Page 26 of Always a Bridesmaid

Roxy smiled. “Just how tipsy we talking?”

She covered her face in disgust. “Tipsy enough that I told him my dad was dead.”

She was met with silence so thick it could suffocate a person. She parted two fingers and peeked through them to see a very concerned, yet amused Roxy. “Funny, because Elle’s dad is alive and kicking, living in Manhattan with wife number three. Helikes yachting, pickleball, and making random appearances in the social section of theTimes.”

“I know. It was the wine.”

“This is bad, Jane. I mean really bad. All it takes is Henry seeing a photo of the real Mr. Vaughn and we are in breach of contract. We could lose this whole contract and have to reimburse Sarah. Do you know how much money we’d be out?”

Between the clothes, hotel room, airplane tickets, and other miscellaneous items, it added up to more than Jane had in her savings.

“The main person she wanted to keep this from was her brother. Plus, she probably hired us using her brother’s money. Super conflict of interest,” Roxy went on.

“I know.”

“Does Sarah know you slipped up?”

“God, no! And I’m not going to tell her.”

“Good call. No need to shoot yourself in the foot and all that.” Roxy’s face was back filling the screen, assessing. “Are you sure it was just the wine? You never talk about your dad’s death. Not even to me. And I’ve known you since college.”

Jane’s whole life was a carefully spun web of stories. One wrong detail and it would come crashing down like a game of pick-up sticks on a teeter-totter. Plus, if there were one person she didn’t tell stories to, it was Roxy. She was the first friend Jane had come clean to about her dad and her real life, and the only person besides Georgia who knew the real Jane and loved her anyway. She’d always vowed that when it came to their friendship honesty was the only way to go.

“I want to say yes, but I’m not sure. He started sharing personal stories and before I knew it, I forgot I was Elle and Jane came out to play. And you know what? He liked Jane. Do you know the last time a guy liked Jane? Not that it has anywhereto go. Because he thinks I’m Elle.” She flopped back on the bed. “God, this is a mess.”

“Enough of the woe-is-me crap,” Roxy said. She was more of a tough love kind of friend. With the kind of childhood Roxy had endured it was a miracle she’d let anyone in her circle. “So he thinks you’re Elle. So what? Why does it have to go further than the sack? He’s hot, you’re hot. Enjoy a holiday fling, then you part ways. People do it all the time. You are twenty-six and you’ve never had a fling. This is your chance.”

“We don’t even like each other.” Today had been an alcohol-induced anomaly.

“Even better. Hate-fueled sex is the best.”

Before Jane could answer, there was a knock at the door.

“Who the hell is that?” Roxy asked, because she knew rule number one when going as an undercover bridesmaid was never invite anyone to your room.

Jane scooted off the bed. “I swear if it is Sarah again, I am going to kill her. Hang on.”

She walked to the door and checked the peephole, and her stomach hit the floor with a thud. Because standing on the other side in a dark gray button-down that was at war with his biceps, a sleek black tie, and a pair of bedroom eyes if she’d ever seen them, stood the man, the legend, the reason for this whole mess.

Henry.

“You going to stand there all day looking at me, love? Or are you going to let me in?”

She’d already let him in and that was the problem.

Panic swirled in her belly like a category five tornado. “Hang on,” she choked out.

She looked down at her plaid pajama bottoms and matching top, which had a smear of chocolate lava cake on the hem, then at the Bride Board on her wall and her heart neared stroke levels.She raced back to the computer and pushed her face to the screen.

“It’s him! And he wants to come in!” she whisper-hissed.

“Maybe he just wants to come. Period.”

“Can you be serious, for just two seconds.” Jane flipped the laptop around so her friend could see the massive Bride Board.

“I see the problem.”

“Not to mention I am dressed like a middle-class military brat and not in some silky robe and feathered kitten heels.”

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