Authors: Rosanna Leo
God only knew, it hadn’t been easy getting out of her apartment to do it. She knew Patrick had parked himself in the hallway, and his body remained crumpled into an uncomfortable ball. When she spied him through her peephole, her heart went out to him and she almost lost all her willpower, but she determined to stay strong.
At least until after this wedding. After that, she wasn’t sure what she’d do.
Late the previous night, when curiosity finally overcame her shame, she picked up her copy of
Player
and read the article a few times. She knew he didn’t write it. She’d read so many of his columns in the
Torontonian
, and the piece of sensationalistic drivel in
Player
bore none of the hallmarks of his writing style.
Besides, deep in her heart, she just knew he wouldn’t treat her with such callous disregard.
He’d said he loved her. Okay, it had come from behind a locked door, and at first she’d thought she misheard him, but she’d heard him loud and clear the second time around. And her heart had still leaped with the wonderful knowledge.
But could she get past the article? Time would tell. In the meantime, she had to sort out her approach to the wedding and manage a way out of the apartment without him hearing. Her eye glued to the peephole, she’d turned the doorknob with quiet, ninja-like stealth. Luckily, he’d been dead to the world. His head lay on the carpet, a bit of drool at his lips. Fighting a smile, she’d slid past him.
The coffee-shop door opened and Stacy walked in, her head craned, searching for Winn. Already sporting a bride’s fussy updo, her jeweled combs sparkled under the coffee-shop lights. The memory of pain shot through Winn’s chest, but she forced it down to where it wouldn’t get in her way. Today, she had no time for pain.
She waved and caught Stacy’s eye. The bride’s face paled but she walked over and sat down. Frowning, she greeted her. “Winn. It’s been a long time.”
“It has.”
“You, um, look good.”
“You, too. I like your hair.”
“Thanks.” Winn pushed a coffee toward her but she declined. “Listen, when Margie told me the name of my stand-in bridesmaid, I didn’t make the connection at first. And when I finally had a few minutes to think about it, it was too late to do anything.”
“I know this must be awkward. After all, I don’t know too many people who get to act as maid of honor for the other woman.”
She reached out a hand. “Winn, I’m sorry. At the time, Mike assured me he’d speak with you well before your wedding. He was supposed to call it off much earlier but didn’t have the nerve. He said he didn’t want to hurt you…”
“Well, he did. Frankly, you both did,” she replied, feeling a strange sense of calm. “But I learned from it. For a long time, I let Mike wield this power over me, and I’ve decided to take my power back.”
“That’s good.” She managed a smile. “And if it makes you feel any better about today, most of Mike’s family won’t be here.” Her brow wrinkled. “When he left you the way he did, a lot of them stopped talking to him. It’ll be mostly my family, so you don’t have to worry about people talking behind your back.”
That was a relief. “So why are you marrying him?”
She tipped her head to the side, her curled tendrils moving with her. “Because I love him.”
“I suppose that’s as good a reason as any.” She sipped her coffee, relishing the slow heat as it traveled down her throat. “And why did you hire a bridesmaid?”
Stacy’s cheeks flashed with pink. “It sounds bad, but since being with Mike, I’ve lost a few of my good friends. You see, some of them had cheating boyfriends and I guess they couldn’t respect my decisions. I figured there would be less drama on the day if I just hired a friend.”
For the first time since starting her job as a stand-in, Winn was struck by sadness. As soon as this wedding was over, she would formally resign. She no longer wanted to be a fake friend.
“How did Mike take it…when you told him you’d hired me?”
The blush on Stacy’s face crept toward her neck. She reached for the coffee in front of her and took a healthy swig, like an alcoholic discovering a hidden cache of whiskey. “Well, frankly, he’s mortified. He never thought he’d see you again.”
She patted Stacy’s hand and spoke in gentle tones. “Are you sure you want to marry him?”
Her face cracked into a smile. “Yes. I know he was awful to you, Winn, and I’m sorry. But he’s good to me and I do love him.”
Winn swallowed hard and squeezed her hand. “Okay, then. I know I was late coming into this wedding so let’s go over a few of the logistical details.” She smiled. “We’ll make this the best wedding ever.”
