One Bride Too Many: One Bride Too Many / One Groom To Go. Jennifer Drew
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waiter came toward them with a tray of champagne in glass goblets, not the plastic throwaways that smelled like nail polish.
“Drink or dance?” Cole asked, snagging one for both of them with a casual thanks.
“Hard choice.” She wondered if he actually wanted to dance with her or was only being polite.
“Both, then.” He lifted his glass and clinked it against hers. “To the happy couple.”
“To Mr. and Mrs. Menton.” She took a tiny sip, then a more substantial one. It tasted a lot better than the usual bubbly vinegar served at receptions. “You didn’t say whether you’re a friend of the bride or the groom.”
“I’m equally fond of both,” he said. “Good champagne. I usually hate it,” he said, draining the goblet determinedly.
“A friend of the couple? I’m surprised Lucinda never mentioned you.”
She finished her champagne and looked around for a place to put the glass. Cole took it and put both on a passing tray.
“I’m more a friend of what’s-his-name,” he said. “Menton.”
“Doug. His name is Doug.”
“Guess I don’t actually know him,” he admitted sheepishly.
“So Lucinda invited you?” He was up to something, and she was intrigued.
“Not exactly. My mother is a friend of her aunt.”
“Then why…”
“You’ve caught me!” He touched his finger to her lips. “I’m crashing the party. Will you keep it a secret?”
She nodded, and he took his finger away, leaving her lips with an oddly tingling sensation.
“But why?”
“Just for kicks. Want to dance?”
“Sure, why not?”
She didn’t kid herself. He hadn’t crashed the reception just to glide across the waxy hardwood floor with an old school acquaintance, but he really could dance. Responding to the firm pressure of his fingers on her satin-armored waist, she followed his lead with exhilaration.
“You’re making me look good,” she said a trifle breathlessly.
“You are good.”
He sounded surprised, but she didn’t care. Dancing with Cole was incredibly…stimulating. Her dress rustled, Cole hummed, and her ears buzzed. Could it be she was feeling tipsy on one glass of champagne?
“What do you do?” he asked, his lips so close to her forehead she could feel a warm whisper of air when he spoke.
“Do?”
He pressed the hand he was holding against his chest and twirled her around a flat-footed couple who were shuffling across the floor without much regard for the music.
“Job, career, work?”
His sarcasm got through to her.
“I have a store at Rockstone Mall.”
“Let me guess. Flower shop?”
“No.”
“Pet supplies—doggie sweaters and gourmet treats for pampered cats?”
“No, I’m into pampering babies. My store is Baby Mart.”
The song ended, and the band members stood up for their break. Did they have to take one now?
“As a matter of fact, Bailey Baby Products is my main supplier. Your company’s high chairs outsell all competitors five to one,” she said enthusiastically, groping for common ground to keep him with her a little longer.
“My grandfather’s company,” he said dryly. “Zack and I have a construction business.”
“That’s nice.”
This conversation was going nowhere, and he obviously wasn’t focused on her anymore. Well, he wasn’t her date, however pleasant it was to have a gorgeous man in tow.
“Thanks for the dance,” she said as casually as possible. “I need to speak to a friend over there.”
The friend was imaginary, but the technique was all hers. When a guy started looking through her, beyond her or over her head, she liked to be the one who walked away.
She headed toward the universal haven of unescorted women, wishing she’d had room for a hair pick in the tiny satin drawstring bag that came with the dress. Staring at herself in the mirror, she wished she could wet down the sausage curls and loosen the stiff nylon petticoat, but it would take more than that to get Cole Bailey to go home with her.
Dang, where did that thought come from? She was swearing off champagne forever!
After touching up her lipstick, she went back to the reception, killed an hour gossiping with Lucinda’s younger sister, then filled a plate at the buffet and sat at a table with the bride’s great-aunt, who was allergic to every food from grapefruit to garlic and liked to talk about it. Tess murmured sympathetically and picked at the smoked salmon, but she couldn’t help tracking Cole. It wasn’t hard. For an uninvited guest, he certainly wasn’t trying to be inconspicuous. In fact, he zeroed in on the most eye-catching women and was never without a dance partner.
Lucinda had assigned little jobs to all her attendants, and Tess had the task of organizing the bouquet toss. The clubhouse had once been a millionaire’s mansion, and the front hallway had a curving staircase wide enough for a 1930s musical comedy number. Naturally Lucinda wanted to stand above the rabble when she tossed her artfully arranged bunch of orchids.
“Use the mike,” Lucinda commanded when she swished by to give Tess her marching orders.
“Can’t I just…”
“It’s the only way everyone will hear you in this huge room.”
Lucinda’s way was always the only way. Tess had an urge to mutiny, but after the honeymoon, Lucinda would be back at the mall, her lunch buddy and walking partner. Most brides became real people again after their big day.
“I hate mikes.”
Lucinda was impervious to pouting unless she was doing it. Tess went to the head table and located the dreaded instrument, which the groom’s father was kind enough to test by blowing into it. The result was a whining whistle.
“Here you are, little lady.”
Next he’d pat her head!
“Eh, ladies…girls…women…” The mike made her too nervous to remember what was politically correct.
The band was taking their forty-third break, and conversation prevailed.
“Can I have your attention? Please!”
“Talk up a bit, little lady,” her coach prompted.
“The bride is going to toss her bouquet!”
That got them. Tess wiggled her tongue trying to get enough saliva to finish the announcement.
“Eligible women go to the grand stairway,” she directed, surprised when the groom’s dad took the microphone away from her.
“Come on, gals. Who’ll be the lucky little lady to snag the bouquet?”
Tess crept away before he thought of doing an interview on why she wanted to be the winner. In fact, she didn’t. She’d caught the bride’s bouquet at four previous weddings, mainly because she could be trusted to return it to the newlyweds. Obviously the magic didn’t work on a skeptic like her.
Judging by the stampede, Lucinda had invited an army of unwed women, although some of the throng gathering at the foot of the stairs had to be women looking for love the second or third time around.
The