Barbara Dunlop - His Stolen Bride

She stifled a laugh at the absurdity of it all. She was a struggling jewelry designer, living in a basement suite off Winter Street. She didn’t wear antique diamonds. She didn’t get married in the magnificent Saint Luke’s Cathedral with a reception at the Brookbend Country Club. And she didn’t get swept off her feet by the most eligible prince charming in all of greater Chicago.

Except for the part where she did, and she had.

Cinderella had nothing on her.

There was a knock on the Gerhard mansion’s bedroom door.

“Crista?” the male voice called out. It was Vern’s cousin Hadley, one of the groomsmen.

“Come in,” she called in return.

She liked Hadley. He was a few years younger than Vern, laid-back by Gerhard standards, fun-loving and friendly. Taller than most of the men in the family, he was athletic and good-looking, with a jaunty swath of dark blond hair that swooped across his forehead.

He lived in Boston rather than Chicago, but he visited often, sometimes staying at the mansion, sometimes using a hotel. Crista assumed he preferred a hotel when he had a date. Vern’s mother, Delores, was staunchly religious and would not have allowed Hadley to have an overnight guest.

The door opened, and he stepped into the spacious, sumptuously decorated guest room. Crista had spent the night here, while Vern had stayed in his apartment downtown. Maybe it was Dolores’s influence, but Crista had been feeling old-fashioned the past few weeks, insisting she and Vern sleep apart until the honeymoon. Vern had reluctantly agreed.

Hadley halted. Then he pushed the door shut behind him and seemed to take in her ensemble.

“What?” she asked, checking herself out, wondering if she’d missed some glaring flaw.

“You look amazing,” he said.

Crista scoffed. “I sure hope I do.” She spread her arms. “Do you have any idea how much this all cost?”

Hadley grinned. “Aunt Delores wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“I feel like an impostor.” Crista’s stomach fluttered with a resurgence of apprehension.

“Why?” he asked. His tone was gentle, and he moved closer.

“Because I grew up on the lower west side.”

“You don’t think we’re your people?”

She turned back to the mirror and gazed at her reflection. The woman staring back was her, but not her. It was a surreal sensation.

“Do you think you’re my people?” she asked him.

“If you want us to be,” he said.

Their gazes met in the mirror.

“But it’s not too late,” he added.

“Too late for what?”

“To back out.” He looked serious, but he had to be joking.

“You’re wrong about that.” Not that she wanted to back out. Not that she’d even consider backing out. In fact, she couldn’t imagine how their conversation had come to this.

“You look scared,” he said.

“Of the wedding, sure. I’m probably going to trip on my way down the aisle. But I’m not afraid of the marriage.”

It was Vern. She was marrying smart, respectful, polite Vern. The man who’d stepped up to invest in her jewelry design company, who’d introduced her to the finer things, who’d swept her away for a fantasy weekend in New York City and another in Paris. There wasn’t much about Vern that wasn’t fantastic.

“The future in-laws?” Hadley asked.

Crista quirked a smile. “Intimidated, not afraid.”

The intensity left his expression, and he smiled in return. “Who wouldn’t be intimidated by them?”

“Nobody I know, that’s for sure.”

Manfred Gerhard was a humorless workaholic. He was exacting and demanding, with a cutting voice and an abrupt manner. His wife, Delores, was prim and uptight, excruciatingly conscious of the social hierarchy, but skittish whenever Manfred was in the room, constantly catering to his whims.

If Vern ever acted like his father, Crista would kick him to the curb. No way, no how would she put up with that. Then the thought brought her up short. Vern wasn’t at all like his father. She’d never seen anything to even suggest he might behave like Manfred.

“He’s very close to them,” said Hadley.

He was watching her intently again, and for a split second Crista wondered if he could read her thoughts.

“He’s talking about buying an apartment in New York City.” She liked the idea of putting some distance between Vern and his family. He loved them dearly, but she couldn’t see spending every Sunday evening at the mansion the way Vern seemed to like.

“I’ll believe that when it happens,” said Hadley.

But Crista knew it was already decided. “It’s so I can expand the business,” she elaborated.

“Are you having second thoughts?” asked Hadley.

“No.” She turned to face him. She wasn’t. “What makes you say that? What makes you ask that?”

“Maybe I want you for myself.”

“Very funny.”

He hesitated for a moment then gave an unconcerned shrug. “I’m not sure I’d marry into this family.”

“Too bad you’re already in this family.”

He looked her straight in the eyes. “So, you’re sure?”

“I’m sure. I love him, Hadley. And he loves me. Everything else will work itself out around that.”

He gave a nod of acquiescence. “Okay. If I can’t get you to call off the wedding, then I’m here to tell you the limos have arrived.”

“It’s time?” The flutter in her stomach turned into a spasm.

It was perfectly normal, she told herself. She was about to walk down the aisle in front of hundreds of people, including her future in-laws and a who’s who list of notable Chicagoans. She’d be a fool to be calm under these circumstances.

“You just turned pale,” said Hadley.

“I told you, I’m afraid of tripping halfway down the aisle.”

“You want me to walk you?”

“That’s not how we rehearsed it.”

Crista’s father was in prison, and she didn’t have a close male relative to escort her down the aisle. And in this day and age, it seemed ridiculous to scramble for a figurehead to “give her away” to Vern. She was walking down the aisle alone, and she was perfectly fine with that.

“I could still do it,” said Hadley.

“No, you can’t. You need to stand up front with Vern. Otherwise the numbers will be off, more bridesmaids than groomsmen. Dolores would faint dead away.”

Hadley straightened the sleeves of his tux. “You got that right.”

Crista pictured her six bridesmaids at the front of the cathedral in their one-shoulder crisscross aqua dresses. Their bouquets would be plum and white, smaller versions of the dramatic rose-and-peony creation Delores had ordered for Crista. It was going to be heavy, but Delores had said with a congregation that large, people needed to see it from a distance. They could probably see it from Mars.

“The flowers are here?” asked Crista, half hoping they hadn’t arrived so she wouldn’t have to lug the monstrosity around.

“Yes. They’re looking for you downstairs to get some pictures before you leave.”

“It’s time,” said Crista, bracing herself.

“It’s not too late,” said Hadley. “We can make a break for it through the rose garden.”

“You need to shut up.”

He grinned. “Shutting up now.”

Crista was getting married today. It might have happened fast. The ceremony might be huge. And her new family might be overwhelming. But all she had to do was put one foot in front of the other, say, “I do,” and smile in all the right places.

By tonight, she’d be Mrs. Vern Gerhard. By this time tomorrow, she’d be off on a Mediterranean honeymoon. A posh private jet would take them to a sleek private yacht for a vacation in keeping with the stature of the Gerhard family.