Linda Miles - Last-Minute Bridegroom

Chaz put an arm round his mother’s shoulder and offered her a fresh handkerchief.

Tasha’s mother said, ‘Chaz, dear, that’s a lovely, lovely thought, and I couldn’t be more pleased that you feel that way. You know I’ve always thought of you as a son. I’m just saying that sometimes people have to be realistic.’

Chaz raised an eyebrow. ‘And sometimes they can’t afford to be. Shall we change the subject?’

Tasha’s mother looked at him askance. Everyone in the family knew he had a razor-sharp tongue when provoked; he’d been uncharacteristically restrained today, but who knew how long that would last?

‘Well, Chaz,’ she said drily at last, ‘if worse comes to worst at least I know you know one way to make her happy.’

‘Exactly,’ said Chaz. ‘Protect her from her family. I don’t remember making a vow on the subject, but I’ll do my poor best.’

Tasha’s father gave a crack of laughter.

Tasha’s mother said, ‘I don’t think that’s funny, Gervase.’

Local skirmishes broke out all around the table.

Tasha remembered suddenly just why she hadn’t wanted to invite Chaz to her wedding in the first place.

They got through the rest of the dinner and the speeches somehow, and then their car took them to their hotel. Chaz had booked a suite at the Ritz, with a sitting room and two bedrooms. They were leaving the next morning for Paris.

They took the lift to their floor and were shown to the suite.

The door closed behind them, and they were alone.

‘Alone at last,’ said Chaz.

Tasha gave a rather tremulous smile. Chaz was surveying the suite and looking distinctly unimpressed, though to Tasha’s eyes it looked palatial. When she didn’t reply he glanced down at her. ‘My poor darling,’ he said ruefully. ‘Your lovely wedding in ruins. Come here a minute.’

Tasha went wearily to his side. Considering that Chaz seemed to think sex was the solution for most of life’s little problems she had a pretty good idea of what he had in mind, and she really wasn’t in the mood either for sleeping with Chaz or for arguing with him about it, but she was too tired to argue that she wanted to stay where she was.

Chaz put his arms around her. At first she stiffened, thinking she should make sure he didn’t get the wrong idea. His arms tightened, holding her close; she felt one hand stroking her hair. ‘Poor Tash,’ he said softly. ‘All that trouble just to end up with Mr Wrong.’

Tasha giggled. The hours and hours of arguing over the guest list came back—the arguments over the style of invitation, arguments over refreshments, arguments over venue for reception, and after every argument all the work of putting it all into place. All that just so marriage-allergic Bad Cousin Chaz could walk in at the last minute and stroll down the aisle. Tasha thought of Chaz’s look of horrified disbelief on first seeing the flower girls and she started giggling all over again. She remembered, vividly, Chaz’s letter of refusal, her disgust at his rudeness, which was absolutely typical of the man, the way she’d shrugged and laughed because his absence was the one thing wanting to make the day perfect. And now her cheek was pressed against the jacket of the one person she’d wanted to stay away, because he’d come not to be just an unwelcome guest, but her husband.

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