The Unexpected Wedding Guest

THREE

The rhythmic thwack...thwack...thwack...that greeted Reese’s ears as she burst through the side entrance onto the brick drive didn’t sound like two men beating the living daylights out of each other. But her trek across the house had taken her so long that, by now, the adrenaline surging through her body was prohibitive to rational thought.

She’d gotten turned around in one of Bellington Hall’s endless corridors and wound up way on the other side of the massive home. And then she’d had to backtrack. Losing precious minutes. Her mind conjuring all sorts of horrendous possibilities, she’d scrambled to make up for lost time and nearly broken her ankle racing down the stone staircase in her four-inch heels.

Fifteen minutes had passed since she’d dashed out of the sitting room. Long enough for two men to kill each other several times over.

Picturing broken noses and bleeding lips, she lifted her skirt and picked up the pace, the tulle netting flouncing around her legs with every hurried step. Heart wedged in her throat, praying she wouldn’t wind up with blood on her dress, she rounded the side of the house and came to a halt.

Because there, both shirtless, bodies damp from exertion, were her ex-husband and her future husband...playing basketball.

Shock stuck her shoes to the pavement, and she stared, motionless, as she watched the two men, their faces set with determination. Sunlight shimmied on chests damp with sweat. Pectorals and biceps lengthened and bulged with exertion as they dribbled, and blocked, and alternately attempted a jump shot. A mesmerizing sight that most women would enjoy. A bubble of hysteria rose, and she almost let out a stunned laugh, fascinated by the disparate displays of masculine beauty.

Wearing nothing but athletic shorts, Dylan was taller, leaner, with muscles that showcased his love for running and swimming. His was an agile grace, all lithe beauty and nimble movements. Whereas Mason, in hip-hugging jeans only, was a touch shorter. More muscular. Raw. Oozing a kind of terrible power that was unsettling, disturbing. And dark. The kind of man that could strike with precision and take an enemy out before he recognized there was a threat.

When he turned, her breath caught, his back sporting a beautifully tattooed pair of angel wings.

After a failed layup, Mason grunted out something she couldn’t hear, and Dylan responded with a smile and words she couldn’t make out. But Mason’s answering bark of laughter echoed across the driveway.

Annoyed, she shifted on her feet and cocked her hip. Here she’d been, practically killing herself while making the journey to break up a potential fight, worried the men would at least be exchanging heated words. And they had the audacity to be having fun?

Dylan caught a rebound off the backboard and pivoted, finally catching sight of Reese.

As if the current situation was no big deal, Dylan said, “Hey, bright star.”

The nickname had started as a joke. Back in the days after her divorce when all she could do was mope. And when she’d finally thrown herself into her family’s favorite charity, The Brookes Foundation’s Home for Battered Women, she and Dylan Brookes had wound up serving on the board together—ironically, the very man her parents had slated for marriage to their only daughter. Dedicating herself to the cause had saved her sanity, and then Dylan had gently eased his way into her life. First as a friend who made her smile, and eventually as a lover who also made her laugh.

Until the dark days had grown fewer and farther apart.

The originator of those dark days shot her a curious look. “I thought it was bad luck for the groom to see the bride in her wedding dress,” Mason said.

As always, the man elicited a piercing surge of irritation that was impressive. Because it was his fault that she was standing here in a torrent of tulle netting.

Steam had to be coming from her ears. “But it doesn’t rank anywhere near the catastrophe of an ex-husband showing up just days before the ceremony,” she said.

“The timing is definitely inconvenient,” Dylan said.

At least Mason had the decency to grimace, a rueful look on his face, and Reese shifted uncomfortably. But she refused to apologize or feel guilty.

Because she did not want Mason getting chummy with her fiancé. She did not want Mason hanging around for her dream wedding. She did not want Mason hanging around, period.

She brought her thoughts up short and licked her lower lip. “Dylan, what are you doing?”

Mason looked unconcerned, while Dylan looked down at her as if she was the one who was behaving oddly.

