The Bridesmaid and the Bachelor Read online

  The Bridesmaid and the Bachelor

  Kris Fletcher

  INTERMIX

  NEW YORK

  INTERMIX

  Published by Berkley

  An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014

  Copyright © 2016 by Christine Fletcher

  Penguin Random House supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin Random House to continue to publish books for every reader.

  INTERMIX and the “IM” design are trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.

  ISBN: 9781101989258

  First Edition: November 2016

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Version_1

  Jessica Faust is more than an agent. She is a butt-kicker, a secret-keeper, a pusher (not that kind) and a tease. She is also one of the best dispensers of hope and faith that I have ever been privileged to know. There would be no Elias sisters without her. This story is for her, for all she has given to me over the years—these sisters, the pep talks, the wisdom, and the snark. This ride wouldn’t have been nearly as awesome without her.

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Excerpt from Life of the Party

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Kyrie Elias walked into the gaily decorated Bellagio function room, scanned the space filled with folks she was charged with deceiving, and decided the only sensible place to start was the bar.

  She wove her way through the room, smiling politely at all she passed—the other attendants of the impending Boyle-Sitka nuptials. Her sister had assured her it would be easy to carry out this charade. The bride is the only one I know really well, Paige had said on the phone. You know her well enough to convince her you’re me. And she’ll be too busy to spend much time with anyone, let alone a late-game fill-in bridesmaid. You can pretend to be me with no problem.

  Right. Paige could pull this off with no problem. Kyrie was pretty sure she was going to spend the next three days carrying a paper bag in her purse so she would have it handy when she started hyperventilating.

  She squeezed between some husky shoulders—all the groomsmen, according to Paige, were the groom’s former college football teammates—and smiled at the bartender, who stopped midway through pouring a glass of wine to nod at her.

  “I’ll have a glass of white—”

  No. If she was going to carry off this bridesmaid-in-disguise thing, she was going to need to do more than wear Paige’s short skirts.

  “On second thought, make that a Brazen Mojito. Thanks.”

  The bartender nodded and tossed ingredients into a small blender. Kyrie turned to survey the rest of the guests, trying to get a feel for the land before she dove in.

  She would have pegged Siobhan as the bride even without having met her a few times. The little silver hair band with a short veil attached was a helpful clue. Kyrie would bet a very large amount of the money she no longer had that Siobhan’s hairpiece hadn’t come from one of the tacky tourist shops just off the Strip. And unless she missed her guess, the stones shining out from the silvery half circle could probably have paid off the debts that had left Kyrie with no other choice when Paige proposed this masquerade.

  Do this for me, Kyr, and I’ll forgive the loan. Totally and completely.

  “Miss?” A light touch on her elbow had her turning and accepting her drink. Ew. Paige really needed to switch to something that didn’t look like it was the residue from an industrial accident.

  Pretend you’re sampling a new coffee for the shop. That, she knew how to do.

  “Over the lips and past the gums.” She took a deep breath, tipped the concoction high, and promptly choked.

  But not from the booze.

  She stared in horror at the tall, lanky man who had just entered the room. The black-haired man now laughing and slapping the back of one of the football players. The man with the bluest eyes she had ever seen once she had peeled away his tinted glasses and tossed them to the ground two years ago.

  Ben Sitka. Brother of the groom. The one man who could blow her entire deception out of the water before it truly began.

  She whirled back to face the bar, wishing she’d thought to pack that emergency hyperventilation bag before she came to this party. She needed to . . . crap, what? Running was out of the question.

  Stay calm.

  Right. She needed to stay calm. Ben hadn’t spotted her, and if he did, so what? It had been almost two years. Her hair was styled like Paige’s; her clothes came from Paige’s closet. He knew she was a twin. All she had to do was act like she’d never met him, introduce herself as Paige, and carry on. She could do this.

  Assuming, of course, she could stop herself from turning into a puddle of something hot and needy the moment he spoke to her. Or once she caught a whiff of that soapy-musty-slightly-bookish scent that had lingered in her memory all this time. Or if he touched her.

  She really couldn’t let him touch her.

  “Need another?”

  The bartender’s quiet question made her open her eyes. Ack. She must have closed them when she started remembering. Not a good plan when tracking the one person who could blow her cover.

  “I’m good, thanks.” She dredged up a smile. “Still jet lagged, I guess.”

  He nodded toward the drink. “Better go slow, then. That thing’ll knock you on your ass faster than you can say, ‘Welcome to Vegas.’”

  “You’re right.” Grateful for the excuse, she set the glass on a tray and wiped her damp palms on her skirt. She could wait and hold her breath until Ben noticed her, or she could take matters into her own hands, start mingling, and make her way to him naturally. The way Paige would do it. The way Kyrie had taught herself to draw out her customers.

  She could do this.

