Aimee Carson - The Unexpected Wedding Guest

Her parents.

Reese’s fingers clamped around the dog tags. “When I get married,” she went on, “money and status won’t be a consideration.”

Gina hiked a skeptical brow. “Have you told your mom and dad this?”

“I’m nineteen years old,” Reese said, abandoning her plans of sharing her secret. “I don’t need permission to marry.” Pushing aside her worries, she raised her glass and changed the subject again. “To our last night as roomies.”

Faces instantly gloomy, they lifted their drinks in response, and affection pinched her chest.

“You know I love you guys, right?” Reese met their gazes. She knew they’d forgive her for keeping her secret until she was officially Mrs. Mason Hicks. “So this isn’t the end of the Awesome Foursome,” she said, too full of hope not to smile. “This is just the beginning.”

ONE

Ten Years Later

Bellington Estate, the Hamptons

Reese stood on the small platform in the elegant sitting room furnished in eighteenth-century antiques, smoothing her hands down the satin. The wedding gown fit her waist just right, hugging her body to her hips before flaring in a dreamy swirl of tulle that floated to the floor, one hundred yards total. She had only one issue with the dress, and, unfortunately, the problem was getting bigger. Or technically, smaller. With a frown, she reached into her strapless bodice and adjusted her right breast.

“Don’t bother.” Amber met her gaze in the full-length mirror, her words muffled by the pins in her mouth, her hands fingering the bodice at the seam. “We need cream puffs.”

With a sigh, Reese dropped her hand to her side, staring at her reflection. Proof positive that God was indeed male. Because there could be no justice in a world that declared a woman must lose weight in her boobs first.

“Is that the best my seamstress, bridesmaid and future sister-in-law can come up with?” She sent Amber a dry look. “Your breasts are shrinking so bring on the cream puffs?”

The redhead’s face flushed with pleasure. “Your brother and I aren’t engaged.”

“Yet,” Reese said with a smile.

Amber removed the pins from her mouth. “We’re here to talk about your wedding,” she said. “And at this rate, you won’t have anything left to fill out your dress. Do you want the bodice looking like the empty bucket of a bulldozer as you make your way up the aisle?”

Her friend stabbed a pin through the fabric under Reese’s left arm before she went on. “I told you to stop stressing about the wedding and let the event planner do her thing.”

“She’s driving me crazy.”

“You hired her to do a job,” Amber said as she continued to work, her voice firm. “So let her do it.”

“But she keeps forgetting it’s my wedding,” Reese said. “Why else would she act as if she has such a vested interest in the bride and groom’s first dance?” She blew out a breath. “I swear I spend more time defending my choices to her than anything else.”

Amber shot her a concerned look. “Keep this frantic pace up and I’ll be altering this dress the day of your wedding. Which, I might add—” she jabbed the last pin into place “—is only six days away.”

The knot of anticipation tightened in Reese’s belly. Six days to ensure every detail was just right. But as she stared out of the second-floor window at the manicured grounds of Bellington Estate—grounds that included several formal gardens—a sense of peace rolled through her body. June in the Hamptons was gorgeous. Spring showers had done beautiful things to the one hundred acres that surrounded the twenty-five-bedroom, historical home, the closest thing to a castle that Reese could find.

The perfect place for her fairy-tale wedding.

But it wasn’t the antique-adorned rooms, the priceless artwork, or the towering stone turrets that had sold her on the location. Yes, the grounds were perfect for an outdoor wedding reception. Yes, the restaurant-quality kitchen had a walk-in freezer capable of housing as many ice carvings as she wanted, personally inspected and approved by the sculptor located half a state away. But what convinced her to book the wedding here was the stately feel, the sense of serenity that Bellington Estate brought. It had been worth the two-year engagement to Dylan.

The right location for the right wedding to the right man.

Satisfaction swelled, and she let out a contented breath. It certainly beat an impulsive ceremony in a county courthouse. The swirl of roller-coaster, nauseating excitement. And a cocky Mason in his military fatigues, his feet shifting impatiently as they stood before the judge. Reese in her simple sundress...

Anger and hurt rose up, as familiar as her own reflection, and she pressed her lips flat, shoving the ten-year-old memory aside. That was then, and this was now. Dylan made her happy. He made her laugh. They were a great team, not only professionally in her position as chairman of fundraising for The Brookes Foundation, his family’s charitable organization, but personally, as well. They rocked the compatibility charts in every way.

Dylan deserved a beautiful wedding. After all these years, she deserved one.

Reese glanced back at her bodice and tried to shift her left breast higher, hoping to fill the gap.

“Rearranging them isn’t going to help. The girls are looking a little malnourished.”

The male voice slid through her consciousness, triggering long-suppressed emotions that came bubbling up like an ominous ooze. Her heart set up house in her throat, making speech impossible, and Reese slowly removed her hand from her bodice. Shifting her gaze in the mirror, she took in the lean, muscular form lazing against the doorjamb. The familiar potent power and arrogance were not lost in the reflection as, arms crossed, Mason Hicks met her eyes in the mirror.

Reese blinked, hoping the figure staring back at her was a trick of her imagination, the voice emanating from inside her head. Visual and auditory hallucinations would be most welcome in comparison. There were treatments for those, but all the medication in the world couldn’t see her through a visit from Mason. And the intensely curious look on Amber’s face was proof positive that her ex-husband was indeed...here.

“Girls?” Reese repeated, feeling stupid.

“Puppies,” he said. His thickly fringed, hazel eyes were lit with mischief as he crossed the room in her direction. And every footstep ratcheted her heart rate higher. “Bazookas.”

His disturbing gaze grew closer, and, just like when they first met, elicited the same burning low in her gut. His chest looked as cut as ever beneath his military, olive green T-shirt. And pretty soon he was standing next to her, near enough to smell his musky, masculine scent. Close enough to touch.

And her expression must have remained as blank as her brain.

“Boobs,” he clarified.

The word finally shattered the trance, the same sensual web the man had magically spun so many years ago. But she was older now.

Wiser.

She narrowed her eyes at him, daring him to continue with his man-thesaurus listing of names for the female anatomy. Instead, he took the direct approach.

“Last time I saw you, your breasts were bigger,” he said. “I think a few cream puffs are definitely in order.”

“See, the man agrees with me,” Amber said, eyeing Mason with interest. “At least have a little ice cream, Reese.”

Mason’s lips tipped up at one corner. “She loves crème brûlée.”

“Topped with caramel topping,” Amber added, returning the smile.

Mason turned his attention back to Reese, and looked at her as if she was incapable of intelligent speech. No need to wonder why.

“Surprised to see me, Park Avenue?” The familiar, sexy rumble and the nickname added to the surreal nature of being transported back in time when she had laughingly told Mason her college roommates’ nickname for her, Park Avenue Princess. And then he’d made the name his own, dropping the princess part. Which for some strange reason had pleased her to no end.