Page 1 of Her Mountain Man Protector
1
MILA
I examinemyself in the gilded mirror on the wall, adjusting my veil until it sits perfectly on my head. My hair is tied back in a sleek chignon, my makeup so flawless it makes my skin look like porcelain. The designer wedding dress I’m wearing cost more than an apartment, and it hugs my curves, flattering my shape like it was made for me—which, of course, it was.
I look like a bride.
And I’ve never felt more unhappy.
“Mila.” My mom snaps my name like an order, and I whip around too fast, stumbling on the hem of my dress. She glares at my clumsiness, tutting, “Hurry up! Everyone’s waiting.”
My throat tightens. I’ve stalled for as long as I can, and now it’s time to face the music. I can almost hear those dreaded chords already.
Here comes the bride…
All dressed in white.
“Can I see Grace?” I ask shakily. “Please?”
Seeing my sister is the only thing that will keep me sane right now. I wanted her to be my bridesmaid, but Dad said no—apparently, it’s tacky to have bridesmaids at a wedding.
“You’ll see her in the chapel,” Mom says, tapping her foot impatiently. She looks impossibly chic in her plum-colored designer gown, despite the scowl on her face. “Now come on, we’re going.”
Suddenly, I’m being steered out of the room and through the elegant hallways of Highcrest Castle. It’s an enormous Gilded Age estate up in the Rockies, built in the style of a French chateau. Mountain weddings are all the rage right now according to my parents, and if there’s one thing they know about, it’s the current trends. They like to make sure we’re keeping up appearances, fitting in with all the rest of New York’s high society families.
Families like the Kingsleys.
My groom, Julian Kingsley, comes from old money. Heck, that’s one of the only things I know about him. He’s twenty-five, richer than Croesus, and constantly plastered on the front page of society magazines for all the wrong reasons: substance abuse, bar brawls, drink driving. He’s rich enough to get away with it. We’ve only met once, and we said about two words to each other the whole time. Now he’s about to become my husband.
Julian and Mila Kingsley.
All too soon, we reach the door to the mansion’s private chapel. My mom stops walking and looks me up and down, nodding curtly as if to say, “You’ll have to do.” I feel like I might vomit on her Jimmy Choos.
“Wait here while I send your father out,” she says, shooting me a disapproving look as she adds, “and don’t forget to smile! We want a demure, blushing bride for the photos, not a rabbit caught in headlights.”
She disappears into the chapel and for a moment, I’m all alone, listening to the sound of my heart as it pounds in my ears. Then my dad is there in his tailored suit, his grip uncomfortably tight on my arm as he pulls me through the chapel doors anddown the aisle. Organ music swells, and a hundred strangers turn to look at me—the groom’s family, all my parents’ wealthy friends. The room is spinning, everything blurring together. Staring eyes, elaborate flower displays, suits and dresses, whirling into a mess of color and confusion.
“You better not mess this up, Mila,” I hear my father hiss beneath his breath when my feet start to drag.
Oh God, he’s right.
I can’t mess this up. I have to do this. Not just for me, but for my sister.
I suck in a breath, blinking until my vision focuses on the guests, my eyes seeking Grace. I find her sitting in the front row, her face a sickly shade of green. She looks as though she might throw up. I know exactly how she feels. As our eyes meet, she shakes her head slightly, trying to communicate silently across the chapel, begging me not to do it. But she knows as well as I do that it’s the only way.
The aisle seems to stretch on forever. I’ve managed to avoid Julian’s gaze, but suddenly he’s right in front of me, wearing a crisp black suit. My groom looks…bored. Almost like I’m making him late for something. There’s a red flush to his cheeks and a spaced-out look in his eyes that suggest he’s anything but sober. I’m not sure I can blame him. If somebody offered me a stiff whiskey right now, I’d down the whole freakin’ bottle.
Once Julian and I are side by side, the music stops and the minister starts to speak.
“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today…”
I try to follow his words, but my head is buzzing, like a swarm of bees is darting around inside my skull. I keep my eyes focused on the stained-glass window behind the minister, taking deep breaths.
You can do this, Mila.
Keep it together.
The guests are chuckling politely at something the minister just said, and I force my attention back on his words just in time to hear the dreaded question.
