Here Comes the Bride (3 page)

As reality sank in, she started to feel faint. Fake wedding or not, her father should be here at her side, not Ben. And what about her niece, Emma? Emma would be devastated to find out she wasn’t even invited to the wedding.

Her heart plummeted. She hardly ever cried, but that didn’t stop her eyes from misting up with hot, prickly tears. Damn.

“Smile,” Ben said through the corner of his mouth as he guided her across the aisle. “This is supposed to be the happiest day of your life.”

She forced a tight smile as she glanced at the camera to her left. Despite Ben’s warning about cameras, she hadn’t expected so many. Every third pew had a little roving eye that followed her every step. She even caught a movement in the flower arrangement near the altar. She wouldn’t be surprised if somebody had stuck a camera in her bouquet.

She looked down at the beautiful cascade of white roses and tulips mixed with stephanotis and jasmine. If there was a tiny camera stuffed in there, that would mean thousands, maybe even millions, of people could see up her nose.

Her stomach twisted.

Remember the story
, she reminded herself.
Take notes. Don’t panic. This is your big chance. Think of the look on Mom’s face when you take her on vacation, just the two of you.

Ben deposited her at DeMarco’s side.

She looked at Dominic, surprised to see his hands jammed into his pockets, his face ashen. The man was nervous. What had first looked like an unwavering gaze was really a blank stare. So blank she had to resist the urge to wave her hand in front of his face to see if she’d get a reaction—a blink of his eyes, something, anything. The man looked as if he might faint or maybe even run.

Oddly enough, the notion that he might be absolutely terrified comforted her in some small shallow way.

***

As he waited before the altar for his new bride to come through the closed doors, Dominic tugged at his bow tie. This was absolutely, certifiably, the most insane thing he’d ever agreed to do.

And it was his uncle’s fault—the man who had wiped his business accounts clean. But once again, Dominic was the one being sacrificed at the altar.

He stared down the red carpet toward the doors. Maybe the reporter had changed her mind. The thought helped him relax as he willed the doors to remain closed.

Glancing over his shoulder toward the altar, he noticed the magnificent, stained-glass windows with images of the apostles. Nice church—only the best for a guy who had everything—everything and nothing all at once.

Turning back to the crowd, he let out a cumbersome sigh. The church was filled to capacity. White satin ribbons and flowers adorned the pews. Hundreds of people murmured and shifted in their seats, watching and waiting.

He was used to being stared at, but this was different in the sense that he felt unmercifully trapped. Here he stood at the altar of doom, waiting to marry a scrawny reporter who ate celebrities for dinner.

Absurd.

But his managers were right. Not only did he need the money now that his accounts had been cleaned out, his career needed a jumpstart. Telling the world he was getting married seemed to be doing the trick and yet it turned his stomach to think he was duping his fans.

His gaze moved to the media huddled together in the far section of the church. For weeks now, they had been falling over one another to get to him, wanting to know anything he would tell them about his new bride. They would have a field day today. The media would want to know everything about Samantha Johnston’s life, asking her for details about her family, her childhood, about every guy she’d ever dated. The notion caused him to stand a little taller, feel a little better. Samantha Johnston would be so busy answering reporters’ questions over the next few months she wouldn’t have time to bother him. Ha! The thought of the nosy little reporter getting a taste of her own medicine cheered him immeasurably.

People came to their feet and looked toward the double doors.

The beat of Dominic’s heart drummed against his chest.

The organist began to play. His stand-in bride hadn’t run off after all. He inhaled as Ben ushered her through the doors.

The makeup people had worked their magic. Her dirty-blonde hair looked shiny and soft, flowing over pale shoulders. She no longer had smudges of makeup under her eyes. She looked beautiful.

As she moved closer, he noticed a red, blotchy nose through the thin veil. Had she been crying? Nah. Reporters don’t cry, especially this one. Maybe she had allergies.

He couldn’t begin to guess what might be going through that head of hers, although her frown spoke volumes. Would she be frowning like that for the next three months? That worried him. He liked his privacy. He liked having a nice quiet house to go home to, a place where he could sit back and relax, an empty house devoid of frowning reporters.

