Broken Wings (A Romantic Suspense)(4)

If the groomsmen were here, they’d be drooling. Mom and Laetitia are both platinum blondes, both buxom, and Laetitia is an honest-to-god model, mostly working for lingerie catalogs. She’s tried to break into movies but so far all she’s gotten are minor tits-and-ass roles in direct-to-video horror movies, though it looks like her supporting role in the made-for-TV movie Sharkapocalypse II is going to be her “big break.” She’ll talk your ear off about how James Cameron directed Piranha II for Roger Corman if you let her. That’s what she wants to do, direct.

Really.

Mom sighs. “I’m not sure I’m ready for this. I’m so nervous.”

“I—”

Laetitia cuts me off, giggling. “You look gorgeous, Jess. Your new beau is going to have to pay the janitors overtime to clean the drool off the floor.”

“I think you look lovely,” I say, as they ignore me.

They settle her veil on her head and Mom stands to her full height and wriggles her shoulders. The top of her dress is held up by a strap around her throat and opens in an oval cutout to show her impressive bosom. Laetitia looks like her dress is going to burst around the chest whenever she moves. Fully made up and ready, they look almost like twins, and grin at each other.

I didn’t bother with much makeup. Can’t put lipstick on a pig, as they say.

“Honey,” Mom says to me, taking my hands. “It’s almost time. Take the girls upstairs, will you? Just like the rehearsal.”

I nod and turn to lead the way, mostly so I don’t have to see them gawking at me. There are twenty bridesmaids and half of them are extended family, the other half being Mom’s friends. I haven’t seen most of them in years. That means a lot of stares. A lot of whispers when I’m not looking.

When they think I’m not looking.

I focus myself and stride to the stairs like I’m going into battle. The elevator would take three trips with all these people. The guests, over four hundred people, are crammed into the hall. Flashes start going off and I almost stumble.

Then, when I see a ghost, my feet almost go out from under me.

Jack’s face draws my gaze like a lamp in fog. At first I think I must be dreaming, there is no way he could be here. Yet there he sits, in the front row, no less. I collect myself and walk past him, and his head swivels to follow me, his gaze locked on mine.

Jack is six foot five, still as lean and quick as I remember. He cuts a fine figure in his tux, even if he looks tired, his dark hair wild. I can feel his intense blue eyes even as I turn away, like hooks in my back pulling me toward him. When I step past him he rises a little but turns to look over his back at someone else and sinks down, frowning.

When I take my place and turn to face the guests, it’s him I seek out in the crowd. I can’t take my eye off him and I almost want to thank him for it. Four hundred people plus caterers and photographers all staring at me. Not at the other bridesmaids in their finery: me. Trying to get a better look at the scars.

I fight down a sneer and keep my face flat, but I want to scream at them.

Fuck you, f*ck all of you. I am what I am.

I stare at Jack.

Fuck him most of all.

The best man and groomsmen take their places. My stepmother’s husband-to-be enters, shaking hands as he passes.

Richard Marshall, Jack’s father, is fifty and looks thirty, slender and quick on his feet like his son and with a face unlined by age, the only hints of his years two knife-thin intrusions of gray hair over his ears. In his tux he gets some stares from my fellow bridesmaids. Even Laetitia sizes him up and offers a coquettish smile.

The judge—no priest here—officiating the ceremony is one of Richard’s friends in high places. Even he notices Laetitia’s antics, glancing at her until she stills herself and takes a more matronly stance.

The music swells. The guests stand, and the bride enters, glowing. One of my younger cousins carries her train, and another cousin’s daughter drops flower petals behind her. I have a big family; Mom has four sisters of varying ages.

None of my father’s side of the family are here. They weren’t invited.

Jack watches her walk the aisle and falls back into his seat, slumping in defeat. I can’t tear my eye off him as the ceremony begins and the guests sit down. He didn’t stand. He just sat there. Neither his father nor my mother take a glance his way. They’re too focused on each other.

Laetitia seems interested in him, though. She keeps peering past me and trying to get his attention with little pops of her chin, puffing out her chest.

Get away from him, you bitch.

I miss most of the words. I’m not paying attention. Judge Willis reads some Bible passages and the bride and groom recite the vows. Mom didn’t write her own or anything like that. She’s not much of a romantic.

They skip the part where they ask if anyone objects. I think Jack was waiting for it, he looks a little disappointed. He folds his arms and looks away.

It catches me off my guard when I hear my mom’s voice go soft and she says, “I do.” An electric shock runs down my back. I actually tear up a little. She’s been the only person in my life since the accident, and now she’s being taken away. I’m going to lose her.

It’ll be just me now.

Fine. I want to sneer. I don’t need anyone else, anyway.

More ceremony, and it’s time for the bride and groom to make their walk down the aisle together. The crowd rises to their feet and the long process of shaking hands.