Chapter One

Maggie

“You’re not going to flake out, are you?”

I blink before realizing what my sister means. It’s time. Time for me to face this. Time for me to pretend everything is just fine.

Time for me to walk down the aisle.

The words swim in my head. Walk. Down. Aisle. As if it’s no big deal. As if I’m okay with this.

Lizzy gives me a shove toward the doors.

I can hear it now. The organ. Processional music. The hum of the crowd’s whispers.

“Put a smile on your face and march,” Krystal hisses.

I show her my middle finger before pushing through the doors.

“It’s going to be okay,” I hear Lizzy say. “She’s going to do it.”

My sisters’ murmurs fade as I focus on my task.

My stomach pitches and my hands shake behind my bouquet, but I plaster on a smile and time my steps to the organ’s heavy chords.

That’s when I see him.

William Bailey stands at the front of the church, hands clasped in front of him. His eyes are hot and desperate and all over me. Can the guests see it too? The longing that rolls off him in waves as I approach?

Is he thinking the same thing I am? That this is supposed to be us? That this is supposed to be our wedding?

Or is he thinking I was the biggest mistake of his life?

I can’t go there. Not here. Not now. I pretend not to notice the questions in his eyes, pretend not to notice the hum of gossip swelling around me.

But underneath the taffeta and flowers, underneath the hoopskirt and pretense, I’m overwhelmed with the thought that this is what my life has come to. Just a bridesmaid. Just a bridesmaid in my sister’s wedding.

Just a bridesmaid in my sister’s wedding to my ex-fiancé.

A vocalist joins the organ and the hum of whispers quiets—a swarm of killer bees distracted from their target as they remember the reason for their presence.

I reach the end of the aisle, ankles and dignity still intact, and breathe a sigh of relief as the congregation turns their attention to the next bridesmaid.

My sisters march one by one, coordinating with the hydrangea-blue décor like giant chameleons.

The flower girl appears at the end of the aisle, and the crowd stands.

Something in my chest tugs long and hard at the sight of my youngest sister. Even at ten years old, she’s a delicate little thing with a tiny voice and a big brain. Too young to be a bridesmaid but too old to be a flower girl, she looks like a child bride half-drowned in white tulle.

Finally, Krystal enters. Thick brown curls piled high on her head and a smile curving her lips, she embodies every little girl’s wedding-day dream.

Cameras flash. Women sigh. Tissues abound.

My eyes slide to Will again, and I’m not surprised to see he’s watching me. For the hundredth time since I returned home last month, I find myself remembering the comfort of his arms. Why couldn’t I have stayed there?

As his bride reaches center aisle, Will takes a step toward her.

He’s going through with this. He’s really going to marry her.

The same moment he takes her hand, the air conditioning kicks on.

First there are murmurs, whispers that carry back through the congregation and have me and my sisters exchanging confused glances.

Will shuffles back, scrambling to cover his mouth.

My mom’s eyes roll back in her head, and she falls to the floor.

A breath later, I smell it. The scent guarantees Krystal’s wedding will be as unforgettable as she dreamed.

No one would forget the wedding that smelled of rotting carcass.

A gag settles at the back of my throat as the smell grows.

My sisters hide their noses in their bouquets.

Seconds later, the bride gasps. Her face crumbles and she howls.

The sounds of retching echo through the church as the guests run toward the exits, pushing and shoving their way to fresh air.

The priest looks lost, and I nail him with my gaze. Do something, damn it! And he does.

He gags right into his microphone.

Chaos breaks loose. More gagging. Scrambling. Pushing.

No one cares about the wedding anymore. No one cares about vows or five-thousand-dollar dresses—not in the middle of stench warfare.

My little sister’s face is white with panic. Her jaw slack as the chaos grows.

I offer my hand. “Come on.”

She stares at me, then opens her mouth and throws up all over her dress, her face crumbling in horror.

Poor thing.