“I’m playing basketball,” he said.

In exasperation, she blew a strand of hair from her eyes. Men. Why did they have to be so literal?

“Yes.” Her lips felt tight. “With my ex-husband.”

Two men studied her for a moment, as if waiting for the punch line. And she had the urge to squirm.

“Did he tell you why he was here?” Dylan asked.

Reese avoided Mason’s gaze. “He said he wants closure.”

“Sounds reasonable to me,” Dylan said.

Reasonable?

Wide-eyed with disbelief, she said, “Right now the only kind of closure I want is the kind that comes with a slamming door, preferably with Mason on the other side.”

Mason let out a chuckle, and she cast him her best lethal look, frustrated by the amused tilt to his lips, the basketball parked under his arm as if he was waiting on Dylan to continue the game. And then there were all those muscles on his naked chest....

Reese frowned and slammed the door on the direction of her thoughts, turning her attention back to the man who usually made her happy.

But Dylan was studying her with a guarded expression that left her wary, the lingering moment filled with spring sunshine, a rose-scented breeze and the buzz of a bumblebee in the garden. Despite the idyllic setting, an ominous feeling began to build.

But nothing prepared her for what Dylan said next. “I think he should stick around.”

Even Mason managed to look surprised.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Reese said at the same time Mason said, “Come again?”

“I’m not kidding,” Dylan said, as if the words made total sense. “You need to hear him out.”

She blinked. Hear him out? Maybe she hadn’t heard him right. Maybe the bazillion yards of tulle netting billowing around her legs created some sort of sound buffer. Absorbing the words around her. Distorting them.

“Why on earth would I want to do that?” she said.

“He’s not so bad.”

“Thanks,” Mason said. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

She ignored her ex and addressed her fiancé. “And you’re basing your assessment of the man on a fifteen-minute game of basketball?” Why did the male species feel fit to judge a person simply based on their ability to toss a ball through a hoop? “I was married to the man for a year, Dylan.”

“The man risked his life on a regular basis to help out his fellow Marines,” Dylan said, his voice holding a hint of censure. “He’s a decorated hero, Reese. He deserves to be heard.”

Mason looked away, appearing uncomfortable.

Reese pinched the bridge of her nose and struggled to remain calm. She didn’t care what kind of medals he’d earned. She couldn’t, wouldn’t, rehash the unhappiest days of her life. Especially right before the day that was supposed to be her happiest.

She dropped her hand to her side, feeling defeated. “I don’t have time for this, Dylan.”

Dylan swiped a hand through his black hair, leaving the ends spiked. His eyes held a kind of gut-sinking certainty that made her insides twist. “Why the hurry now? It took you two years to set a date for our wedding.”

Reese sucked in a breath. Was this the reason behind Dylan’s behavior? And how many times did she have to explain? She ignored the curious look in Mason’s eyes.

“I wanted to be sure,” she said, hating how the words sounded like an excuse. “And I didn’t ask Mason to show up—”

Dylan took her elbow and led her into the rose garden.

“It’s not just his arrival, Reese,” Dylan said in a low voice. He came to a stop and released her arm, his gaze flat as he stared off across the rows of rosebushes. “Personally, I think he’s the reason you dragged your feet setting a date.”

The words were too big to digest.

“Of course he is,” she said, trying to remain calm. “Because I didn’t want to screw up again. I wanted everything to be perfect—”

“Exactly,” he said. “You seemed more fixated on getting the wedding just right than on our future together.”

Her mouth fell open, and she tried to formulate a logical response.

“And when you stand up at that altar with me and say I do,” Dylan went on, “I want to know that the only thing on your mind is me.” He returned his gaze to hers. “I want to be certain that you’ve put the past behind you.”

“Dylan, I—”

“You know I care about you.” He stepped closer, taking her hands in his. “That hasn’t changed.”

The ominous feeling grew bigger. She needed Dylan to be understanding. She needed him to support her in this. Because she wasn’t strong enough to fight both men.

