jane had to collect herself because she’d been prepared for Sarah to say the wedding had been called off. Or Henry had discovered Jane’s true identity. Not something about wine.

She looked up and down the hallway—blessedly empty—and pulled Sarah in and slammed the door. “You called me Jane.”

“What?”

“You’re supposed to call me Elle. Always. Remember?”

Sarah waved it off. “I am freaking out about wine and you want me to remember names?”

Yes, yes she did. “If someone discovers that you hired a bridesmaid, people will start asking questions. Questions you don’t want to answer.”

Sarah sank down on the bed. “You’re right. I just didn’t know who else to go to.”

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