The Stand-In Page 6

  He stood, keeping a careful eye on her. Winded, huh? Something told him it wasn’t quite the full story. “You sure you’re okay?”

  A brilliant smile flashed across her face. “Absolutely. It’s a great day for a wedding. I’ll see you after the ceremony.” With that, she flounced out of the anteroom and disappeared around the corner.

  Patrick followed, peering at her in interest. His every sense went on high alert. The hackles at the back of his neck told him to pay close attention to Winn Busby.

  Which was good because he now had a rationalization for thinking of her the whole drive over.

  * * * *

  “Where’s my bridesmaid?” hissed Elena as she approached the main aisle of the church. “I need my bridesmaid right in front of me.”

  Winn hurried toward her, her fluffy coral train draped over her arm. She hoisted Elena’s bouquet in the other hand, balancing it with her own. She took her place next to the bride. “Right here, Elena. I was just getting your bouquet out of the limo. You don’t want to forget your flowers, do you?”

  She gasped and grasped the bouquet of lilies, whispering, “What the fuck would I do without you?” She looked to the heavens. “Oh, Christ, I just swore in church. Forgive me, Jesus. Winn, you’re a fricking lifesaver. If I ever get remarried, I am so hiring you again.”

  “That’s why I’m here. To help you navigate the day.” She swallowed and smiled. “Being a bride’s not easy.”

  “You are so right. I never asked. Are you married?”

  She blinked and set about fixing Elena’s train. “Don’t worry about that now. The music’s about to start and your handsome groom is going to fall over when he sees you.”

  Elena clicked her long, French-manicured fingernails in a show of nerves. “Oh, Madonna.” She let out another dramatic gasp and turned to Winn. “You do remember our story, right? We met in college but you moved away, and that’s why I haven’t mentioned you much.”

  She winked. “I believe we met in French class. Madame Renard was our professor. She used to yell at us for disrupting class with our chatter.”

  “Oh, you are so good. You’re getting a big tip for this one.” The organ launched into the opening strains of Schubert’s Ave Maria. As Winn took her place at the top of the aisle, Elena grabbed her. “Thank you, Winn. You’re the best bridesmaid money can buy.”

  “You’re welcome. Now let’s go dazzle everyone.”

  While Elena continued to click her nails, waiting for her moment, Winn slowly took her first few steps down the aisle. Clutching her own bouquet, smiling, she wondered about the panic attack in the anteroom. It had come out of nowhere, paralyzing her. She’d done several weddings now for Margie, but had never been stricken with such a case of nerves. If Patrick hadn’t shown up, calming her with his cool touch…

  Patrick.

  Okay, stop thinking of him. You have a job to do.

  Steeling herself, she smiled harder, and continued the slow march down the aisle, nodding at the guests. As she made eye contact with one or two people, her gaze landed on a face she recognized.

  Patrick Lincoln, looking as edible as a six-foot-two banana split. She hadn’t really been in the right frame of mind to notice his appearance earlier, but she took him in now. Wearing a gray pinstripe suit that looked tailor-made, showing off his lean, mean body, he was easily the most gorgeous man in the church. He’d cut his thick hair and the shorter style showed off his strong features. Wow. She knew he planned to attend the wedding but hadn’t really expected him to show up looking so hot.

  He made Henry Cavill look like a hobo.

  Patrick locked eyes with her, clearly remembering her moment of panic. He held her gaze, peered at her with frank interest, and then grinned. As she recalled how he’d rubbed her hand, she felt lighter and heavier all at once, and months of burden seemed to tumble from her shoulders.

  As she passed his pew, he gave her a discreet thumbs-up. From behind her bouquet, she gave him a thumbs-up in return.

  For the rest of the hour-long ceremony, she swore she blushed.

  * * * *

  Patrick watched from his seat at the DJ’s table, amazed, as Winn mingled with the family as if she’d always known them. She addressed aunts and uncles by name, kissed the bride’s baby cousin, and smiled at the bride as if they’d always been bosom buddies.

  And she did it all wearing that flaming-pink monstrosity of a dress.