“But we have to start our lives with a clean slate,” Dylan went on. “And we can’t do that until you resolve this thing between the two of you.”

“The only thing left between us is hostility.”

“A lot of hostility.” He eyed her with a trace of suspicion. “Too much hostility. Have you ever wondered why?”

“He’s my ex-husband,” she said incredulously. “According to standard social conventions, I’m supposed to hate him.”

“Maybe,” he said, looking unconvinced. “But I don’t want to marry you until I’m sure there isn’t something else going on.”

Panic swelled. “Are you canceling the wedding?”

His gaze was steady, as if the words didn’t light a fuse that exploded in her head. “I’m postponing it.”

She stared at him, her lids stretched so wide she was sure they’d crack. In six days two hundred guests were set to watch her walk down the aisle. Two hundred of their closest friends and family. He just couldn’t back out now, could he?

But when she opened her mouth to protest, he interrupted.

“The ceremony is just that, Reese. A ceremony. What’s important is what comes after,” he said. She blinked back the shock, remembering she’d said that very thing to her friends oh so many years ago. “Our life together.”

Good God, how could she argue with that without sounding petty and superficial?

But two hundred people...

He lightly squeezed her hands, as if to comfort her. Fat lot of good that did her now.

“You have to go figure out what it is that you want, Reese,” Dylan said as if it were the most reasonable statement in the world.

And as he removed his hands from hers, he gently pulled the engagement ring from her finger, closing his palm around the diamond. The sense of finality weighed heavily in her chest.

“And when it’s all said and done, if it’s me that you choose,” he said, “I’ll still be here.”

* * *

This wasn’t playing out at all like he’d planned.

One hour after Reese had come barreling around the side of the house in a cloud of flouncing fabric, interrupting the game of one-on-one, Mason sat in his truck, wondering what had just happened. The animosity and the visual daggers Reese had chucked in his direction had been expected. He’d known all along he’d have to endure a lot of anger before getting the chance at having a frank discussion. In the ideal scenario, they would have cleared the air, reached a tenuous understanding, and then shared a drink for old times’ sake. And if he’d been really lucky, he would’ve bought her fiancé a drink and wished them both well.

But nowhere within the range of possible outcomes had he envisioned the groom calling off the wedding.

Reese hadn’t wanted him around before, so she sure as hell wouldn’t be partial toward his company now. So when Dylan had taken off in his Jaguar to head back home to Manhattan, Mason had climbed into The Beast with every intention of driving away. But something kept him from turning the key.

And when a large refrigerated van pulled up behind him in the driveway, the decision was more or less made for him. The deliverymen were adamant the ice sculptures needed to be moved to the freezer ASAP.

Mason hopped down from his truck and told the driver to pull around back. Feeling fairly unenthusiastic about the errand, he then went in search of Reese. He found her sitting on the bottom stair of the massive Bellington Hall foyer.

An angelic vision in white—the picture of class.

Her wedding dress was a white puff of fluffy netting, the color too close to the shade of her face. Her expression was blank, as if all emotion had been drained from her soul and capped. She didn’t look up when he entered, and his footsteps echoed across the endless marble floor as he crossed and came to a stop in front of Reese.

He hated the lost look on her face.

And somehow, he didn’t think the arrival of the ice sculptures for her wedding was going to cheer her up. In the silence that stretched, he rubbed his temple, the hint of a headache threatening.

Hell, not now. Not now.

“Jesus, Reese,” he said, his voice gruff. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

She looked up at him with eyes the color of a summertime sky, and his gut twisted with guilt.

“What did you think would happen, Mason?”

“I sure as hell didn’t think your fiancé would walk away.” He plowed a hand through his hair. “After you left, I tried to explain. To talk him out of leaving.”

“I called him on his cell,” she said. Her lips looked as if they were trying to smile, but he thought he saw them tremble once. “But, apparently he’s had his doubts about me for a while.”

He was sure the tiny furrow marking her brow was just the tip of the emotional iceberg buried beneath her calm demeanor. And, in some ways, he almost preferred the angry Reese.

