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The Wedding
The Wedding
The Wedding
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The Wedding

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Will the bride make it to the altar? New York Times bestselling author CHERYL HOLT—with her fast pacing, dazzling dialogue, fascinating characters, and infuriating villains—will keep readers guessing to the last page.
LanguageEnglish
PublisherBookBaby
Release dateSep 28, 2013
ISBN9781483508054
The Wedding
Author

Cheryl Holt

Cheryl Holt is a lawyer, mom, and best-selling novelist.  Her hot, sexy, dramatic stories of passion and illicit love have captivated fans around the world, and she's celebrated as the Queen of Erotic Romance.  Due to the ferociousness of some of her characters, she’s also renowned as the International Queen of Villains.  Her books have been released to wide acclaim, and she has won or been nominated for many national awards.  She is particularly proud to have been named, “Best Storyteller of the Year” by Romantic Times BOOKreviews magazine. Currently, she lives and writes in Los Angeles, where her teenaged son is pursuing his dream of becoming a Hollywood movie star.

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    The Wedding - Cheryl Holt

    California

    WEDNESDAY…

    Linda…

    When is Matt supposed to arrive?

    He should have been here an hour ago.

    Linda Bennett forced a smile, not wanting to give the slightest hint that she was annoyed. Nicole didn’t appear to be irritated, and she was the bride. If she wasn’t concerned that the groom was late, it was hardly Linda’s place to complain.

    Still…

    Nicole was her youngest daughter, age twenty-three, and Linda had never seen her so happy. She was madly in love and completely overjoyed to be marrying her fiancé, Matt Jones. Compared to Linda’s two other kids, Nicole had been such an easy child, so full of life and quick to assist or befriend. Her wedding was in three short days, and she was more content than ever.

    So Linda wouldn’t dampen Nicole’s spirits, but she couldn’t help worrying. With her long brown hair, big blue eyes, and petite figure, Nicole was a very pretty girl. But she was also a foolish dreamer. She was only a year out of college and—in Linda’s opinion—marrying much too early, but Nicole had insisted, and Linda hadn’t been able to dissuade her.

    Matt was twenty-three too, and a little too laidback for Linda. He was always running behind schedule, calling with excuses, changing plans on the spur of the moment. And that job of his—managing a bar. It wasn’t much of a career, and Linda thought it posed too many temptations, but at least he’d had steady employment.

    With the faltering economy, many of their acquaintances had grown children moving home, and they never seemed to move out again.

    Nicole and Matt both worked, Matt at the bar and Nicole at the charity she’d founded, so they could set up their own household and carry on like the adults they were. It was a blessing, and Linda shouldn’t forget it.

    Have you heard from him? Linda asked Nicole.

    No, but I just texted him again. I’m sure he’ll reply any minute.

    I’m sure he will, too.

    Linda’s husband, Don, piped up. He’s probably pulling into the parking lot even as we speak.

    Nicole nodded. I’ll bet he was delayed leaving Los Angeles.

    You know how traffic can be, Don agreed.

    And the bar had a band last night, Nicole added. That always turns into a mini-disaster.

    So what? Linda silently mused. It was to have been his final shift. Why would he have had to hang around to handle any problems?

    Would you like me to walk to the lobby to see if he’s there? Don offered.

    Would you, Daddy?

    Anything for you, pumpkin.

    As if relieved to escape, he stood and rushed for the door. But why would he be desperate to escape? They loved traveling to Mexico, and the Villa Grande Resort where they were staying—a private, members only club—was lush and quiet, their villa overlooking the small bay and the beautiful hotel grounds. The place was luxurious, the view of the Pacific Ocean fantastic, yet his eyes were glued to his phone.

    Don, she snapped more petulantly than she’d meant to, you were putting the phone away all week, remember?

    Tomorrow, honey, he mumbled as he exited onto the sidewalk. I have a big deal closing. I need to be available.

    Then he was gone, and Linda sighed.

    She hated to be exasperated, but recently, the tiniest thing would aggravate her. Don was so distracted, and he never had any free time. She shouldn’t have felt ignored, but she did.

    He worked hard—he’d always worked hard—and throughout their thirty-five years of marriage, she’d certainly benefited from his concentrated labor.

    They’d met in college, had wed when she was twenty and Don twenty-two. He’d taken evening classes in order to obtain his real estate license. From that humble beginning, he’d built one of the premier real estate chains in the nation: Bennett’s Best.

    His wealth had allowed her to remain at home and raise their three kids. They lived in a gated community in Calabasas. She drove a Mercedes, wore Chanel, could fly to Paris for a vacation if the mood struck her.

