Page 74 of Married to My Master

“Emily's wedding.” She spilled off the date, time, and location before he could object.

Dane groaned into the phone. “What am I supposed to do with this, Charlene? What can I do? She's getting married to some other guy.”

“Dane, I've been an investigative reporter almost my entire adult life, and part of being one is learning to read people, especially when they aren't being completely honest with you. And do you know what I read on Emily's face when we did that interview together, and Benton came out as a surprise guest?”

He didn't respond. He knew she'd tell him anyways.

“She thought it was you, Dane. She thought your brother was you, until they hugged. I saw a woman who was ecstatic to see who she thought was the man she loved for the first time in almost a year.”

After his trip to Emily's house, and their final passionate moment together, he'd convinced himself that he'd hallucinated seeing that look on her face when Benton had shown up on stage. “You saw it, too?” he asked.

“Fuck, yes, I saw it!” Charlene yelled, forcing Dane to take the phone from his ear.

“Well what the hell should I do, then?” he yelled back, forgetting that this was his brother's girlfriend on the line.

“You need to go in there and do what you did last time, you idiot! Make her listen to you, like you managed to do about the cover-up!” She hung up before Dane had a chance to respond, to either shoot down the whole idea or just keep yelling back.

He tapped the phone on his chin, thinking. “The same way I made her listen the last time?” he asked the empty kitchen. He stuffed his phone back in his pocket and popped the cap on his beer.

“Last time?” he repeated to the empty kitchen, hoping the spoken words would somehow give him a burst of inspiration, a piece of divine revelation like some angel's song from on high.

Then, Dane nodded as he drank down a swallow of beer. He knew what he needed to do, finally.

“Like last time?” he asked the empty kitchen again, taking another swig. “Just like last time.”

# # #

Emily

Who knew your wedding day could be so damned stressful? She'd been in a chair, first getting her hair done, then her makeup, for what felt like hours. Meanwhile, Jas, her maid of honor, was running around like a poor chicken with her head cut off trying to get the rest of the bridal party in order.

Outside, in the hotel's ballroom, the famous and classy hobnobbed with the college friends and industry insiders Emily had managed to hang onto throughout her life. Geraldine West had insisted she invite all her friends, so they could see in person how lovely and strong she'd become in the intervening years, since she'd left Hollywood for the business world.

Grudgingly, Emily had agreed to the expanded list, and had increased the opulence of the whole event. It was a day of celebration for not just them, but her and Ian's families as well, she reminded herself.

Now, as she paced back and forth in her wedding gown, walking the perimeter of the bridal suite, she grew increasingly unsure of all her decisions. Not just about food choices, or music, or any of those other silly things. But, she hated to admit, she wondered whether this even the right decision in the first place.

Jas came bursting into the room like a bull in a china shop, throwing the door wide without even knocking. “Champagne!” she shouted, as she stormed in in her purple dress, desperately searching the suite.

Visions of a dry wedding reception floated in her mind. How would they toast? How would they do anything? “Champagne?” Emily asked in a panicked voice. “They're out of champagne?”

“No!” Jas said, exasperated. “For me! Your mother is driving me up the fucking wall!”

Emily collapsed back into her chair, the dress bunching up about her legs as she nearly swooned in relief. “Thank Christ, I almost had a meltdown.”

“Spend some more time with Mommy Dearest and you probably will,” Jas snarked, as she finally found the ice bucket full of melted water and a nearly-full bottle of bubbly.

Emily rolled her eyes. “She's a handful, I know.”

“That's putting it mildly,” her maid-of-honor-slash-executive-assistant said, as she poured two glasses of the good stuff. “Here,” she said, as she handed one of the flutes to Emily, who promptly threw it back.

“Thanks,” Emily said, holding her glass out for more.

“Liquid courage?” Jas asked, as she poured a bit more into the glass.

“Nerves. Just my nerves.”

“It's still not too late,” Jas said. “We can hop in the elevator and be out to my car in no time flat. I promise you, I won't think less of you.”

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