One Funeral (No Weddings Book 2) (20 page)

He waved a dismissing hand. “First of all, you are not an employee. We’re business associates.”

“Employer and subcontractor, to be contractually precise,” I corrected.

“Whatever. You’re splitting hairs with semantics. Secondly, you are the exception.”

Something warmed in my chest, pushing past my harassing him. “I am?”

Staring deep into my eyes, he raised a hand, brushing a lock of hair back from my cheek. “The only exception. You always have been.”

My throat went dry, and I swallowed. His gaze dropped to my lips before lifting to my eyes. His seriousness reminded me of all the times we’d connected on a soul-deep level, where words were deemed unnecessary because we
felt
the tether binding us.

“Everyone get dressed!” A familiar, sugary voice called into the room, followed by rapid handclapping. “T-minus thirty minutes. I want all of my attendants looking alive for my death!”

In wide-eyed panic, my gaze flew to Candie. She stood there in full makeup with big curling rollers on her head, wearing a bathrobe—a fluffy powder-blue-with-white-clouds number—that clung to her body. On her feet were the glittering silver Jimmy Choos that we would all be wearing with our outfits. The free kickass shoes were the only bright side to the upcoming bridesmaid-dress nightmare.

I flicked a glance back at Cade. “Please don’t make me do this. I’m begging.”

I took a deep breath, dreading going back into a dressing room with the other girls as we put on bridesmaid dresses. Although Candie’s faux funeral was far different than my almost wedding, I still needed to keep reminding myself of the fact.

He snorted, looking down at his tux. “That ship has sailed, Ms. Contractually Precise. We have inked obligations.”

Slumping my shoulders in defeat, I groaned and headed toward the bathrooms, leaving Cade standing there as he chuckled. A terrified part of me wanted to cry foul and insist that a bridesmaid dress was too close for comfort. Plus there was a nonnegotiable rule for “no weddings.” But I relented and played along. If Cade could carry on with his battle scars, then I would be strong and make it through the night too.

Five hours to endure. I mentally ticked off the time in my head, imagining the face of Big Ben. Only my clock had a clearly visible second hand, and I intended on speeding away in that pumpkin carriage at the first stroke of midnight, with both sparkling Jimmy Choo slippers.

Taking a deep breath, I felt better. If I pretended I’d been dropped into Tim Burton’s morbid idea of a party, I just might survive the night.

T
he thing keeping me in the dress, versus clinging to civilian clothes like a last lifeline to sanity, was that there was no mirror in the bathroom stall—only shiny gray metal walls that reflected blinding pink back at me. Everything around me glowed.

Cringing with a mixture of post-traumatic anxiety and utter embarrassment, I opened the stall. There was a giant mirror outside, spanning from wall to wall above the sinks, and reflected in it were three other miserable faces staring back at me in a matching sisterhood of hot pink.

Kristen gave me a defeated look. “We look like neon signs.”

I burst out laughing, which was better than crying. And because I felt so much better after the release, I decided I needed to not be alone tonight. With my thoughts of the past running rampant more than usual, it would take regular hits of hilarity to keep me out of my head,

In my sessions with Abigail, I’d dealt with the crushing blow of being dumped at the altar by neutralizing the importance of the event with the value of new friendships I’d made. And surviving tonight’s event would hopefully prove how far I’d come—that the knee-jerk feelings were nothing more than overreactions to harmless triggers.

Finding inner strength, I vowed to obliterate those mental land mines one at a time.

Starting with the bridesmaid dresses.

Feeling brave, I looped an arm in Kendall’s as the four of us made our way out of the bathroom sitting area. “Let’s do this.”

We stepped out into the main room, which was done up just like a funeral viewing, from the spray of flowers at the front to the rows of uncomfortable-looking chairs. And of course, there was a huge ornate cross up on the dais, but then again, we were in a church.

Okay, this isn’t so bad. It’s a funeral.

After a quick scan of the room, I saw Cade. He looked miserable until the moment his gaze locked onto mine. Then he dropped his head, slumping in shame.

I burst out laughing.

Drawn to him, I crossed the room without a second thought. “Nice tie.”

He tugged at the bright collar at his neck, grumbling, “Don’t forget the cummerbund.”

“That’s nothing. Look at me.” I plucked at the shiny, pink fabric. “Isn’t this the most ghastly thing ever to be called a dress? It’s a monstrosity in taffeta.”

He backed up a step, making a show of visually drinking in my entire body from head to toe. “I don’t know, Maestro. All I see is a burlap bag.” His eyes flickered with heat. “And petticoats.”

My legs bounced with sudden excitement, and I forced air out of my lungs on a slow exhale. Cade did things to me—heated, body-rocking, mind-spinning things—and I wanted unlimited amounts of that kind of medicine tonight.

How ironic. I wanted some of Cade’s wild-and-crazy to calm me.

“I need you tonight, Cade. This whole” —I gestured frantically to my outfit, then his— “getup is freaking me out a little.”

He put firm hands on my shoulders, staring hard at me. “A little?”

I thought about the great strides I’d made in therapy and how what I believed became reality. I was stronger than a bridesmaid dress. I’d learned how to separate my present from my past in therapy, and there was no way I was going to let all of that progress unravel now.

Tonight, in a bright pink bridesmaid dress, I made a vow to myself to enjoy the present moment.

I tilted my head and shook it. “No, I’m okay. Even if what I’m wearing is a travesty.”