    Why then, was she so dissatisfied? She hadn’t missed out on anything important along the way.

    It had to be her age, she knew. She’d just turned fifty-five, and though she still looked great—brown hair (dyed!), blue eyes, and her figure mostly intact—she was starting to feel old. Especially now that her baby was getting married.

    Once the ceremony was concluded, what would Linda do with herself?

    Does Daddy seem preoccupied to you? Nicole asked.

    No more than usual.

    Nicole chuckled, then sobered. Seriously. He’s been so distant lately. Is everything all right?

    He had been distant, but Linda wasn’t about to confide her worries to her daughter. She didn’t talk about her husband with her children, and for the most part, she’d never had any criticisms worth discussing.

    They were happy; they were together. How many couples in their generation could say the same? Most of their acquaintances were divorced. She and Don had made it. They were the lucky ones.

    Everything is fine, Linda insisted.

    Well…good.

    Any word from Matt?

    No.

    Why don’t you try him again? His parents are probably here. It would be so awkward to greet them without Matt being present.

    I’m positive we’ll muddle through, Nicole blithely said, and she went out to the patio to sit by their private pool, leaving Linda to stew and fret all by herself.

    Linda hadn’t met the parents yet. The engagement had happened too quickly, the wedding date rapidly set, so normal arrangements and proceedings had been impossible. Matt’s parents were divorced, bitterly so, and the father remarried to a much younger woman. The whole situation disturbed her.

    Off in the distance, Don meandered down the sloping path that led to the lobby. His phone was pressed to his ear so tightly that it might have been surgically attached. In his khaki shorts and white golf shirt, he was visible against the verdant landscaping.

    He’d always been handsome, and he was one of those men who got better looking with each passing year. At age fifty-seven, he was still lanky and fit. His blue eyes sparked with merriment and his black hair hadn’t thinned, though now it was peppered with striking streaks of gray.

    He could have been a model in a magazine ad for expensive bourbon or luxury cars, and she never grew tired of watching him.

    Lucky, lucky… she whispered to herself.

    Suddenly, he was riveted by whatever he’d heard from the person he was chatting with on his phone. He stiffened as if jolted by a cattle prod. Then he murmured a reply and grinned a grin he never showed to Linda anymore.

    He hurried on, and she spun away and strolled out to the pool, content to pretend she hadn’t seen anything at all.

    *    *    *    *

    Don…

    I swear he was an FBI agent.

    Don took a deep breath, held it, let it out. He hoped his anxiety wouldn’t be discernible to his assistant, Chelsea Regan, who was back in Los Angeles. She was only twenty-five and prone to wild ideas and even wilder behavior, which he usually enjoyed. Could her overactive imagination be playing tricks?

    Why would you think he was FBI? Don forced himself to sound calm and collected.

    The military haircut, the dark blue suit, the cocky attitude. He didn’t seem like a normal guy, you know?

    Oh…

    She ended many of her sentences with the words you know. Typically, the phrase didn’t bother him, but occasionally—like now—it grated. She was so much younger than he was, and her speech, clothes, and conduct merely emphasized how despicably he was acting.

    He chuckled. Why would the FBI be interested in me?

    I don’t have a clue. Why would you suppose?

    The question hung there, and a lengthy silence stretched out, but he would never fill it.

    Despite a few immature quirks, she was smart as a whip, and it was difficult to keep her suspicions at bay. She realized that something was up, but she never came right out and said it.

    The most incriminating documents were hidden where they’d never be found, but no matter how careful he was, there was always a chance that he’d forgotten to shred papers he should have destroyed.

    Have you talked to Linda yet? she inquired, abruptly changing the subject.

    No.

    You promised you would.

    It’s not a good time.

    When, Don?

    After the happy couple is gone. Our nest will be empty, and I’ll have a heart to heart chat with her.

    Swear it to me.

    I swear, Chelsea.

    She snorted. You are such a liar.

    He shrugged—even though she couldn’t see the gesture. What do you want me to say?

    I want you to say you’re ready to divorce her and marry me instead.

    I’m not telling my wife of thirty-five years that I’m divorcing her three days before my daughter’s wedding. I’m not that much of an asshole.

    You could tell her—if you were really serious.

    He stared out at the ocean. They’d had this debate over and over, and he was so weary of it. He was such an intelligent guy. How had he screwed up so royally?

    The affair had to be ended, but with the FBI snooping around, Chelsea could become a dangerous adversary. She had a temper like no woman he’d ever met. If he split with her, how might she react?

