Page 30 of Princess of Pride
At the same time, a man whistles then shouts, “Take her to bed already.”
I gather my bearings, though it's not easy considering how I react to Lachlan’s kisses, and jerk away, only to stumble backward, trip on the hem of my dress, and fall flat on my butt.
More gasps sound.
Pippa laughs instead of helping me stand.
Lachlan rubs his jaw, his lips pinched with a hint of amusement as he shakes his head.
“Get up!” Mom darts toward me from where she sits in the front row. “Pippa!” she scolds, and my sister sobers. “Lachlan, be a dear and help your wife to her feet.” Mom scowls at him, her back to the guests.
I can only imagine how all this looks to them. The fact that my mom came to my rescue makes this even more pathetic. And my husband is a bigger asshole than I could have imagined.
Lachlan holds his hand out to me. I swat it away. “Screw you.”
“Not until later.” He winks.
“In your dreams.”
“Emery, enough.” Mom tries her best to help me up, but the skirt of the dress and crinoline are too damn big. I’m trapped in a sea of silk and lace with no escape.
“Lachlan.” Mom glares at him discreetly.
He holds up his hands in a show of innocence. “I tried.”
“Emery!” she barks at me like this is my fault.
In a way it is, but I won’t take responsibility for this cupcake of a dress and how it caused me to fall. She chose it.
“Allow me to help,” a man says with a Scottish accent. From behind, he hooks his hands under my arms and hoists me to my feet.
“What a blessing.” Mom flutters her lashes at the mystery Scotsman.
I brush my veil from my face, straighten my skirt, and turn to look at him. “Thank you.”
My eyes connect with a tall man about my age who resembles Lachlan. Same nose and eyes, only the color is peridot. His hair is lighter by a few shades. A playfulness shines from his gemstone gaze, but it’s not arrogant like someone else I know.
He’s dressed in a tuxedo that matches the wedding party. Keeping with the American tradition of a day wedding, the men wear vests and ascot ties instead of an evening tux. Lachlan’s is all black like his heart, but the two men in his party wear periwinkle ties. I was so distracted during the ceremony I never noticed who stood beside Lachlan. I didn’t look at anyone, lost in my thoughts.
He leans to my ear. “I’m Rory, Lachlan’s brother. We haven’t been introduced and from what I know, we’re to pretend this is a real arrangement, which means you would know me already, hence the whispering.”
Lachlan has a younger brother?
He straightens and smiles kindly, giving me a slight nod.
Understanding, I play along. “Rory, I’d love to catch up later.”
“Likewise.” He excuses himself and joins his brother.
Rory is about the same height as Lachlan, only his shoulders aren’t as broad. Another man stands with them, too. He has the same demeanor as Lachlan but seems tenser and more paranoid, constantly glancing at the guests seated on Lachlan’s side.
His appearance, along with his grown-out dark blonde hair with its perfect side-part and blue eyes, scream European old money.
His gaze catches on mine as I study him, and his eyestighten in an unfriendly way. Whoever he is, he doesn’t like me.
The wedding planner talks to Mom, and I hear the band playing from the large reception tent as guests walk in that direction.
All I want to do is leave. I can’t imagine spending the rest of the day pretending to like Lachlan. I’d rather stab him in the eye with a fork.