  The bridal party took their seats at the head table as the DJ announced them. Before long, the best man clinked his wineglass and began a rather raunchy tribute to the groom, reciting a long list of ex-girlfriend names. As the poor groom turned eleven shades of white, Patrick cringed on Carlo’s behalf, especially when he glimpsed Elena’s forced smile.

  The dude might have a very long wedding night, and not in a good way.

  Finally done lambasting the groom, the best man introduced Winn. “Let’s have a round of applause for Elena’s dearest friend from university, Winn Busybee.”

  “It’s Busby,” Elena hissed.

  “Busby,” the best man amended, shaking his head as he took his seat.

  To genteel applause, Winn stood and dabbed at her eye with a tissue.

  Patrick stared. Was she actually crying or just putting it on? Man, this woman is good. She recovers from hyperventilating in the blink of an eye and now she’s putting on the fake waterworks.

  “Thank you,” said Winn into the microphone, wincing at the feedback. She turned to Elena and sighed, just like a woman watching her friend walk away under a wedded-bliss sunset. “This is an emotional day for me, for all of us. When Elena first told me about Carlo, I was so happy. After all, no one deserves happiness more than our beautiful bride. I know you’d all agree with me.”

  Patrick glanced at the crowd, amazed to see so many heads bobbing in agreement. Jesus, some of them had tears in their eyes, too. She hadn’t said anything remotely personal and yet she had them eating out of the palm of her hand.

  “Elena and I have seen each other through some tough times.” She turned to the bride. “And we gave as good as we got, didn’t we?”

  Going along with the story, Elena nodded and laughed.

  “Elena, your friendship has been a gift. I will always cherish our times together. I still remember the first day I met you in Professor Renard’s class. You walked in late, like you do everywhere.”

  The bride’s mother collapsed into giggles. “It’s true! She’s always late.”

  “Ma,” scolded Elena from the head table. “Let Winn talk.”

  Winn’s voice tinkled with apparent joy. “Well, Mrs. Albano, I held your daughter’s train today, but even I can’t fix everything.” She held up her glass in salute to the bride. “Elena, my dear friend, may you find decades of happiness with your handsome groom Carlo. May you enjoy quiet times in each other’s company and excitement at the start of each new day. May you have success and prosperity and a home full of beautiful children. I know your love will be an example to us all, and that one day, fifty years from now, we’ll help you celebrate your golden anniversary. To the bride and groom!”

  “To the bride and groom.” The salute echoed throughout the room.

  As he sipped his champagne, Patrick eyed Winn. The woman certainly knew how to spin a web of lies, while barely uttering any. Talk about talent. He wasn’t sure if he admired her or disliked her.

  For the sake of the story, he should probably try to dislike her some more.

  However, he had to admit her words touched him, too. For a crazy, champagne-induced moment, he’d wanted some of the things she’d wished for Elena. Happiness with someone he loved. Long life and children. Even some goddamned romance.

  All the things he’d never seen in his parents’ union.

  Hell, he hadn’t come close to wanting any of those things with any of the women he’d dated. And from what he saw of married life, it was hard to get excited. Look at Gloria and Jason. Their marriage, so full of subterfuge and li
es, made him sick to his stomach.

  And the worst lie had been about him. She’d lied, just as Winn lied through her teeth as she performed her job.

  As the speeches continued, he stood up from his table and left the reception hall. All of a sudden, he needed air.

  * * * *

  After forty-five minutes of speeches, Winn escaped out of the reception hall and into the outer room. She made a beeline for the bar. Not to drink, of course. She was on duty. However, there was nothing in her contract that said she couldn’t sip cranberry juice. She ordered one from the bartender, leaned back against the bar, and watched as the catering staff set up a long table that would be used for desserts after the meal. She took two sips from her juice, held the cold glass to her forehead for a moment, and then closed her eyes.

  Just one moment of peace. These weddings always made for a long day. This one seemed longer than most.

  Just as she was about to kick off her four-inch heels, a young man in a red dress shirt approached the bar and sidled up next to her. “Hi,” he said, extending his hand. “I’m Elena’s cousin, John.” He cast an appraising glance over her gown. “How on earth have I never met you before?”