    He just needed a few more weeks, a few more days. Sweat popped out on his brow; he was a nervous wreck.

    Another protracted silence ensued, and he would have hung up on her, but she’d call right back and would keep calling until he answered. She was like a dog at a bone and could be relentless.

    He often wondered why he put up with her, but his reasons were crystal clear.

    She was short and plump, but in the most sexually appealing way. Her figure was nothing like that of other girls her age, girls who never ate any food and who spent tedious hours at the gym. She had an old-fashioned body that was buxom and curved, and it ignited primitive male urges that he thought he’d lost.

    Guess what? she said.

    What?

    I don’t have any clothes on. She paused, letting him develop an arousing mental image. Don’t you wish you were here with me?

    Yes.

    His cock actually stirred, and if he hadn’t been standing in the middle of the resort grounds where anyone—including his wife—might see, he’d have reached down and stroked himself to ease some of the pressure.

    It’s your lucky day, Don, she cooed.

    What do you mean?

    I couldn’t bear to be away from you for an entire week, you know?

    And…?

    I’m in Rosario too, at the next hotel just down the beach. I’m all alone, and I’m so lonely.

    He stiffened as if she’d jabbed him with a knife. You…what?

    Wouldn’t you like to join me?

    You’re at the next hotel?

    Yes.

    He wanted to shout at her, wanted to ask how she’d found the gall to chase after him, but where she was concerned, he couldn’t temper his behavior. She was like a disease in his blood, one that was spurred on by the Viagra he’d recently begun taking.

    He felt sixteen again and constantly ready to screw like a maniac.

    You could come over, Don. Her voice was cajoling. You could be with me in a few minutes.

    Linda’s here, Chelsea, and I shouldn’t—

    I’m wearing that red lipstick you like.

    Careening from excitement to dread, he hemmed and hawed.

    Why not, why not? a devilish imp taunted. What could it hurt?

    Linda and Nicole believed he’d gone to check on Matt. They wouldn’t expect him to trot back to the villa like a puppy on a leash.

    A half hour, Chelsea, he hissed, and that’s it.

    We can do plenty in half an hour, you know?

    She clicked off her phone, and when he should have turned right toward the lobby, he made a left instead, headed for the beach and the quickest path to her room.

    *    *    *    *

    Nicole…

    Matt?

    Nicole waited a second, but it was dead air on his end. Biting down her irritation, she threw her phone on a poolside table.

    They’d known each other for four months, dating for two and engaged for two. Everyone—especially her mother and sister, Rachel—claimed she was moving too fast, but Matt was the sweetest guy in the world, and events had speeded up their plans.

    Nicole was starting a food charity in Africa, and she’d scheduled an extended tour—a year based out of Cairo—to scout locations and meet contacts. Almost on impulse, they’d decided that Matt would accompany her, that they’d marry first.

    Why delay? Matt possessed his own sense of adventure, and she wanted him with her. He kept her calm and focused, and usually, she was humored by his easygoing personality. It complimented her driven, ambitious nature, and he always encouraged her to slow down, to enjoy the ride.

    He was good for her, and she loved him like crazy, but she was getting annoyed. He was supposed to have arrived at the resort by lunchtime, and she’d ordered an intimate meal in her cottage for the two of them. But he hadn’t shown up, and she hadn’t had the heart to eat by herself, so it had all been a waste.

    Her father had convinced her to hold the wedding at the Villa Grande Resort in the tiny village of Rosario. When he’d suggested the place—eight hours down the coast from LA—his reasoning had seemed so logical. He’d envisioned a lush, limited, and brief occasion, and she’d grudgingly accepted that vision.

    The resort was a lavish, private club and one of her father’s favorite spots. It had numerous types of lodging for guests: hotel rooms, tiny and larger cottages, and some fancier villas used by the most important members.

    Initially, she’d assumed she and Matt would have an enormous church wedding at the Episcopal Church where her parents had attended services for decades. But her father had said no, with the economic collapse, it wouldn’t be appropriate to flaunt their good fortune.

    Several of her dad’s business associates had lost their homes or companies. A few were being prosecuted for bank fraud and one had even committed suicide.

    Let’s have a small, modest affair, he’d counseled. We’ve been lucky. Let’s not rub other peoples’ noses in it. It would be cruel.

    So she’d agreed, giving up the church and the ballroom and the reception and the band. There hadn’t been enough time to organize a huge celebration anyway, and she didn’t really mind. Not really.

