Aimee Carson - The Unexpected Wedding Guest

“You better go down there, Reese,” Gina said. “Make sure your fiancé doesn’t wind up with a black eye in his wedding pictures.”

Reese pressed her lids closed, searching for strength.

Don’t just stand here like you’re helpless. Do something, Reese.

Now.

Reese whirled away from the window. “Gina, I’ve got to go.”

“Call me with a report,” Gina called out just before Reese punched the disconnect button and tossed the phone onto the couch.

Desperate, Reese reached for the buttons at the back of her dress. If she could just release the top few, she might be able to wriggle out. But her arms burned with pain in her attempt, fingers scrambling. Stretching was useless. Straining didn’t work. Grunting from the effort didn’t help, either.

After five minutes of concerted effort she finally had to accept that, unless she suddenly acquired the abilities of a contortionist, there was no time to change. Abandoning the plan, Reese rifled through her bags, tossing lingerie and toiletry articles aside. Where were her shoes?

Where were her shoes?

Please, please. Just let them remain reasonably calm until I get there.

Her hands landed on her Manolo Blahnik satin pumps and relief surged as she slipped them on. She couldn’t wear flats and let the dress drag, but maneuvering up the endless hall and down the grand staircase in four-inch heels was going to take time. Time she didn’t have.

Because she had to reach them before it was too late.

* * *

Mason exited Bellington Hall and crossed the brick driveway leading to his truck, passing a deliveryman wheeling a dolly loaded with boxes of expensive champagne. And, although she was all he needed, the Beast didn’t fit in at Bellington any more than Mason did, his truck looking out of place parked next to the stately stone mansion and graceful gardens.

A harsh reminder of the feeling of “otherness” that had marked his marriage and his childhood.

As a military brat who rarely attended the same school twice, and a bit of a loner to boot, he’d been the outsider constantly looking in. Mind-numbingly bland years memorable simply for his monotonous existence—a monochromatic gray where his soul had faded and lapsed into a coma. Ironically, while the military-brat lifestyle left him feeling the odd man out, ultimately his military career had given him the first sense of real belonging—thriving in the tightly knit team environment integral to doing his job.

A job he could no longer perform.

With a resigned acceptance, Mason pushed aside the familiar feeling of loss. So life sucked and then you died, but the mere fact that he hadn’t—died, that is—was enough of a miracle to put the rest of his mucked-up life into perspective.

Though he was still struggling to apply that attitude to his screwed-up head.

Mason reached his truck and then paused, clutching the door handle. A convertible Jaguar had joined the Mercedes-Benz in the drive, and it wasn’t hard to guess who the car belonged to. Apparently the successful fiancé had already arrived. Most likely seeking out his bride-to-be at this very moment.

Definitely time for Mason to leave.

A sense of inevitability settled in his gut. He’d tell the doc he’d done his best to put this ghost to rest. But all he’d managed to achieve was discovering just how time had made his ex more beautiful. And more thoroughly pissed off at him.

A scoff of bitter humor escaped just as a masculine voice called out.

Mason spun on his heel and spied a tall, black-haired man exit the front entrance in athletic shorts and running shoes, clearly about to set off on a jog. Despite the casual attire, the clothes reeked of money. And there was something in the man’s eyes and posture that screamed breeding. The fiancé.

What was his name again?

For the nth time since the explosion, Mason cursed the short-term memory that had been knocked and scattered like the proverbial loose screws on the floor, making simple tasks a daily struggle. Amazing how much he’d taken for granted the ability to retrieve information from his brain.

“Can I help you?” the man said as he drew close.

For a brief moment Mason considered lying and claiming to be a delivery guy. There was certainly enough activity going on preparing for the big day that one more truck transporting goods wasn’t a stretch. But as his mind scrambled for an item he could have believably delivered, he realized he didn’t have a clue what kinds of things would be needed in preparation for a regular wedding, much less one at a location as luxurious as the Bellington Estate.

As Reese’s fiancé drew closer, Mason eyed the man warily, trying to recall his name. The guy had a good inch or so on him, but Mason was more muscular. He knew he could take him. He just hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

“You must be be...” Drew? David? He refused to look at his notes. “Reese’s fiancé.”

“Guilty as charged.” The man came to a stop in front of him and stuck out his hand. “Dylan.”

“Dylan.” Hell, maybe this time it’d stick. He returned the shake. “I’m—”

“Mason Hicks,” Reese’s fiancé said. “Awarded Two Marine Corps Good Conduct Medals, a Humanitarian Service Medal and a Purple Heart.” Dylan released his hand. “Just to name a few.”

Surprise left Mason briefly speechless as he tipped his head in question. How did he know all that?

Dylan calmly studied him. “When Reese and I started seeing each other I had you investigated.”

Normally the news would have put Mason on alert, but there was no hostility in the man’s gaze. Nothing overt anyway. But there was a cool wariness, a “why are you here?” question in his eyes that was dressed in such a classy air that Mason didn’t feel unwelcome. The elegant manners were impressive. The bride and groom-to-be truly were two of a kind.

They were five-star accommodations while Mason could make do in a dusty hole in the ground, if need be.

“Investigated?” Mason said.

Dylan hooked a hand on his hip. “I wanted to know a little about my predecessor.”

“What for?” Mason said.

“So I could better understand the man who made Reese so unhappy all those years ago.”

Shifting on his feet, Mason rubbed his chin. His day-old growth was rough, and he hated that he felt scruffy next to the well-groomed fiancé. And the man’s steady gaze was making Mason uncomfortable. He didn’t fit in here. He didn’t belong here.

It was well past time for him to climb into The Beast and make tracks.

“I’m taking off now.” Mason bit back a grin. “That should definitely make her happy.”

Better than the lame engraved picture frame he’d brought as a gift.

“But you just arrived,” Dylan said. “There’s no need to rush off.”

Stunned again, this time the ability to speak took longer to return. Was he serious? Or was he just being polite? Or maybe he wanted him around so he could mess with Mason’s mind or something—like it wasn’t screwed up enough. But Dylan didn’t strike him as the type.

“In case you haven’t been informed, time has only increased my ability to make my ex unhappy,” Mason said dryly, surprised lightning didn’t strike him for uttering such a massive understatement.

“I’m not sure that’s even possible,” Dylan said in agreement.

Mason let out a humorless bark of laughter before going on. “I can only imagine,” he said. “I figure the best wedding gift I can give the two of you is my departure. Because Reese was adamant that I leave.”

An emotion Mason couldn’t interpret flitted across Dylan’s face, a slight tightening of the eyes that could have meant anything. “I can imagine she was.”

He eyed Mason, as if sizing him up. But not only was there no hostility, Mason didn’t sense any resentment, either. Just a wary curiosity from the man who was about to marry his ex-wife. At least his hellacious road trip here hadn’t been a total waste. If nothing else, he now knew that Reese wasn’t marrying a jerk. But did Dylan love her?