Just Married (More than Friends) (4 page)

“We don’t play on the same turf, Cal. You know I don’t have a castle or a department chain in my portfolio.”

“And you know I’m not sleeping with anyone else, yet you feel the need to draw up contracts. I’m just saying that you need to be fair or forget it.” He leaned back in the seat, his heated gaze pinning her in place.

“What do you want? My aunt’s house or her scholarship fund?”

“You volunteered my oldest memory and the thing I’m most proud of. Do that.”

She thought for a moment, her pulse ticking up. “You want my dad’s VW bus and my condo?”

He smiled. “You still keep that thing running? You know your parents would have upgraded by now, right?”

“It doesn’t matter. I don’t sleep around, so you won’t have to deal with it. And you’re going to keep it in your pants so I’m not stuck trying to unload a castle and sell stores to your rivals. Deal?”

Seven minutes. Mere seconds until she had to make the biggest decision of her life. Alone.

Miranda stared at her reflection in the cheval mirror in the bridal room of the hotel’s wedding chapel until she schooled her expression from the verge of tears to relative calm. Her parents should have been here, but of course they’d been gone too long. What would they think of Cal? Of his modern take on a timeless custom?

The anxiety weighing on her heart lightened to merely crushing as she imagined Cal charming her father with nothing more than their shared Scottish heritage and a smile. Cal had introduced her to the genealogy expert who’d traced her father’s family for her, filling in gaps in a history that would have stayed silent.

She had no idea how her mother might react. An awkward, coltish adolescence had kept boy craziness at bay, so she’d never confided in her mother about boys. Would she warn of Cal’s charisma or be taken in by it?

Even though her parents had been gone for more than half her life, she could still get yanked back to the shock of it all. Waking up alone in the house, the police officers at the door that afternoon, the shaky call to Aunt Cecile when she had to speak about the accident for the first time. Moving from New York to Seattle a few days later had felt as surreal as the accident itself.

Her parents had been so in love, so completely enthralled with one another, that her father had left Scotland and her mother had shrugged off her disapproving family so they could be together. It didn’t get more bohemian than a yoga instructor and a musician raising a child in a Brooklyn loft, which had made her conservative grandparents so angry they never spoke to their daughter again. Because of that, or maybe in spite of it, she knew her parents would have accepted Cal as he stood, simply because she loved him.

She spread her fingers over the table and took a shuddering breath. Did she stand in front of the friends who’d become like family and sell them on a marriage only one heart was in, or did she disappoint the man she’d been in love with since she’d spied him at the welcoming reception for law school?

He’d been so vibrant and handsome, and his confident aura drew everyone in. From across the room she’d decided he would be her crush of a year, a silly game she’d been playing since junior high. She’d thought him as unattainable as the boy-band cutie, soap-opera hunk, or football quarterback. A safe place to pin her fantasies since they had no hope of coming true and messing with her ten-year plan.

Only Callum Kerr had bought a former fraternity house and offered rooms to his fellow law students. She hadn’t realized how much time she’d be spending with her classmates, and soon they were a cohesive unit. Her crush started as simple physical attraction, but the more time she’d spent with Cal, the more she’d been drawn to all the things he was that she’d never been able to pull off—stylish, adored, compelling.

He’d noticed her when no one else thought to ask her opinion. Not in the way she’d dreamed, he only saw her as a friend, but he saw her—and as head down as she was in the books, that meant something. Meant enough that when some of their classmates were joking about how as a native New Yorker he’d never bothered to learn how to drive, she’d offered to teach him. And then asked him to teach her a few things in return.

Her cheeks burned at the awkward memory, her heart squeezing at how gently he’d handled her proposition. He could have laughed or mocked or had a myriad of other soul-scathing responses. Instead, he’d let her take the lead and spent the year showing her what most girls had picked up in high school.

She swallowed down the emotions bringing tears to her eyes and looked up, patting her cheeks gently to ensure the makeup that had been so painstakingly applied hadn’t been ruined.

A soft knock on the door brought her attention back to reality, the wedding coordinator peeking into the small room. She slipped through the door, carrying a giant white box in her arms.

“What is he up to now?” Miranda hoped Tonya was being well paid for Cal’s shenanigans.

She set the box on the bed and lifted the lid. “Have a look for yourself. He had it made to be worn with your dress.”