    She viewed herself as being extremely moral and ethical. In the current climate, it would be wrong to splurge on an extravagant wedding—particularly when her father had gotten rich in real estate and the California market had been hardest hit.

    She and Matt had gone minimal. They would have a maid of honor and best man, plus three bridesmaids and groomsmen. A handful of close family had been invited—just parents and siblings. That was it.

    In a way, Nicole had been relieved by the simple, tidy event. With a couple of phone calls to the resort’s wedding planner, the entire thing had been arranged. Nicole hadn’t had to do much of anything except fly down the coast in her father’s jet.

    Yet now, she felt slighted, as if her father was hiding her marriage. Though it was petty and immature, it didn’t seem as if her big day was approaching. It seemed like she was hanging out at a tropical resort, eager for the sun to set so she could head to the bar.

    In spite of the reserved tone of the festivities, she was surprised to find herself suffering from an incredible amount of stress. Yes, the wedding would be small, but still, she wanted it to be perfect. They were too far from LA. Had everyone remembered their dresses? Their tuxes? What if someone forgot a belt or a shoe or a tie? What would they do?

    Any minor catastrophe could arise, and she needed cool, calm Matt by her side. For once, his lackadaisical attitude was totally pissing her off.

    He was driving down from LA, with his half-brother, Nathan, and she wished he’d get his ass in gear. She hadn’t met Nathan. Nor had she met Matt’s estranged parents. She’d heard plenty of stories though. His parents sounded absolutely loony-tunes, but his brother, Nathan, was supposedly reliable and unfailing in all the ways that Matt was not.

    Between the two men, couldn’t one of them step on the gas and arrive?

    She picked up her phone again and hit the redial button, wondering how many calls she’d placed to him the past few hours. She wasn’t clingy or possessive, and she would hate to have him think she was obsessing over him, but honestly!

    The phone rang and rang, and she was about to punch the off button, when he sleepily answered.

    Hello?

    Matt?

    Instantly, she was pacified. She loved him so much, and his voice soothed her. It was impossible to remain angry.

    Nicole? Shit…what time is it?

    Three-thirty.

    In the afternoon?

    Yes.

    Crap.

    There was noise in the background, laughter, banging, jazzy music.

    Just a minute, he mumbled. He huffed and puffed as he slid out of bed. A moment later, there was silence.

    The TV was blaring, he said. Can you hear me okay?

    Yes. You haven’t left LA yet?

    Nah. I was tied up. I’m sorry.

    I thought you’d be here by now. She bit down on all the whiny comments that were begging to spill out. I’ve been waiting all day.

    Last night was the pits. Some guys had a fight out in the parking lot, and the police had to break it up. Then after we kicked everybody out, the women’s toilet overflowed. I didn’t get home until almost nine.

    When will you be able to head out?

    I’ll call Nathan. I’m sure he’s been trying to get hold of me, too. He’s probably ready to kill.

    So am I, she mused.

    If you leave right away, she pointed out, you could be in Rosario by eleven o’clock.

    Let me talk to Nathan. I’ll call you after I know the plan.

    He hung up without a goodbye, and she very slowly, very carefully laid her phone on the table so she wouldn’t hurl it into the pool in a livid fit.

    *    *    *    *

    Christine…

    It’s on Mr. Bennett’s tab? You’re sure?

    Yes ma’am.

    Make it a double. Not the cheap stuff either.

    Coming right up.

    Christine Jones breathed a sigh of relief and smiled at the bartender. He was so cute. In his off hours, he was probably the resort’s tennis pro. If she’d been ten years younger, she’d have hit on him—never mind the age difference—but those days were over.

    In the mirror behind him, she couldn’t bear to see her reflection. Her bleached blonde hair, worn long and hanging halfway down her back, wasn’t appropriate for a woman who’d just turned fifty. The ends were ratty and dried out, and she should have trimmed it, but she’d always had the same style and color, and she couldn’t persuade herself to change.

    The bartender set her drink in front of her, and she grabbed it, the glass clutched in her fist as if she was afraid a thief might rush up and snatch it away.

    Her son, Matt, had said Don Bennett was paying for everything, and by that, she’d assumed he meant the plane ticket to Mexico, the room and meals. But she hadn’t expected other amenities—like full bar privileges.

    There is a God, she muttered, grinning over the money she’d save by not having to buy her own alcohol.

    The bar was an open-air hut with a patio that overlooked the beach, but there were spectacular views from any angle. It was the middle of the afternoon, so the spot was deserted, with her being the only one who’d declared it happy hour. But hey, she was on vacation and celebrating her only child’s wedding. She could do whatever she wanted.