  She tilted her chin, did her best imitation of her sister’s smile—breezy, carefree, I love being with people!—and dove back into the wall of shoulders, aiming for the bride.

  Maybe she should have mentioned Ben to Paige when they made this deal. But seriously, who would have believed he would be there? Yes, he was the groom’s brother, but when she had last seen him, he had been on his way to a year in Brazil, then a stint in Antarctica. She was pretty sure that people couldn’t simply hop a flight out of McMurdo Station for a long weekend, even for a family wedding.

  Though in a way it was kind of nice to know she wasn’t the only one who’d had her plans yanked out from beneath her since they’d had their little . . . um . . .

  Damn. Two years since he turned a lonely week at the lake into the Best Vacation Ever, and she still didn’t know what to call what they’d had. But she sure had some great names for the things they had done. Not that she should be thinking about that now, though dear Lord, h
ow could she not?

  Kyrie slid into the mass of short dresses and long hair swirling around Siobhan. It didn’t take long.

  “Paige!” Siobhan stopped in mid-story and squealed, leaning forward to wrap Kyrie in a giant hug. “You made it! I got so freaked when you said your flight was delayed. I just knew something was going wrong and you wouldn’t be able to make it and oh my God, sweetie, how could I possibly get married without you?”

  Thank heaven that seemed to be a rhetorical question. Otherwise it might have been tempting to remind Siobhan that Paige had been added to the wedding party only after another girl had the nerve to get pregnant.

  “Girls, this is Paige. We were roommates in our freshman year at Bowdoin, and we’ve stayed like this ever since.” She linked her arm through Kyrie’s and pulled her close. “Paige, this is Gen and Rachel—I work with them—and . . .”

  The names went on. Kyrie smiled and nodded and squealed where it seemed appropriate, all the while alternating between listening for a shift in Siobhan’s tone or some sign from Ben. So far, so good. If the rest of the weekend went this smoothly, she’d be golden.

  She took an outstretched hand from the second or third Megan of the night, looked into the crowd, and knew she’d been spotted.

  She didn’t have to be close to Ben to notice the way he stopped moving, the way he seemed to have taken a deliberate step back even though she could swear he hadn’t actually shifted position. His glasses had slipped partway down his nose and his hand hovered in mid-air, caught in the act of preparing to push them back into place. Behind those glasses his eyes were round and stunned. His mouth hung open the slightest bit. Honestly, if she weren’t so terrified, she would have giggled. All he needed was a lab coat and she could slap him on a poster for the World’s Sexiest Absent-Minded Professor.

  As it was, she sent silent thanks skyward that she had seen him already and was prepared for this. She made herself meet his gaze. Easy. No worries, no flinching, and oh crap, he was gulping and shoving his glasses back into place as if hoping they would tell him he wasn’t seeing what he was seeing.

  Do. Not. React.

  She smiled in his general direction—polite, friendly, the kind that could be bestowed on any stranger seen across a crowded room—and turned her attention back to Megan 2.

  “I’m sorry, how did you say you know Siobhan?”

  “Well, I was at a meeting of the Junior League and they needed people to work on the Black and White Ball, and I wasn’t sure if it was the right job for me because, you know, I’m not very good at organizing things, but then Siobhan leaned over and said . . .”

  It was almost a relief when she saw Ben heading in her direction. Things might get ugly, but at least they weren’t going to be as boring as Megan 2’s story.

  “. . . we would only have to meet once a month, so that made me think that—”

  “Kyrie?”

  For one moment, she let herself soak in the wonder in his voice. So many emotions packed into that one tiny utterance, and to know it was for her—not for Paige, not for any of her other sisters, but for her, Kyrie—well, hearing that amazed disbelief both filled her and broke her. Because there was no way she could let him know the truth. No way she could follow through and see what would happen if she were to whirl around and tell him it was her and fall into his arms the way she longed to do.

  If she were to come out of this weekend with any hope of keeping her beloved coffeehouse solvent, she had to get Paige to forgive the start-up loan. Which meant she had to fulfill Paige’s one request: keep Siobhan in the dark as to her true identity. Which meant she had to keep Ben as distant as if he really were down at the Pole.

  She steeled herself and turned to him.

  “Not Kyrie, sorry.” She smiled with what she hoped was the right amount of resignation and regret. “I’m her sister Paige. Don’t worry. People get us confused all the time.” This would be the point when Paige would flash her dimples, but since they weren’t identical twins—not that most people could tell—Kyrie was, sadly, dimple-less. She had to settle for a tip of the head. “So, hello, pleased to meet you, what’s your name, and how do you know Kyrie?”

  Confusion and disappointment clouded his face and lodged in her throat. Had he missed her that much? Had he, like she, lain awake at night, remembering their week together, and wondered what if?

  Though considering she had run out on him before their last night, maybe the only reason he was sorry was because he wouldn’t get the chance to give her the gigundo telling-off she deserved.