Miranda stepped to the box and peeled back layers of tissue paper. Scottish crest pins for clan Rose and clan Kerr sat atop a silken tartan in the pale red, soft blue, and green pattern of clan Rose. A sigh escaped her as she pressed her hand to her racing heart. For a man who didn’t believe in love, he was damned romantic.

She took the crest pins in each hand and recalled the first time he’d taken her to the Highland Games. Between his turn at the Scottish hammer throw and the kilted mile, he’d showed her the clan gathering where she’d spent hours soaking up the history of her father’s people. While she was enthralled by pictures of the Scottish countryside, Cal had snuck away. He returned with her first Rose crest, on a key chain, and a scarf in the Rose tartan.

Cal had given her so much that day, far beyond the gifts. Somehow listening to stories reminded her of more than her father’s accent, of the way she’d felt when he’d tell her bedtime stories of warriors and castles, villages and air so crisp you could smell the magic. The pins were the perfect way to pay homage to her father, and his.

She held the pins out to Tonya. “Do you think we could somehow pin these to the ribbon wrapping the bouquet?”

“I can make that happen.” Tonya took the pins and the bouquet of colored roses and went to work.

Miranda turned her attention back to the silken tartan inside the box. She lifted the fabric and shook it out, noticing it had a layer of white silk that matched its length. “Do you have any idea what this is supposed to be? It’s not a sash.”

“Oh.” She held up the newly adorned bouquet. “I’m sorry I didn’t explain. Is this what you had in mind for the bouquet?”

“Even better.”

“Good, good.” Tonya reset the bouquet in the vase on the vanity. “Mr. Kerr had a train made to complement your dress and make it more formal.” She took the fabric from the other end, showing the white beaded edging and a sparkling emerald brooch that fastened it together. “It can also be worn as a cape, so you’ll be able to use it again.”

Maybe she should have looked at the wedding ring, because if it were anywhere near as audacious as the brooch, she’d never be comfortable wearing it. Tonya swung the fabric around her, securing it with the brooch on her left hip.

“Do you love it?” Tonya pressed her hands together, her pale eyes shining with hope. No doubt that to her, Cal was the most romantic, thoughtful groom in the world.

Mira glanced at the mirror, and did a double take. She smoothed her hands over the white silk that perfectly matched her dress. With every move, the colorful tartan peeked out from underneath. Her simple white dress had gone from modern to matrimonial in the click of a clasp. “I look positively bridal.”

“It is the day for it. Any last-minute touches I can help with? Old, new, borrowed, blue, and all that?”

“The dress is old, the train is new, the shoes are borrowed and blue.” She glanced down at Molly’s bright blue heels. Her poor friend’s feet couldn’t squeeze into them, so Miranda had traded her for a pair of ballet flats.

Tonya checked her watch. “Two minutes to show time. Any questions about the plan?”

“You handled what we talked about before?” Cal’s reaction was probably the only thing that would make her smile during this business transaction of a ceremony.

“Wedding plan B is fully operational.”

Miranda let herself smile and collected the bouquet of brightly colored roses. She’d do this for Cal, to give him what he needed the way he’d done for her all those years ago. She’d help him the way he’d helped her. She just had to be sure never to let him know she’d loved him then, or now.

Callum Kerr stepped into the wedding chapel, a wave of guilt nearly knocking him to his knees. And in this kilt, that would not be a good look. His friends all turned to spy him as he entered, gazes narrowed. They had every right to be suspicious. He’d flown them here with a secret agenda, and had sidestepped their questions ever since.

He moved deeper into the room, to the semicircle of chairs they’d all been seated in.

“Have you seen Miranda?” Molly spoke first.

“Or your bride for that matter?” Bert asked with a smirk. “You’re up to something Kerr, and my money says Miranda found you out.”

The wedding suite doorbell rang, sending the planner scuttling away. No telling what she thought needed to be delivered now. The flowers looked fine, and champagne was chilling in ice buckets by a tower of waffles. Since neither of them were fans of cake, he’d opted for their favorite room-service order.

Callum coughed to tear his mind away from how they had always raced to finish having sex before room service arrived and back to the actual wedding. He had to get this crew on board. One argument from them and Mira might go back on her word.

“This is the part where I thank you all for coming to be with us.”

“Except we’re not all here, Cal.” Molly rested a hand on her full belly. “And she’s not answering her phone. I don’t feel right about this.”