  She shook his hand, recognizing the smug grin of a player. “Elena and I don’t get to socialize much anymore. I live out of town.”

  “Where, baby? Tell me so I can visit you.”

  She let out a nervous laugh. “Actually, I’d better get inside. You know, in case your cousin needs me.”

  He ran a curious finger up her bare arm. “Come on, Winn. Weddings are boring. I can tell you’re a girl who likes to have fun.” He held open his suit jacket and showed her the flask stashed in the inner pocket. “Wanna explore the coatroom with me?”

  Oh, great. If there was anything she loved, it was a man who assumed she was up for it within seconds of introducing himself. She stepped away. “Sorry, John. I’m not really much of an explorer. You’ll have to play Christopher Columbus on your own.” As she moved in front of him, he tugged on her arm. She stumbled and had to steady herself so she didn’t drip cranberry juice down her front. “Hey, watch it.”

  “I have been watching, babe. I’ve been watching you all day.” He drew uncomfortably close.

  A large hand came out of nowhere, right between their bodies, effectively separating them. Patrick stepped in front of her and put his hands on John’s shoulders. “Back off.”

  “Who the hell are you?”

  “Her jealous boyfriend. Now back off before I push harder.”

  John put his hands up in an expression of surrender. “Sorry. I didn’t think she was attached.”

  “Oh,” she retorted. “You take no for an answer now that you know I have a man? It wasn’t enough when I said no?”

  The man turned as red as his scarlet shirt and fled into the reception hall.

  Patrick turned to her. “You okay?”

  “Sure. Thanks. Although you didn’t have to come to my rescue. Getting hit on at weddings is one of my occupational hazards. The men always seem to think the bridesmaids are an easy score.”

  He grinned. “You know that tidbit is going in the story, right?”

  “Yeah, I figured. No names, okay?”

  “No names, my lady.” He offered her a courtly bow. “So, now that we’re officially going steady, wanna explore the coatroom with me?”

  Winn laughed and stepped out of her heels. As she wrenched her feet out of the shoes, she stifled a groan. The cold marble floor felt like a piece of heaven on her hot feet. “You’re no better than he is.”

  “Oh, come on. I’m way more charming.”

  She looked at him from under her weighty false eyelashes. “So I noticed.” Charming wasn’t always a good thing, though.

  Mike had been super charming, and because of it, charming men now put her in attack-dog mode.

  Patrick leaned over and pretended to listen to her feet. “Um, I hate to break it to you, but your dogs are barking.” He picked up one of her discarded heels. “Why do women torture themselves with these things?”

  “You mean you don’t like women in heels? Please.”

  He angled his head and appraised the stiletto. “Honestly, I couldn’t care less. Besides, I kind of have a thing for toes. I like to see them. Now show me a woman in Birkenstock sandals, and I’m putty in her hands.”

  She burst into reluctant giggles again. “Right, and I don’t like a man in a nice suit.”

  He caressed his lapel. “Suit porn. Awesome. Now I know your weakness.”

  She pried her shoe out of his hand and slipped back into her heels. “Shouldn’t you be writing something?”

  He pointed at his head. “It’s all up here. I’ll make my notes later. Besides, I’m your plus one. I want to experience the glories of this wedding with you. Shall we go back in? There’s nothing else I’d rather be doing right now.” He held out his arm and took a deep breath, as if persuading himself of the truth of his statement.

  Okay, so maybe Mr. Lothario wasn’t really happy to be here with her. Well, guess what? She didn’t really want him here with her either.

  Nevertheless, she took his arm. “Okay. Back to work.”

  As they walked into the reception hall together, the sounds of the “Macarena” hit them. Even though her feet were killing her, she turned to Patrick.

  “Oh, no,” he said, backing away. “This is where I draw the line.”

  She began a slow hip gyration in front of him. “Come on, Plus One. Experience the glories of this wedding with me.”

  “I don’t dance.”

  “You do tonight.” She moved behind him, put her hands on his shoulders and shoved him toward the dance floor.