    She headed for the patio, but as she walked toward it, she passed a mirror that decorated a support beam. She frowned.

    After receiving her invitation to the wedding, she’d dug out an overdrawn credit card and had charged a bunch of new clothes.

    She’d chosen bright, summery dresses with flowing skirts that were cut low in the front. She’d picked heeled sandals with flowers on the toes, straw handbags and hats, and clunky jewelry more suited to someone who was thirty.

    In a previous time in her life, the outfit would have been perfect, but now, she was simply a frumpy, fat, aging divorcee who still thought she could squeeze into a size six when she was actually a size sixteen.

    She bulged in places she shouldn’t, and instead of showing off what used to be her great cleavage, her breasts sagged like the teats on an old milk cow.

    Dammit, she fumed.

    Why couldn’t anything go right? Why couldn’t she enjoy a single moment of triumph?

    Her asshole ex-husband, Ken, would be present, and she was eager for people to see her as interesting and refined, capable and worth knowing. They’d wonder how Ken could have cheated on her, why he was such a prick.

    A huge swell of rage bubbled up inside her, but she shoved it down and sat at a table along the railing. She stared out at the beach where dozens of rich, entitled kids were tanning, playing volleyball, and body surfing in the waves.

    She’d promised Matt that she’d behave, that there would be no scenes or tears or moping in her gin. It was the only way he’d permitted her to come—if she promised. Which she had.

    Matt had latched on to money. Big money. Money that was too vast for a woman in her pathetic situation to contemplate.

    She wouldn’t screw it up by having his in-laws witness a quarrel with Ken. She’d walk through a burning fire pit to have Matt join the Bennett family. She’d fight dragons; she’d jump in a river filled with alligators. And who knew?

    Once Matt was married to Nicole, after he had his fingers in the Bennett bank accounts, there might be more weeks like this one in the future. Weeks with chauffeurs and private resorts and all the free drinks she could handle at the bar. She didn’t plan on this being the sole occasion she fed at the Bennett trough.

    Maybe good old Don Bennett would feel sorry for her, would start paying her rent or give her an allowance. He was in real estate. Maybe he’d let her live in one of the gazillion houses he owned, and she could move out of her dreary, overpriced studio apartment in LA.

    Her imagination ran wild as she envisioned the property Don might eventually provide, the pricy neighborhood where it would be located. Palm trees would line the street and bougainvilleas would color every yard.

    Christine—a man interrupted her reverie—is that you?

    She glanced over her shoulder to see Dale, Ken’s younger brother, approaching. He never drank and was stuffy and boring—Ken’s exact opposite.

    Ken was all flash and charm, the kind of guy who could hypnotize a person with his talk of what he was going to do once his ship came in. Dale, on the other hand, was short, dumpy, bald from ear to ear, an accountant possessed of every dull trait the profession seemed to require of its members.

    He managed the money on Ken’s crappy movies. He kept the ledgers and paid the bills. He swore Ken earned a pittance and had nothing to share with Christine, which was total bullshit, and Christine told him so every time the topic was raised.

    Dale had known about Ken’s other women and the four kids he’d fathered with his girlfriends while wed to Christine, but he’d never breathed a word. The bastard! Over the years, he’d shown up for Christmas dinner or a barbeque on the Fourth, and he’d always acted as if they were one big, happy family.

    His silence had made her look like a fool for two friggin’ decades. She often chastised him for his deceit, but he never took the bait like Ken did.

    It was impossible to fight with Dale. He was completely unflappable. If she questioned his integrity or accused him of dishonesty, he’d stare back with those dismal brown eyes of his and say, Now, now, Christine, let’s not argue.

    Why are you here? she chided. I thought this wedding was just for family.

    He chuckled, ignoring her insult. What, I’m not family?

    Not close family.

    I’m the groom’s only uncle, Christine. How much closer do I have to be?

    He squirmed, waiting for her to ask him to join her. He was such a gentleman that he wouldn’t unless she gave some sign that he could. For a few seconds, she let him awkwardly hover, then she waved to the chair across.

    Sit down and tell me what you came to say.

    "Why would I have something to say? Why can’t I merely be glad to see you? It’s been several months."

    He never simply stopped by to chat, not since the day five years earlier when Nathan—one of Ken’s other sons—had knocked on her door and Ken’s nonsense had begun to unravel.

    Dale seated himself, but he fumbled around, picked at a napkin. Finally, he choked out, So…how have you been?

    Dandy, you?

    "I’m good,

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