“There’s nothing to worry about. She’s—”

The words died in his throat as his lecherous cousin entered the room beside his mother. He’d gotten cocky when he told off Dirk and informed him about the wedding. He’d kept his mother completely out of the loop. She’d always expected him to marry a debutante bride of her choosing. She’d confronted him about his relationship with Mira last month, and he’d been too exhausted to lie. She’d had plenty of energy to voice her disproval.

“Mother,” he said, refusing to acknowledge the insipid ass who’d driven him to this. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

“As is usually the case with uninvited guests, Callum. Yet I see no reason why I should let social niceties keep me from the wedding of my only child.”

Bert rose and offered up his seat before moving to stand behind his wife.

“Shall I sit, darling? Or would you
object
?” She emphasized the word far too much for his liking. Mira was only tenuously in this; an objection from his mother might throw everything off. No telling what story his sycophant cousin had told her. If she knew he was doing this to save the department stores she loved more than anything, hell, she would have planned the event herself.

“By all means, Mother. This is a moment none of us will ever forget.” He cast a glance at the idiot he planned to disinherit first thing Monday morning, wishing he could plant a fist in Dirk’s smirking face and a boot up his ass. The thrill of that would be fleeting, while erasing the bastard from the family tree would be infinitely more rewarding. Straightforward, cutthroat, and long overdue.

The wedding planner proved her worth as two tuxedoed waiters each carried in a chair and added them to the semicircle. Tonya clasped her hands in front of her as everyone shuffled into their seats. The waiters pulled the curtains, revealing floor-to-ceiling windows looking out at the famed fountains of the Las Vegas Strip. On cue, the fountains shot up, water dancing and swirling to Mendelssohn’s “Wedding March.”

All according to plan, except the officiant hadn’t appeared. As full service as Tonya was, perhaps she’d handle the legalities herself. He didn’t particularly care, so long as it happened as soon as possible. After Miranda said “I do” they could explain their marriage plan to their friends and he could send his intruding family back to New York.

The door to the room where Mira had been getting ready opened. Cal held his breath, anticipation tightening his body like a fist. And then Elvis appeared.

Gold lamé Elvis with a pompadour adding three inches to his lack of height. He swung his hips with every step as he entered the room. Laughter broke out and Cal couldn’t help but join in. He cast a glance at Tonya, who actually cracked a smile.

“Welcome to Las Vegas, everybody.” Elvis had a pretty good impersonation going. He struck a pose that turned the laughter into a roar. “Thank you, thank you very much.”

His mother stood, and if looks could kill, he’d have a toe tag. “Is this some kind of joke?”

The laughter died faster than a wink. Though the wedding march played on, the mood sank, anchored down by Bridie Kerr’s ever-present disapproval. If he hadn’t spent the last thirty-five years treading water with her, he might have let it get to him.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Elvis continued, unfazed. “Get on your feet. I present to you, the bride!”

Miranda stepped into the room and his heart stuttered. She wasn’t a surprise to him, and yet he found himself joining in the collective gasp. He’d never expected to be taken aback by how she looked. After all, he’d seen her in that dress six months ago. Maybe adding the skirt to the dress made the difference, or the way the tartan flashed with every step as she made her way toward him. Or maybe this was how it felt to see your best friend on her wedding day, all dolled up and more beautiful than you’d ever realized.

“Boo-yah!” Dave pumped a fist in the air, before getting nudged in the ribs by his wife. “Sorry.”

Mira took her place beside him and shot him an annoyed look before turning to face the group, mirth dancing in her hazel eyes. “We’re all pretending to be adults here, so I’m sure there wasn’t a bet. But if there was, all of you owe me the same amount you do Dave. Double down, people.”

The laughter returned, to everyone but his relatives. He leaned close to Mira. “That was pure dead brilliant. Someone ought to marry you.”

She turned that megawatt smile on him, dimples pressing into her rosy cheeks. “You should probably fast forward to that bit before I change my mind or your mother realizes what is happening and fakes a case of the vapors or something.”

“Right.” He linked her arm in his and faced the music. “Elvis, we’re ready when you are.”

Dread knotted Miranda’s stomach as Bridie Kerr approached, flanked by Dirk the Dimwit. She should have known better than to shove a whipped cream–topped waffle in Cal’s face. He’d tucked away to wash up and now she was face-to-face with the woman who’d always pointedly refused to acknowledge her. Not that Bridie was cordial to any of Cal’s friends, but Mira had always felt especially dismissed.