He pulled me closer and held me against his solid chest, wrapping his arms around me. “But I liked the whole ‘I need you’ part. What if I never leave your side tonight? Would that help?”

I nodded.

“Done.” He pulled back. “So to clarify the details, if I have to lift and hold your petticoats while you pee, will you lift and hold something when it’s my turn?” Wicked eyes glittered down at me.

I gaped. “You are
not
lifting anything of mine while I pee.”

“But I’m never leaving your side tonight.”

I cast him a sidelong glance, grumbling, “What did I just agree to?”

He chuckled, flagging down a waiter who held a tray of filled Champagne glasses. “Something very interesting from my point of view.” He grabbed two glasses. “Here, drink up. The night is young, and I intend to accompany you to no less than three bathroom trips.”

I jabbed an elbow into his ribs. “Pig.”

He coughed until his shoulders shook from laughter.

I swiped a glass from his hand and glared at him while I drank down the liquid courage, not yet caring that it would make his petticoat-lifting wishes come true.

He slid his hands into his pants pockets, rocking back on his heels, as the corners of his lips twitched. “Actually, I’ve been told I’m hung like a horse.”

I sputtered, choking on my Champagne.

He grinned. “Care to confirm?” He chugged his glass, a crime with the ten-dollars-per-swallow Cristal. “I’ll keep up with you. Then we’ll each fulfill our end of the bargain. Lift and hold. Keep practicing the technique in your mind.”

“I am
not
holding…there’s no way I’m touching…”

Cade grinned and leaned down, brushing his lips along my jawline. His hot breath fanned an erotic path up the side of my neck until a kiss caressed my ear. “My massive cock?”

My breaths came in short bursts, my heart racing. All I could think of now was Cade’s massive cock. And all I wanted to do was see it. Touch it.

I swallowed hard, trying to catch my breath as aching heat pulsed between my legs. When he pulled back, I stared at him. All I could manage was a nod.

What was I nodding to? That yes, I did want to touch it? My thoughts fuzzed.

“That’s right, Hannah. We both know you want to, now. I hope it’s the only thing you think about all night.”

I forgot everything I’d been worried about. Oh, I was still stuck in my head all right. But my thoughts had definitely guttered. All I could think about now was petticoat lifting and other…huge…things. When the waiter went by again, I grabbed another Champagne flute.

Cade barked out a laugh, grabbing another too. He held it up near mine for a private toast. “To adventures together no matter where we go. Most especially in the bathroom.”

I laughed, shaking my head as we clinked glasses to the most ridiculous toast ever. And yet I couldn’t wait for the adventures to begin.

Most especially in the bathroom.

A
s soft classical music streamed in through a sound system, we ended our walk up the center aisle to take our places. The girls veered off to the left and stood together in a hot-pink taffeta explosion. The men, who’d escorted us in our walk of shame, peeled off to stand in a line to the right. Cade was to take his place on the end, next to Candie’s two brothers and her current flame-of-the-moment. Only Cade wouldn’t let go of my hand.

We continued straight toward the cake.

I tried to push him toward the other “groomsmen,” but his fingers were tangled with mine in an unyielding grip, keeping me glued by his side.

When we were inches from the enormous cake, Cade stopped. “Holy shit.”

I stared down with him.

Yes, I’d done a spectacular job on the cake. The unparalleled creation met with Candie’s exacting specifications, from the span of black-iced roses that formed a six-foot-long coffin to the wide, hot-pink icing ribbon that wrapped around the glittering box.

But Cade’s awestruck attention was drawn to what stretched inside the open cake-casket. I understood his shock. In fact, I stared right along with him in an odd mixture of wonder and horror.

He poked a rigid finger at it, pressing with enough force, I worried he’d left a fingerprint. “That is…”

“Sick? Gruesome? Morbid?” I supplied, the vomit of words flowing from my mind, gratefully instead of up from my stomach.

“So fucking awesome.” His statement echoed. Laughter pealed out from in the front rows.

I scrunched my face, staring at the exact likeness of Candie, her fake-lashed eyelids shut and her hot-pink lips tilted upward, hinting at a smile. “It’s gross.” I shuddered.

“This isn’t a cake. What is it? Wax?”

I nodded. “She insisted on having her body in there. I have no idea what she’s going to do with it afterward. Put it in her guest room? Scare away burglars?”

Cade stepped behind me to the left, leaning over her as he angled in to get a look at the wax dummy’s body. “Wow. Right down to every last dimension, I bet.”

I shot him a deadpan look. “Really? Want to feel it up too?”

He snickered, stepping closer. His hot breath flowed over the shell of my ear. “No, Maestro. I only want to feel up one person. Shall we let the groping commence here? Or maybe you’re looking forward to our first bathroom run.”

My thoughts scattered, his warm breath overwhelming me. I closed my eyes as his lips brushed against my earlobe.

Someone’s cell phone rang, and I flinched. He chuckled softly into my ear before placing a kiss there, then pulled a more discreet distance away. “Later. You keep your naughty mind focused on later. And lifting and holding massive things.”

Loud music began pulsing from the overhead speakers, and Cade gave me a gentle shove toward the other girls in bright pink, their attention thankfully focused toward the guests and the back of the room.

The room buzzed with energy and whispers as the music changed. Like a human wave at a football game, everyone stood and turned toward the back as the classical wedding standard that had been playing shifted into an extended electric guitar chord, then a bass-thumping rock song.

I blinked. My gaze flicked over to Cade, and he grinned wide. Then he winked at me.