This scenario could have been yanked right out of a lousy B movie. His life had spiraled out of control. He’d finally hit bottom. And yet it was his own fault. He never should have agreed to this nonsense. After his uncle had wiped out his accounts, he’d panicked. His second mistake was listening to Ben and Tom when they came up with this absurd idea.

A tremendous urge to march down the aisle and out the door struck him. He should run for his life…run right out of the church and never look back. Before he could make his move, though, Ben deposited Samantha at his side, placing her hand in his.

Chapter Four

Her fingers felt ridiculously soft.

Through the gauzy veil, Dominic saw big brown eyes, a small red nose, and full lips. She looked nothing like the determined gutsy reporter he’d met twenty minutes ago. Her hands trembled, and from the looks of it, she had definitely shed a tear or two. “Are you all right?”

She swallowed. “I’ll be fine.”

Hell. Her sad face made him feel like a heel, as if he were forcing himself on the woman. “Listen. If you can’t go through with this, I understand.”

She shook her head. “I’m okay. I was thinking about my family and how they’re missing my wedding day.”

“Sweetheart,” he muttered, “this isn’t real.”

“I know that, but my family won’t.”

Other than his mother, who’d left him at a young age, his drunk of a father, and thieving Uncle Frank who was probably soaking up the Caribbean sun about now, and a half-sister nobody knew about, he didn’t have any family. Despite all that, he said, “I’m sorry.”

She sniffled.

He grabbed his silk handkerchief from his pocket, slipped it under her veil and over her nose. “Blow.”

She blew.

More murmurs from the crowd; they probably thought his bride was shedding tears of happiness.

She looked at him with eyes that hinted at kindness. Big brown eyes the color of melted chocolate.

The minister cleared his throat, letting them know they needed to get on with the show.

Dominic tucked the handkerchief back into his pocket and led her up two wide steps, his left hand cupping her right elbow as he escorted her to the altar.

The minister nodded. He was the real deal, Dominic thought, setting his heart to race in earnest. The minister was not a paid actor. This wasn’t a movie set and the people sitting in the pews were not being paid to be here. They were real people who had taken the day off to see him marry the woman they thought he loved. Suddenly, he found it difficult to take another step forward.

Out of the blue, Sam said, “Don’t think about it. Think happy thoughts.”

Happy thoughts?
Who the hell was he marrying—Mary Poppins?

“By tomorrow afternoon we’ll be in Hawaii, surrounded by white sand and drinking piña coladas.”

A shot of whisky would do him wonders about now. He glanced at Sam, then at the minister, and then over his shoulder once again, his gaze following the path of red carpet down the stairs and across the length of the long narrow aisle that led to the church doors. Thirty seconds flat and he could be out those doors.

But Sam touched his arm again, a gentle caress that caused him to look into big doe eyes that appeared to be looking right into the depths of his soul.

Damn. If he ran, she’d be humiliated in front of millions of people; her co-workers would harass her for the rest of her life. What would her family think? And after all this, she wouldn’t even have a story for all her troubles. She’d have nothing but angst and ridicule.

He scowled. He’d go through with the ceremony. And then everybody would be happy—everyone except him.

They were standing before the minister now, if you could call it standing. His legs felt rubbery.

Miraculously, less than twenty minutes later, he was still standing when the minister said, “You may now kiss the bride.”

Dominic didn’t move.

“I think you’re supposed to lift the veil,” Sam coached, “and kiss me.”

If he had a dollar for every time a woman told him to kiss her, he’d be a rich man. Only this kiss was supposed to be different, better than all the others. Everybody was waiting for
the
kiss. The pressure was almost too much to bear. There were cameras everywhere, hidden in darkened alcoves and places he couldn’t see.

