Page 1 of Wedding Games
PROLOGUE
It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife. This particular single man, with his impressively large fortune, had found his perfect candidate and was about to marry her in Inverness cathedral.
The wedding was deemed so important by the elite and those who liked to read about them, that a minor European royal postponed his own nuptials to the following weekend rather than have half his celebrity friends fail to appear. And an invitation was so coveted that one lucky recipient ran a charity auction for the opportunity to be their plus one.
Other guests simply accepted bribes.
The moment the engagement was announced, a bidding war for the media rights began. The winning company, keen to protect its investment, paid for Typhoon jets from RAF Lossiemouth to patrol the airspace above the wedding. To cover the ground, they seconded the Royal Highland Fusiliers, 2nd Battalion. If that wasn’t enough, all guests were searched and scanned on arrival at each location, and had agreed that ‘if clarification was required’, they would submit to a body cavity examination.
Standing at the altar in a tailor-made kilt, the roar of the aircraft rattling the stained-glass windows, Rory MacGinley, the Earl of Kinloch, wondered for the umpteenth time that day if any of it was really necessary. He’d wanted this wedding to be as quiet and low-key as possible. However, there was a cast of thousands, more foliage than an Amsterdam flower market, and despite a ban on secular music in God’s house, he was convinced the thirty bagpipers had been playing Whitney Houston’sI Will Always Love Youas he’d proceeded up the aisle a few minutes earlier.
‘Who gives this woman to be married to this man?’ the minister asked loudly.
This was it. The moment he could never have imagined in a thousand lifetimes. One so surreal, he still expected to wake and find it had all been a very bad dream.
He cleared his throat. ‘I do.’
His mother smiled at him, radiant with happiness. He gritted his teeth in return and reluctantly released her hand to the man standing before them—Brad Bauer.
Multi-millionaire, megastar, and twelve years his fiancée’s junior, Brad was the last person in the galaxy Rory wanted to marry his mother. More plastic than a Ken doll, more ostentatious than a peacock at a drag competition, and more enthusiastic than a cheerleading squad at the Super Bowl, Brad was the polar opposite to Rory in every single way.
However, his mother, Barbara, had made her decision and there was nothing he could do about it. The only positives were that Brad seemed genuine in his devotion, and after the wedding, the happy couple were buggering off to live in LA. They would be out of sight, out of mind, and Rory would be left in peace with the love of his life.
As the minister continued with the ceremony, he sat next to Zoe in the front pew with a sigh, interlacing his calloused fingers with hers. She squeezed his hand to reassure him and rested her head on his shoulder. Despite his harsh upbringing, the challenges of managing an estate and crumbling castle, and this latest curveball thrown by Brad, Rory considered himself the luckiest man alive. Zoe Maxwell was the fire that kept his life burning and she’d agreed to be his wife. He wanted them married as soon as possible, but they had to get this wedding out of the way first.
Zoe squeezed his hand tighter and he glanced up. He’d been successfully tuning out the ceremony, but it seemed things were going a little off script.
‘Babe,’ Brad gushed to Barbara, tears flowing down his tanned cheeks. ‘I’m gonna worship and adore you. I swear, baby. The Bradster’s gonna obey the f—fudge outta you. ’Cos you’re my queen, and I’m your servant for, like, eternal life.’ Brad turned to the crowd behind him. ‘Eternal life!’ he yelled.
Half the congregation whooped, and everyone who was British, flinched.
Brad returned his attention to his bride, gazing at her as if she’d created a new universe where war, hunger, and injustice no longer existed, and unicorns farted rainbows.
‘This heart—’ He punched his chest. ‘Beats only for you.’
Rory sank lower in his seat.
‘This brain—’ Brad smacked his forehead. ‘Works only for you.’
Please stop talking.
‘This body—’
Oh god, no.
Brad flexed his arms and jerked his hips forward. ‘Fu—’
‘Bradley!’ Barbara hissed, cutting him off.
‘Yes, Countess?’
Barbara’s expression softened as she cupped his face and wiped his tears with her thumbs.
‘It’s okay,’ she said quietly. ‘I know.’
1
Two months later
