Page 5 of Accidentally Marrying the Best Man
“Better than Jay’s reasons.” I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, marveling at how the simple touch sends heat shooting through me. “At least I’m not marrying you for money. And I’m not going anywhere.”
“Nick.” Her voice is soft, uncertain. “This is bonkers.”
“So, you’ve said. Several times now.” I step back just far enough to offer my arm. “What do you say, Charlotte? Want to get married today, even if it’s to the wrong King brother?” For a moment, I think she’ll say no. She glances around again, searching the room for an elusive answer. Then she grins. That quick, mischievous smile I remember from when we were kids, and she was about to do something that’d get us all in trouble.
“You know what?” she says, slipping her arm through mine. “Why the hell not? But I want the good cake, Nick. None of that grocery store sheet cake nonsense.”
I feel something loosen in my chest, something I didn’t realize was tight. “Deal.” Part of my best man's duties was to hosta dinner tonight at my house. I’ve already bought her favorite cake. Lemon chiffon, layered with lemon curd, and topped with whipped cream—she hates frosting—and fresh raspberries.
A timid knock rats against the door, again. “Um, folks?”
“We’re coming,” I say. “Just a few more minutes. We’ll meet you in the chapel.”
“Okay.” The voice sounds relieved and steps retreat down the hall.
Charlotte steps up to the mirror. “What a fucking mess,” she squeaks. “I have to fix my makeup.” She digs around in a bag and retrieves whatever tools she needs.
“You look beautiful,” I say.
In the mirror, her reflection grimaces, but there’s a slight smile on her lips and her eyes sparkle. “There,” she says a moment later. “That’s as good as I can make it.”
“Still beautiful.”
This time she graces me with a smile at full power.
I grab her hand, and we head out the door, toward the main chapel. I notice things I’ve somehow missed for the past ten or so years. The way she moves, like she’s dancing to music only she can hear. How her dress clings to curves I can’t believe I didn’t notice before. I know I’m an asshole for cataloging the way her hips sway when she walks when my brother just abandoned this woman right before their wedding. But I don’t fucking care. His loss is my gain, but I’m still going to punch him in the face when I next see him.
White ribbons decorate the chapel as we walk up the aisle together. Charlotte tugs on my hand when we reach the altar, but I keep my grip. We face the officiant, a slim man in a brown suit. He tugs on his collar and clears his throat. “Ready to begin?”
“Sure are,” I say.
“Wait,” Charlotte blurts, and my heart hiccups. Has she changed her mind? “The license. It has the wrong name.”
My pulse returns to normal. “We have the same names.”
She frowns. “What?”
“Grandmother put the same names on our birth certificates,” I explain. “I don’t know if the grief of mom dying at our birth made her mess up, or if she meant to do it, she wouldn’t tell us. But we’re both named Jameson Nickolas.”
“Jameson after your grandfather and Nickolas after your mom, Nicola.”
I smile, weirdly pleased that she knows so much about my family’s history. “Exactly.”
“Shall we begin?” the officiant asks.
“You absolutely sure about this?” Charlotte whispers and tugs on her hand again.
I raise it to my lips, and I look down at her. At this woman, who’s somehow become the most important person to me, without me even noticing when it happened.
“Never been surer of anything in my life.” And the truth of that rings true in my mind. My idiot brother walked away from something precious, and I’m not making the same mistake.
The officiant opens his book, and Charlotte’s fingers tighten on mine.
Game on.
Chapter 3
CHARLOTTE
