Aimee Carson - The Unexpected Wedding Guest

He was sure the tiny furrow marking her brow was just the tip of the emotional iceberg buried beneath her calm demeanor. And, in some ways, he almost preferred the angry Reese.

“I figured I’d find you pacing,” he said.

During their many fights, he’d watched her march back and forth enough.

The smile she sent him lacked humor. “I did pace,” she said. “But my time was cut short by my Manolo Blahniks.”

He frowned in confusion, wondering who the hell Manolo was and why he was shooting blanks. Until, from beneath the torrent of white netting, she stuck out a white satin pump. The height of the heels pushed his brow higher. How anyone walked in the death contraptions was a mystery.

“Nothing cuts your pacing time more effectively than four-inch heels,” she said.

He shifted his weight on his feet, uncomfortable as he stared at the woman who looked for all the world like she’d been dumped at the altar. He felt inadequate. This wasn’t his scene. This was not where he excelled.

Put him in a hot desert scraping the ground with his knife, painstakingly following a wire to the detonator of an IED, and he was good to go. Toss in a few bullets flying around him, his team by his side, and he knew what to do. He’d thrived in the adrenaline-packed environment. Especially after sleepwalking through his vacuous adolescent years. But among all the finery and the emotional land mines...he was lost.

And that summed up their doomed marriage.

A status quo SNAFU—situation normal, all fouled up, in the PG rated version, that is.

There was no easing into the announcement. “Your ice sculptures have arrived,” he said. “I sent them to the service entrance.”

She rose to her feet with a sigh, a cascade of skirting falling to the floor. With a resigned look, she headed across the foyer in the direction of the kitchen, and Mason followed behind. Captivated, he watched her dress bounce gently with every graceful step. The creamy skin stretched across delicate shoulder blades. Her hair swaying, he remembered how he’d fisted his hand in the gold-streaked strands as he’d made love to her.

A sliver of warmth snaked up his spine, and, after eight months of silence, the sharp slice of sexual awareness was a shock to the system. Nice to know his hibernating libido was finally waking up.

He just hoped the reappearance would extend beyond the ex who hated his guts.

Mason cleared his throat, getting back to the matter at hand. “I could just go tell them to send the sculptures back.”

They entered the kitchen where Ethel, the head of the household staff, was directing the deliverymen toward the walk-in freezer.

“I had them trucked in from half a state away,” Reese said as he followed her into the icy vault, her breath visible in the frigid air. “Besides, it’s way too late to get a refund.”

“Then donate them to some needy bride and groom,” he said.

Reese gently lifted the bag covering a mound resting on a freezer shelf. The base of a sculpture came into view where, in a swirly font worthy of a wedding invitation, the words Dylan and Reese were engraved.

His head thumped harder, but he ignored the warning sign as he stared at the inscription.

“I think the odds of finding just the right couple are pretty slim,” she said dryly.

He grunted in agreement.

Reese gently lifted the covering higher, revealing a pair of intricately carved swans, the graceful curve of their necks bent for a kiss. The crystalline ice sparkled in the light, each feather crafted in meticulous detail. Clearly no expense had been spared on the wedding of the century. The one he’d sabotaged by his very presence.

Even if she refused to talk about the past, he at least needed to apologize for what had happened in the present.

He followed Reese back out into the kitchen, grappling for the right words. As always, they didn’t come. And the ability was worse since his accident. Two burly delivery guys rolled a cart by with two more ice sculptures and disappeared into the freezer.

How many of those useless ice blocks had she ordered?

Lots, apparently. And as they stood, silent, the two men passed by again only to return with another load. The process was repeated several times, Reese’s expression remaining alarmingly blank, and Mason’s sense of inadequacy swelled. He definitely should go, but he couldn’t just leave her here.

Alone.

Dealing with the aftermath of her fiancé’s departure.

“You shouldn’t be by yourself right now,” Mason said gruffly. “You should call your mom. Have her come.”

“Absolutely not.” A scoff escaped her mouth that was hardly ladylike. “I love her, but her overprotective ways would only make me feel worse.”

“Still treating you like a fragile princess, huh?” he said with a wry smile.

During their marriage he’d found nothing funny about the stifling relationship she’d had with her parents. But back then Reese had been oblivious.

She stared out the window overlooking the garden, her gaze distant, unfocused. “My mother has always been a bit...overbearing.”

Mason bit back the urge to agree, proud he was able to keep his mouth shut.

“They were constantly worried about me while I was married to you, and positively petrified for me at the end.” She smoothed a hand down her cheek. “But I honestly don’t know what I would have done without them after our divorce,” she went on softly.

She ticked her eyes back to Mason. “It’s been Dylan’s steady influence that has helped me deal more productively with their smothering behavior. So much so that they now actually view me as a grown-up who’s capable of making her own choices.” Her eyes crinkled in doubt. “But I suspect my mother’s going to freak when she learns Dylan called the wedding off.”

Sure his opinions wouldn’t go over so well, Mason let out an evasive “huh” and rubbed his jaw. Family was definitely in order here, but her father was about as cuddly and comforting as a porcupine. But Mason did remember she had a half brother somewhere.

“Parker?” he said.

Damn, he was grateful the long-term memory was intact.

Reese shook her head. “We’re getting along better now, but I don’t want to bother him with this. He’s busy at work and newly smitten with Amber.”

“Amber the seamstress?” He hiked his eyebrows, hoping to annoy Reese. “She’s pretty.”

She drolly rolled her eyes, and Mason suppressed the grin.

“How about one of your college roommates?” he went on. “What did you call yourselves?”

A trace of a smile appeared on her mouth. “Our neighbors dubbed us the Awesome Foursome.”

“Right,” he went on. “Marnie, Gina and that brainy Aussie chick—”

“Cassie,” she said.

“Surely one of them is available.”

“They won’t be here for another three days or so.”

His eyebrows hitched higher. “They’re all coming?” he said. “I thought your little girlie gang busted up before we got married.”

“Gina and Marnie haven’t spoken since, but I’ve kept in touch with them all.” She gave a small shrug. “I was hoping to use my wedding day as a way to bring us back together again.”

He stared at the defeated look on her face. He wanted to tell her he was sorry and get the hell out of town. She smelled like crème brûlée, she looked like an angel in white, though his body remembered just how unangelic she could be. And all the good memories were beginning to rush their way past the towering wall of bad. The only thing that kept him going was remembering the fury in her face the day she’d hurled his dog tags at his chest. Oh, and the resentment that simmered in her eyes with every glance.