Grabbing her hand, I urge her toward the exit. “Abby!” When she doesn’t move, I gather her lanky frame into my arms and sweep her out of the church.

We make it out the doors and to the sidewalk where Krystal is crying into Will’s arms. He strokes her hair, helpless, and whispers something in her ear.

When he lifts his head, the evening sunlight frames his messy blond hair and our eyes lock. It feels like we have a lifetime between us. A lifetime since my lies fooled us both. A lifetime since I believed a girl like me could have a happily-ever-after.

***

The reception tent glows with candlelight, and the soft May breeze floats up from the river, jingling the wind chimes. Krystal and Will’s reception is set up on the vast green expanse of my mother’s backyard, just like mine was supposed to be last year.

Just like ours was supposed to be.

They’re words I can’t dwell on, but avoiding them leaves my mind hopping from place to place like a panicked rabbit in a den of wolves.

Topiaries line the path down the hill and to the river, and I follow them, needing to see the rushing water and escape the music and laughter and joviality. I can feel Will’s eyes on me as I slip from the tent, but I don’t go to him.

Krystal begged me to come home for the wedding, to be her bridesmaid so everyone would know things were okay between us, so everyone would know I was okay with her marrying my ex. I had my own reasons for doing it, but I can’t talk to Will.

Not yet. Not here.

I can’t stop thinking about what happened at the chapel. My mother and the wedding planner awkwardly organized the guests and directed them to the reception, where dinner was served. Now dancing is in full swing. But what about the ceremony? Does this mean Krystal and Will aren’t married? They never said vows. Did they find some dark corner to sign the papers?

Of course, I can’t ask. Everyone will think it’s because I want Will for myself. They’ll think I’m asking because I’m not over him.

I’m halfway down the path when I spot a man a few yards beyond my mother’s dock. His black dress pants and a dress shirt draw my attention to the wide expanse of his shoulders and the narrow taper of his hips. I don’t know him, but I recognize a kindred spirit. He looks hurt and far away, hands tucked into his pockets, gaze locked on the water. A broken heart left behind when Krystal put Will’s ring on her finger?

I hesitate for a minute. I was looking for some solitude down here, but I’m drawn to this man who looks as lost and lonely as I feel.

I hop off the paved path, and my heels sink into the soft earth as I approach him.

“You look a little lost,” I say. When he turns to me, his eyes are weary. I recognize that too and stall mid-step. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Maggie Thompson, sister of the bride.”

“I’m Asher.”

Asher. Asher. I scan my memory for the significance of the name but I can’t find it. New Hope is a small town, and I don’t recognize him, but that doesn’t mean much since my mom invited half the state of Indiana and a good portion of Kentucky. “Asher what? Friend of the bride or groom?”

“Just Asher. And I’m not a wedding guest.”

Oh. That explains it. “Just one name? Like Madonna?”

His lips quirk. “Something like that.”

“Nice to meet you, Just Asher.” I offer my hand, and when he takes it, I can’t help but notice the size and heat of his. An image flashes through my mind—rough fingers skimming over my bare skin, those eyes sweeping over my exposed body.

Asher should be the poster child for the sexy bad boy. I bet he even has a few tats under that pressed dress shirt. He’s a big guy, not just tall but large, solid, filling his black oxford in a way that makes it difficult to keep from staring.

Hell, staring is inevitable. Not drooling is difficult.

His dark, messy hair has a little curl to it, the kind of hair a woman can slide between her fingers while her lover explores her body.

His stubbled cheeks inspire some inappropriate fantasies, and that cocky grin says he knows just what I’m thinking.

“Maggie?”

The little voice stops my thoughts and my heart, and I turn to see my youngest sister.

Abby changed clothes after the would-be ceremony and now wears a little pink dress. Just looking at her makes my heart ache. She grew up so much while I was away, and knowing how much I missed gnaws at me. I wasn’t around to protect her from our mother’s unachievable standards. Abby may be the one person in this world who really needs me.

“Hey, sweetie,” I say.