  “You’re Paige.”

  “Right.”

  “Not Kyrie.”

  She sighed. “The great sorrow of most people’s lives, I’m afraid. But that’s the way it is. And you are . . .”

  When he shook his head, his bangs fell across his forehead. She could still feel his hair in her memory—so much softer than she had expected from something so wavy. Though his neat beard had been the real surprise. She had expected it to be crisp against her skin, but it, too, had been downy. And oh, how it had tickled when he brushed against her—

  “Ben. Ben Sitka. Brother of Adam.” He waved toward the pack of shoulders, where one man was holding court. “Otherwise known as the groom.”

  “Hello, Ben. Nice to meet you. So, you know Kyrie?”

  Megan 2 muttered something about getting a drink. Kyrie was amazed the woman hadn’t disappeared already. It felt like the rest of the room had slipped away when Ben appeared.

  That probably wasn’t good.

  “Yeah. Kyrie and I—” He hesitated, as if debating what to say. “A couple of years back, we ended up staying at Siobhan’s lake house at the same time. In different buildings, I mean.”

  “But—a couple of years ago?” She frowned, hoping no one watching would get the slightest hint that the week had changed her life in more ways than one. “You mean the week I was supposed to go with her? It was in October, right?”

  “Late September, actually. And yeah, you were supposed to be there, from what I remember her saying. But you got a job.”

  “Right! I had been applying all over the place, trying to find something better than the Pit of Despair where I was working. I got that call literally the day before Kyrie and I were supposed to leave. I hated bailing on her at the last second, but they needed someone right away, and it turned out to be perfect for me, so it all worked out. At least from that end.”

  “That’s good. Great.”

  “It’s funny, Kyrie never mentioned meeting you.” The first real truth she had uttered in this whole insane conversation. She hadn’t told anyone about Ben. He had been her secret, their time together something she never shared with anyone. “But that place is so big, I guess you didn’t see each other much.”

  Someone who hadn’t spent as much time with him as she had would probably have missed the flash of hurt behind his glasses.

  “Right. It was—we bumped into each other a couple of times, did some hiking together. Great fun.” He shrugged, casual and easy and totally at odds with the eagerness behind his next words. “So is she here?”

  “Kyrie? At the wedding? Sorry. She’s only met Siobhan a few times.”

  “Oh. That’s too bad.”

  She couldn’t help herself. “Seems my sister made quite an impression on you.”

  “I . . .” He stared into space, a small, sad kind of smile playing across his mouth. Regret washed through her, leaving a taste more bitter than Paige’s too-strong drink.

  He gave a shake and turned his focus back to her. “So what’s she doing these days?”

  Crap. She didn’t want to get into this now, really didn’t want Ben, of all people, to know the mess that had become of her dream. Not after his encouragement had been what had given her the nerve to take the plunge and open Brews and Blues in the first place. “Working hard, keeping busy. Yo
u know how it is.”

  “Yeah.” He had that faraway look in his eyes again, the one that was equal parts wistfulness and regret. “Yeah, I can imagine.”

  It was that expression that made her decide she’d pushed her luck as far as she dared. She needed to get away from him before he caught her in a lie. Or she slipped up and said something. Or she told him how much she wished she’d had the guts to stick around that last night instead of leaving without saying good-bye.

  And as she saw the waiters carrying out platters and setting them on the table, she decided she should make her escape sooner rather than later. Otherwise she could end up sitting beside him for dinner, and it would be safer to end up rooming with Siobhan than spend more time with Ben.

  “It was great meeting you, but I should freshen up before they start feeding us. Catch you later, okay?”

  “Hmm? Oh, right. Yes. Of course.” He stepped back. “Later.”

  She kept the smile on her face until she hit the ladies’ room. It wasn’t until she was safely locked in a stall that she dared bury her face in her hands and let out the long, shuddering breath she’d kept locked inside her.

  She had always known that someday her habit of keeping secrets from her family would bite her in the butt. She’d thought it had happened when she had to go to Paige and tell her about the troubles with Brews and Blues. But that—that was a picnic compared to the prospect of a weekend trying to pull the wool over the eyes of the last man to see her naked.

  She huddled in the stall as long as she could justify. Could she plead jet lag and go to her room? No. She couldn’t do anything that might make Ben suspicious. She had to play her part. Paige would never let a little thing like exhaustion slow her down. She would be out celebrating with her friends until long after the party ended, and from what Kyrie knew of the Strip, that would be a long, long time.

  She gathered her bag, checked her makeup, tucked a few stray hairs back in place. One unexpected bonus of being uber-busy lately was that she hadn’t had time for regular trims, so her hair had grown out almost as long as Paige’s. It would have been a lot harder to pull off this deception if she’d still had her usual bob. She still hadn’t mastered the art of a classic bun with Paige’s dexterity, but her loose topknot was close enough.