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Through the tinted window of the luxury limousine he could see a froth of white veil framing a lovely female face. Nikki Lucas. Max recognised her straight away, though he’d only met her for the first time at the rehearsal two nights before. Honey-blonde hair. Soft brown eyes. Tall and slender. A truly beautiful bride. Well worth the wait for the lucky groom.
At the rehearsal she’d greeted Max with a smile so dazzling he’d been momentarily stunned. She’d been warm and welcoming to her fiancé’s best man—a total stranger to her. If she’d realised who he was—who he had once been—she’d been too well-mannered to mention it. The rehearsal had gone smoothly and he’d got the impression Ms Lucas was efficient and organised. Not the kind of woman to be so late for her own wedding.
The wealthy father of the bride sat next to her in the back seat. Why hadn’t he hurried his daughter along? Max found such lack of punctuality unpardonable. What was Ms Lucas’s game? If this were his bride—not that he had any intention of marrying any time soon—he would be furious. The limo slowed to a halt. No doubt he’d be greeted with a flurry of excuses. He would cut her short, bustle her inside and get this tardy bride up the aisle pronto.
He ran to the bride’s door and yanked it open. ‘You’re here,’ he said through gritted teeth, swallowing the where the hell have you been.
He didn’t get so much as a smile in response. In fact the errant bride looked downright hostile. Her face was as pale as the layers of tulle that framed it, her mouth set tight. She swung her long, elegant legs out of the car, shook off the hand he offered her to help, and stood up in a flurry of fluffy white skirts.
She gave no apologies, no explanations, no excuses. Just a tersely spoken command. ‘You have to get me out of here.’
Max stared at her. ‘Get you up the aisle, you mean,’ he said. ‘You’re late. There’s a church full of guests waiting for you. Not to mention your groom.’
‘Him.’ She shook her head so vehemently her long veil whipped around her face. ‘I’m not going to marry that man. I thought I could go through with it but I can’t.’
By now her father had clambered out of the car to join them. The limo took off with a squeal of tyres, the driver muttering he was late for his next job.
‘Think about this, sweetheart,’ said the older man. He handed her the bouquet of white roses that she had left behind her on the car seat. ‘You can’t just walk out on your wedding.’
‘Yes, I can. You can’t talk me out of this, Dad. If you won’t help me, Max here will.’ She spat out his name as if it were a dirty word. ‘It’s the least he can do as best man to the creep who convinced me to marry him under false pretences.’ She glared at Max through narrowed eyes. ‘That is, unless you’re just as much lying pond scum as he is.’
Max wasn’t usually lost for words. But the insult came from nowhere. Where was the smiling charmer from the rehearsal? Behind the perfect make-up the bride was grim-faced and steely eyed. ‘I don’t consider myself to be pond scum,’ Max said through gritted teeth. ‘But my duty as best man is to get you into the church for your wedding.’
‘There isn’t going to be a wedding. Your duty as a decent human being is to help me get away from here. Now.’ Her hands shook with agitation and she kept looking anxiously towards the church.
Max’s first reaction was to back away from the bride. He wasn’t good with crazy. This was something more than pre-wedding nerves. There was no trace of the joyous, vibrant woman he’d met at the rehearsal. But then her lush pink mouth trembled and her eyes clouded with something he couldn’t quite place—fear, anxiety, disappointment? It made him swallow a retort. How well did he actually know the groom? He’d played tennis with him back in high school but had only reconnected with him just weeks before the wedding—had been surprised to be asked to be best man. The groom could well be pond scum these days for all he knew. But he’d made a commitment to be best man. That made him Team Groom.
The father took her arm. ‘Now, Nikki, there’s no need to—’