“Hey, Mags.” She toys with the hem of her dress. “I’m sorry about what happened at the church. I freaked out.”

Something unwelcome sticks at the back of my throat at that insecurity in her eyes, that need to be everything to everyone at only ten years old. “It’s okay. We all panicked a little.”

“I missed you,” she whispers.

Even though I’ve been home nearly four weeks, I’ve been making myself scarce, and this is the first she’s mentioned my absence. The words claw at my heart and I pull her into a hug. She wraps her arms around my neck and I inhale deeply.

“Are you mad I got upchuck on your pretty dress?”

I flash a grin back to the sexy stranger and shake my head. “I don’t know what pretty dress you’re talking about. I’ve been wearing this ugly thing all day.”

Abby stifles a giggle behind her hand.

“Abby,” someone calls.

William.

He’s headed down the hill toward us. “Your sister needs you for a few more pictures,” he tells her.

“But I don’t want to take more pictures,” Abby whispers, a rare complaint from a people-pleasing child.

“Go on now. It’s important to Krystal.”

Abby nods. “Bye, Maggie,” she says as she scurries away.

Will watches her go. When he turns to me, his expression shifts from stoic to pained.

“Are you married? Is it official?” How ironic that he’s the only one here I trust enough to ask.

“No.” The word is so soft I almost miss it.

“So…now what?”

His eyes devour me. It’s been a year since I was his, and it’s like he’s trying to catalogue every new freckle, trying to account for every missed smile. “We haven’t decided yet.”

I open my mouth to speak then close it. My throat is so tight there’s no room for words. I can’t identify the emotion strangling me. Hope that he’ll give me another chance? Fear that he might?

“Maggie.” He breathes my name like a prayer, but then says, “It doesn’t change anything. We’re getting married. I love her. She wants to make a life with me.”

I force a smile to hide that he’s just smacked me with his words. Krystal wants to make a life with him, and I hadn’t.

Not true, my mind objects. But I know that’s what he must think. It’s what I’d made him think.

Will notices the stranger for the first time. I’d forgotten about him, but he’s still there, watching us carefully. “What’s he doing here?”

“He’s with me,” I blurt. “Krystal said I could bring a date.” The impulse to make Will think I’m attached is kneejerk, but I regret my words as soon as I see the man’s eyebrows lift. I didn’t mean for him to hear me, and horror sweeps over my face in hot waves.

But instead of calling me on my lie, Asher comes to my side and wraps his arm loosely around my shoulders. “I didn’t want my girl to have to dance alone.”

Will blinks then jerks back, and, as if we’re tied together by invisible threads, I have to fight the instinct to follow.

“The bar opens in ten,” he says. “Enjoy yourselves.” With that, he turns and heads back to the reception.

When he’s gone, I step out of the stranger’s embrace. “You didn’t want your girl to dance alone?”

“You started it.” He grins full-out now, and my heart damn near stops in my chest. Sexy Stranger goes from hot to panty-melting when he grins.

“Are you prepared to continue this charade all night?” I ask. “To dance and pretend you like a total stranger just to help her out of an awkward conversation?”

He shrugs. “I can think of worse ways to spend my time.” He slides his gaze over me. When he returns to my face, I notice his eyes for the first time. Wolf eyes. A blue so icy it’s nearly colorless, rimmed by a dark ring.

This might not be the worst day of my life after all.

“Want to check out that open bar?” I ask, nodding toward the reception. “My family is loaded, so I’m sure it’s stocked with the good stuff.” I’m already heading in that direction, hoping he’ll follow, hoping the company of a stranger will keep people and all their polite inquiries far away.

“Do you dance?” Asher stops me before I can make it to the bar.

“Not even a little.”

He has Bad Boy written all over him, and my mom is going to flip when she sees me on his arm. Of course, this only enhances the appeal.

“Okay. I give up,” Asher says. “I can’t figure it out.” His eyes connect with mine and send a little buzz through me.