“I figured I’d find you pacing,” he said.

During their many fights, he’d watched her march back and forth enough.

The smile she sent him lacked humor. “I did pace,” she said. “But my time was cut short by my Manolo Blahniks.”

He frowned in confusion, wondering who the hell Manolo was and why he was shooting blanks. Until, from beneath the torrent of white netting, she stuck out a white satin pump. The height of the heels pushed his brow higher. How anyone walked in the death contraptions was a mystery.

“Nothing cuts your pacing time more effectively than four-inch heels,” she said.

He shifted his weight on his feet, uncomfortable as he stared at the woman who looked for all the world like she’d been dumped at the altar. He felt inadequate. This wasn’t his scene. This was not where he excelled.

Put him in a hot desert scraping the ground with his knife, painstakingly following a wire to the detonator of an IED, and he was good to go. Toss in a few bullets flying around him, his team by his side, and he knew what to do. He’d thrived in the adrenaline-packed environment. Especially after sleepwalking through his vacuous adolescent years. But among all the finery and the emotional land mines...he was lost.

And that summed up their doomed marriage.

A status quo SNAFU—situation normal, all fouled up, in the PG rated version, that is.

There was no easing into the announcement. “Your ice sculptures have arrived,” he said. “I sent them to the service entrance.”

She rose to her feet with a sigh, a cascade of skirting falling to the floor. With a resigned look, she headed across the foyer in the direction of the kitchen, and Mason followed behind. Captivated, he watched her dress bounce gently with every graceful step. The creamy skin stretched across delicate shoulder blades. Her hair swaying, he remembered how he’d fisted his hand in the gold-streaked strands as he’d made love to her.

A sliver of warmth snaked up his spine, and, after eight months of silence, the sharp slice of sexual awareness was a shock to the system. Nice to know his hibernating libido was finally waking up.

He just hoped the reappearance would extend beyond the ex who hated his guts.

Mason cleared his throat, getting back to the matter at hand. “I could just go tell them to send the sculptures back.”

They entered the kitchen where Ethel, the head of the household staff, was directing the deliverymen toward the walk-in freezer.

“I had them trucked in from half a state away,” Reese said as he followed her into the icy vault, her breath visible in the frigid air. “Besides, it’s way too late to get a refund.”

“Then donate them to some needy bride and groom,” he said.

Reese gently lifted the bag covering a mound resting on a freezer shelf. The base of a sculpture came into view where, in a swirly font worthy of a wedding invitation, the words Dylan and Reese were engraved.

His head thumped harder, but he ignored the warning sign as he stared at the inscription.

“I think the odds of finding just the right couple are pretty slim,” she said dryly.

He grunted in agreement.

Reese gently lifted the covering higher, revealing a pair of intricately carved swans, the graceful curve of their necks bent for a kiss. The crystalline ice sparkled in the light, each feather crafted in meticulous detail. Clearly no expense had been spared on the wedding of the century. The one he’d sabotaged by his very presence.

Even if she refused to talk about the past, he at least needed to apologize for what had happened in the present.

He followed Reese back out into the kitchen, grappling for the right words. As always, they didn’t come. And the ability was worse since his accident. Two burly delivery guys rolled a cart by with two more ice sculptures and disappeared into the freezer.

How many of those useless ice blocks had she ordered?

Lots, apparently. And as they stood, silent, the two men passed by again only to return with another load. The process was repeated several times, Reese’s expression remaining alarmingly blank, and Mason’s sense of inadequacy swelled. He definitely should go, but he couldn’t just leave her here.

Alone.

Dealing with the aftermath of her fiancé’s departure.

“You shouldn’t be by yourself right now,” Mason said gruffly. “You should call your mom. Have her come.”

“Absolutely not.” A scoff escaped her mouth that was hardly ladylike. “I love her, but her overprotective ways would only make me feel worse.”

“Still treating you like a fragile princess, huh?” he said with a wry smile.