Kissing was his specialty. No problemo. He was a pro. Women had been known to faint after one of his kisses. And he was good at faking it. The directors were the ones who made it look real, though, telling him how to angle his head just so, what sort of expression to wear, where to put his hands. But right now his mind was a big blank. He had to act as if he
wanted
to kiss her…as if it truly were his “big day” and he’d been waiting for this kiss all his life. He’d kissed dozens of starlets. Hot, warm, sexy kisses. But usually there was some chemistry working between them—something tangible that showed on the big screen. He liked kissing. In fact, he couldn’t think of another activity that combined the senses in such a pleasurable way: The look in her eyes, her smell, her sighs, the feel of her lips, and tongue, and her gentle touch all wrapped in one delicious kiss.

But his bride didn’t want to be here. She wasn’t an actor. All she wanted was a story. Simple as that. For the next three months, she was going to be his shadow, following him around, asking a lot of stupid questions, taking notes every time he moved.

Shit.

He needed something to draw on—some small tidbit of commonality to help him make the kiss look real. “Tell me about yourself,” he said.

“Are you serious? Right now?”

“Yes, hurry. Do you like your parents?”

“I have tremendous respect and admiration for them both.”

“What’s your favorite food?”

“Tacos.”

Tacos? Really? This wasn’t working. He sighed impatiently. “Favorite color?”

“Green?”

“Oh, never mind.” He lifted the veil.

A sigh floated through the church.

Sam’s eyes closed and her rosy lips parted slightly, just enough to encourage him to lean forward and brush his lips over hers. She tasted like mint and smelled like roses.

Kissing Samantha Johnston wasn’t half bad. Kissing her soft, full lips was nice. Yeah…maybe even better than nice. Angling his head just so, he deepened the kiss. Their audience responded with a cacophony of happy sounds that literally bounced off the walls of the sanctuary.

Reluctantly, Dominic pulled away. Her eyes were still shut, her lips pink and plump. He grabbed her hand, watched her eyes flutter open, even smiled.

It was over. He’d done it.

In the balcony, the organist began to play a cheery tune Dominic didn’t recognize, prompting him to guide Sam down the aisle toward the tall double doors. As they swept past the congregation, people reached out to touch them while others smiled and gave their congratulations.

The doors had been propped open. Traffic had come to a stop. The streets were jam-packed. Police held onlookers back as best they could. Whoops of joy sounded, cameras flashed, and as they exited the church, Dominic felt a tug on his hand.

Samantha’s dress was too long for her and was caught on something. Panicked, she dropped her bouquet and used her free hand to tug at the back of her dress. People moved in like packs of hungry wolves. Security was nowhere to be seen. Flashbulbs blinded him as the crowd pushed forward, causing him to lose hold of Sam’s hand. He was pushed away from his bride and backward into a sea of people.

He hadn’t minded the idea of Sam getting a taste of her own medicine, but this was ridiculous. She could get seriously hurt. Being six foot three gave him the advantage of seeing over the mob of people. He caught a glimpse of white silk; she looked like a fragile white rose being trampled by a throng of people gone wild. “Sam!” he shouted.

“Over here!” An arm shot up ahead. He pushed his way back through the crowd, even picked up one small woman and deposited her into the arms of a man to his left, clearing a path to his bride.

By the time he got to Sam’s side, she’d been stripped of her veil. An overly zealous lady had taken the lacey headpiece and even now, as he looked over all the people, he saw the crazy woman break through the crowd and run.

“My dress is stuck on the doorstop,” Sam told him.

“Here, let me see.” He wrapped his arms around her so he could get a look at the source of the problem, and then he grabbed the back of her dress.

“Where did you two meet?” a reporter shouted.

“In church,” Sam answered truthfully before turning back to Dominic. “Here,” she said, “maybe if we both pull.”

Security shouted for everyone to move back toward the street, but nobody listened.

Dominic and Sam both pulled on the fabric, trying not to rip the dress, but nothing happened.

Hell. Dominic grabbed two fistfuls this time and yanked, ripping the dress and pulling her free. With her dress in hand, he flew backward, knocking people on his way down and clearing a new path through the masses until he was flat on his back. Before he could see straight, Sam was hovering over him, clearly amused as she offered him a hand.

“You think that’s funny?”