Anne Eames - Two Weddings And A Bride

Jake walked close behind her and whispered discreetly over her shoulder. “Probably the same number as men who went with brides that weren’t their own.”

Catherine swallowed a chuckle, suddenly feeling wicked and, much to her surprise, a little excited. Maybe this wasn’t such a crazy idea after all, she mused. Besides, there was a good chance she wasn’t anybody’s “bride,” that she was actually a free woman. As long as Jake remembered this was a platonic vacation, maybe Jamaica could be more than a convenient escape. Maybe it could actually be fun.

An hour and a half after takeoff Catherine picked at her second breakfast of the morning, still feeling queasy, when the practical side of her took over. Using the most businesslike tone she could muster, she began laying out the ground rules to her traveling companion. They’d come and go as they pleased without checking with each other, taking meals together as the mood moved them, but with no obligations. Strictly a business arrangement. No hanky-panky.

“There’s a master bedroom and a parlor with a hide-abed.” She nibbled at her dry toast and thought about offering Jake the bed, but reconsidered. After all, she’d paid for this whole trip, thanks to her offer to pay for everything by credit card and get reimbursed from TJ later. The least she could do for herself now was take the bed. Besides, as nice as Jake had been so far, he was still a man, and men were on her lower-than-slime list today.

When she fell silent Jake took the lead. “I’ll use the hide-a-bed. You can have the bed.” He’d polished off his eggs and sausage with ease. He wiped his mouth with a napkin and returned the no-nonsense look she’d been giving him for the last ten minutes. “I have no problem with your conditions, but I have one of my own.”

She waited, curious what it might be.

“I insist on paying half of all expenses.”

She opened her mouth to protest but thought better of it. Even a bartender had his pride. It wasn’t her problem how he’d come up with the money. She held out her hand. “It’s a deal.”

Jake clasped it and shook it firmly just as the flight attendant retrieved their trays. He released his grip in time to salvage his coffee. “I’d like more when you get a chance.” He smiled up at the pretty redhead whose eyes betrayed a more than passing interest. The woman lingered in the aisle making small talk.

Catherine felt a twinge of something resembling jealousy. Quickly she shook herself and found a paperback in her bag. Before she finished the first paragraph of her new Janet Dailey novel, the flight attendant was back refilling Jake’s cup.

After she left, Catherine watched Jake from the corner of her eye. He slurped from his steaming cup, then reached for the Wall Street Journal tucked in the seat pocket in front of him. Catherine bit her top lip to keep from laughing. Who was he kidding? She’d bet her grandmother’s pearls that he didn’t know the difference between junk bonds and junk mail. This trip was going to be fun.

Three hours into the flight, when they ran into turbulence, Catherine’s stomach lurched and any idea of fun vanished.

God! How she’d be glad when this ride was over. Motion sickness had never been a problem before. But then she’d never had so much alcohol before, either. Another thing she could thank TJ for—if she ever spoke to him again.

TJ. She’d refused to dwell on him since leaving the reception, but now her mind drifted in that direction, the book on her lap long forgotten. She leaned back in the seat and felt the cool air on her face, not ready to deal with the past, but unable to put it out of her head.

They’d grown up together, their families having been close since before they were born. It was natural for everyone to push them together. They were both intelligent, educated, ambitious and—probably too important to both families—well-heeled. Money would never have been an issue between them. They each brought their share to the table.

TJ’s philandering was no secret to her. In high school and college she was the one he had told his secrets to, sparing no details of his outrageous behavior. But when their friendship had turned to romance, she thought all that had changed, that he would never cheat on her. Especially on their wedding night!

So, she asked herself, how did she really feel about all this? The first word that came to mind was stupid. TJ had made a fool of her, embarrassed her in such grand fashion that she wondered how she could ever face all those people who witnessed her humiliation. Of course, she reminded herself, they never would’ve known what he’d done if she hadn’t stood there in front of God and everyone and told them. But she had to. She wanted everyone to know it was TJ’s fault the marriage had ended before it began. She wanted him to pay the price for his inexcusable behavior. A slow smile spread across her lips. If only she could have seen what happened when he returned to the banquet room. There probably wasn’t a soul there who had a kind word for him. Even his experience as a smooth-talking lawyer couldn’t have bailed him out of that mess.

A half hour later Catherine was still picturing TJ and Mary Beth trying to cover their tracks, letting her imagination run wild, when she felt the plane touch down in Montego Bay. She looked to her right and saw Jake dozing, his seat upright and belt fastened. And for the first time she wondered what kind of man would drop everything and fly off this way. As if looking for a clue she studied his relaxed face. It was handsome in a rugged kind of way—tanned, with white squint lines at the corners of his eyes. His nose was a little large, but it seemed to fit his long, angular face. His sandy hair was a little long, too, brushing the collar of his blue chambray shirt. She let her gaze drift south to his jeans. Flat stomach, nice…

“See anything you like?”

Startled, Catherine shifted in her seat, feeling heat rush to her cheeks. She looked into his mocking brown eyes, then quickly away. “I was just looking at what you were wearing. I knew you changed clothes when you stopped by your place, but I didn’t pay much attention at the time.”

“Don’t you mean you were out cold when I got back to the Jeep?”

She could feel his stare, but she refused to look him in the eye. “I was catching a little catnap, that’s all,” she insisted, thinking she sounded a tad too defensive.

“Right.” The plane rolled to a stop and Jake stood into the aisle. He retrieved their bags from the overhead compartment, handing Catherine hers and positioning his duffel over one shoulder.

Catherine followed him down the portable steps, the hot wind billowing her pant legs, a length of hair blowing across her eyes. Before they reached the terminal she felt the moisture on her skin and the humidity curling the hair on her neck. They passed through immigration uneventfully and, having no baggage to claim, went directly to the row of shuttle buses.

The tags on their carryons identified their point of destination and a driver waved them in his direction.

“This is your lucky day,” he said in his lilting Jamaican patois as they boarded. “You are my only two passengers this morning…so we con go right away.” He settled into the driver’s seat, then looked back at them. “You are Mr. and Mrs. Miller, am I correct?”

Catherine didn’t want to see the expression on Jake’s face. She despised being called Mrs. Miller. Today of all days. She could imagine how Jake felt about being called Mr. Miller. “You have the right couple,” she said to the friendly driver, forcing a smile.

Satisfied, he started the van and made his way around haggard-looking travelers and a maze of buses and other vehicles until finally he pulled onto the narrow two-lane road heading west for Negril, their home for the next seven days.