  For a few awkward moments, while she completed the sequence of moves, he just shuffled his feet and tried to blend in. Of course, he only called more attention to himself by deviating from the dance. It was all Winn could do not to explode into laughter as a couple of Elena’s aunts tackled him and positioned his arms and hips.

  “Thank you, ladies,” Patrick said, extricating himself from their grasps. “I think I’ve got it now.”

  As the aunts moved away, Winn teased, “Patrick, I don’t think you’re really trying.”

  He stood still and glared at her. “You want the Macarena, lady? I’ll give you the Macarena.” With a dare shining in his eyes, he positioned himself in front of her and launched into a very feminine version of the dance, complete with eyebrow arch and pouty lips. “See? Your Macarena isn’t half as sexy as mine.”

  As his hips rolled and his hands flailed, Winn lost some of her prized composure. A cackle escaped her and she joined him, swinging her own hips with provocative flair. As she improvised and bumped him on the thigh, Patrick ogled her lower half and let out a protracted growl.

  Someone's nonna danced by. The elderly lady grabbed their arms and thrust Winn into his embrace. "You two are so adorable together. Bellisimi!"

  "Thank you, Nonna," Patrick intoned, playing along. "I'm a very lucky man."

  As if on cue, the DJ hit the lights and flashed a blazing spotlight around the room. His booming voice traveled over the speaker. “As per the happy couple's request, if you want Elena and Carlo to kiss, you have to show them how it's done. Who's our first set of victims?" The spotlight searched all over, landing on a few faces, but continued to rove.

  As a tickle of discomfort hit her right between the shoulder blades, Winn let go of Patrick's arm. "I'm going to grab myself another drink from the bar."

  Too late. The spotlight hit them square in their faces. They both squinted. Out of the inquisition-worthy blaze, the DJ's voice emanated. "And there she is, our lovely bridesmaid, Winn, with her special man. Time to kiss, folks. Show the happy couple your best lip-lock!"

  Oh, God. She hadn't kissed a man since Mike, had spent many evenings wondering if she ever would again. She certainly wasn't ready to do it on the job. This was why she never brought dates to her weddings. It complicated things.

  Da
rn that Margie.

  "Go on, Winn," Elena called from the front of the dance floor. "Show me how it's done."

  She dared to look at Patrick, heat ravaging her extremities, making her feel as coral in color as her stupid dress.

  Grinning like a buffoon, he shrugged. "You heard them. Let's do this. Besides, you wouldn’t want to fall out of character."

  She swallowed past the lump in her throat. Damn her weakness for suit porn and a randy grin. To make things worse, he smelled so good, like someone who played polo for a living but never sweat. He pulled her close and for one crazy moment, Winn decided to let a total stranger take charge and kiss her.

  When their lips touched, she let out a muffled squeal, but it proved not to be the sound of protest she’d expected. His lips, firm and warm, brushed against hers with curiosity. She held her breath against the velvety crush, momentarily lost in the scent of his cologne and the taste of recently imbibed scotch. As people began to hoot around them, his lips parted and his tongue flicked at her lips, persuading her to open.

  Against her better judgment, corrupted by the tawdry moans of the now-blaring Tom Jones, who assured her he needed her kiss, she opened to Patrick. His tongue slid against hers, proprietary and smooth. Her common sense flew out the banquet hall window and her knees buckled. His grip on her back tightened, and before she knew what was happening, he slapped her ass. Adding insult to injury, he then dipped her.

  The crowd went nuts. Somewhere in the background, Elena hollered in delight. Oh so slowly, he pulled her back to standing position. Their kiss ended to wild applause.

  He stared at her, his eyes wider than she’d ever seen them. “Damn.”

  Winn gazed, awestruck, and shut her gaping mouth. Luckily, Elena chose that moment to tackle Carlo in a grasping kiss that would shame a vampire. The spotlight deserted them for the bride and groom and they were left standing in their own private darkness on the dance floor. He still held her by the waist, and showed no signs of letting go. He licked his lips and frowned, as if unsure what to say.

  She was just about to do something wild and crazy and ask him to explore the coatroom with her, when Margie Kent’s clear tones sang in her head.