During their marriage he’d found nothing funny about the stifling relationship she’d had with her parents. But back then Reese had been oblivious.

She stared out the window overlooking the garden, her gaze distant, unfocused. “My mother has always been a bit...overbearing.”

Mason bit back the urge to agree, proud he was able to keep his mouth shut.

“They were constantly worried about me while I was married to you, and positively petrified for me at the end.” She smoothed a hand down her cheek. “But I honestly don’t know what I would have done without them after our divorce,” she went on softly.

She ticked her eyes back to Mason. “It’s been Dylan’s steady influence that has helped me deal more productively with their smothering behavior. So much so that they now actually view me as a grown-up who’s capable of making her own choices.” Her eyes crinkled in doubt. “But I suspect my mother’s going to freak when she learns Dylan called the wedding off.”

Sure his opinions wouldn’t go over so well, Mason let out an evasive “huh” and rubbed his jaw. Family was definitely in order here, but her father was about as cuddly and comforting as a porcupine. But Mason did remember she had a half brother somewhere.

“Parker?” he said.

Damn, he was grateful the long-term memory was intact.

Reese shook her head. “We’re getting along better now, but I don’t want to bother him with this. He’s busy at work and newly smitten with Amber.”

“Amber the seamstress?” He hiked his eyebrows, hoping to annoy Reese. “She’s pretty.”

She drolly rolled her eyes, and Mason suppressed the grin.

“How about one of your college roommates?” he went on. “What did you call yourselves?”

A trace of a smile appeared on her mouth. “Our neighbors dubbed us the Awesome Foursome.”

“Right,” he went on. “Marnie, Gina and that brainy Aussie chick—”

“Cassie,” she said.

“Surely one of them is available.”

“They won’t be here for another three days or so.”

His eyebrows hitched higher. “They’re all coming?” he said. “I thought your little girlie gang busted up before we got married.”

“Gina and Marnie haven’t spoken since, but I’ve kept in touch with them all.” She gave a small shrug. “I was hoping to use my wedding day as a way to bring us back together again.”

He stared at the defeated look on her face. He wanted to tell her he was sorry and get the hell out of town. She smelled like crème brûlée, she looked like an angel in white, though his body remembered just how unangelic she could be. And all the good memories were beginning to rush their way past the towering wall of bad. The only thing that kept him going was remembering the fury in her face the day she’d hurled his dog tags at his chest. Oh, and the resentment that simmered in her eyes with every glance.

“So what’s your plan?” he said.

As Reese watched three more ice carvings roll by, she looked like she needed a hug. Mason shifted on his feet. Feeling like an ass for every one of the twenty seconds of silence before she answered.

“I’m going to give Dylan until tomorrow to change his mind,” Reese said. “He offered to contact everybody this afternoon, but I told him I’m giving him twenty-four hours before I call the guests. In case he comes around.”

Mason’s heart slowed, and he paused.

She turned to look up at him, her blue eyes clear, earnest. “I made him wait for two years for our wedding day. I owe him twenty-four hours of patience at least.”

Of course she did. Because Dylan was one helluva guy.

And wasn’t that a cold blast to the fragile threads of his awakening libido. But it was just as well. Their time had come and gone. He’d known that when he’d set out to hunt her down.

As he studied her determined face, he felt it with absolute certainty now.

The thudding in his chest worked its way up to his brain and set up residence behind his left eye. Damn, another migraine coming on. Fatigue and nausea descended like a curtain, and his head grew foggy.

The pounding in the base of his skull grew insistent, and the dizziness predictably moved in next. Sweat prickled at the nape of his neck, dotted his upper lip. And Mason couldn’t ignore it any longer. He leaned a hand against the center island, hoping he looked casual instead of wobbly.

If he didn’t escape to a dark room soon, he was going to end up embarrassing himself by puking on the yards of white fabric swirling around Reese’s legs. A feat he was sure wouldn’t win him any brownie points.

Bad enough she’d had her wedding canceled, ruining her fit-for-a-princess dress would probably be the last straw.