Stacy’s eyes misted and she offered her a grateful smile. And when the bride nodded, her head bobbing in appreciation, Winn knew, in that moment, she really was Stacy’s best friend in the world. Perhaps her only friend.
* * * *
When the groom was nowhere to be found a whole ten minutes after the wedding was scheduled to start, Winn knew they had a problem.
Horrible adrenaline shooting through her system, she stood by the dumbstruck bride in the priest’s office.
Stacy’s mother paced the floor. “Let me call Mike again. Maybe they hit traffic on the way to the church.”
Mr. Blair was a bit less diplomatic. “I’ll kill that little motherfucker. I will put my hands around his scrawny neck and…” He looked at the horrified priest. “Sorry, Father Andre.”
Father Andre merely put a hand on Mr. Blair’s shoulder. “I’m sure we’ll hear from the groom any second now. Stacy, dear, would you like me to say something to the congregation?”
The bride gawked at him, clutching her bouquet. “I don’t know.” Her head began to shake and she looked at her mother. “What do I do? What do I do?”
“Now, now, dear,” she replied. “I’m sure this is all a big misunderstanding.”
Winn had sat by in silence long enough. Fury took root in her system and shot into every limb, like ragweed growing out of control at the side of the highway. She crouched in front of Stacy and smiled. “Whatever happens today,
you
don’t have to do a thing. Understand? We’ll take care of it.”
Stacy nodded, as a plump tear traveled down her cheek. Winn wiped it away for her.
Within seconds, the door to the priest’s office crashed open. Winn looked up.
Patrick barreled in, his gaze seeking her out. “Winn. I had to see you before you went through with this. I had to make sure you didn’t have a panic attack.” He took in the scene and his eyebrows shot to the top of his forehead. He gave her a pointed look, as if to say,
“What the hell?”
Damn, he looked so good. Well, in all honesty, he looked like shit. His hair hadn’t been washed and stuck up in spots, as if he’d been dragging his fingers through it. He rubbed at the back of his neck, and she knew it had to be sore from sleeping in her hallway. He had stubble all over his face and dark circles under his eyes.
And he still made her heart go
ping ping ping
like a video-game soundtrack.
She rushed over to him and resisted the urge to wrap her arms around him. Whispering, she explained. “You were fast asleep when I left. I didn’t have the heart to wake you, and I didn’t know what to say anyway.”
He grabbed her arms. “Winn, you have to believe…”
“I know, Patrick. I
know
you didn’t write the stupid article, but my pride was bruised. I just wasn’t ready to hash it out.”
His face, so marred by sadness, almost dissolved all her willpower. “Please let me make it up to you.”
She glanced at Stacy and then back to him. “You really wanna make it up to me?”
“I’ll do anything.”
“I think Mike has left Stacy.”
His eyes bulged. “No fucking way. The prick did it again?”
“I’m pretty sure. And I think it’s about time I have that chat with him. Would you come with me?”
The muscle at his jaw ticked. “You bet your sweet ass I’m coming. There’s nothing I’d like more.”
To confirm their suspicions, another figure darkened the office door. Mike’s brother Will, looking sheepish, stood there in his tux. He fiddled with his hands, clearly choosing his words. Looking over to Stacy, he cringed. “Stacy, I’m so sorry. He sent me to tell you…ah, fuck. He’s not coming. The bastard’s not coming.”
Stacy let out a cry. “I
knew
it! It’s karma!” She fell into her mother’s embrace and let out a sob to wake the poor souls resting in the cemetery out back.
Will looked around the room and his gaze settled on Winn. He paled, as if seeing a ghost. “Winn, is that you?”
“Yeah. Long story.”
“Shit. Is this one of those reality shows where the guy has to confront all his ex-girlfriends?”
“Not quite.” She gritted her teeth as Stacy’s cries sliced into her. She whispered to Will. “Where is he?”
“At the Blind Man’s Bluff.” His usual watering hole. “He told me not to say.”
“I’ll bet, but I’m glad you did.” She inhaled and exhaled and addressed everyone in the room. “Okay, people. We’re going into disaster-reduction mode. This is what we’re going to do. Father Andre, please tell the guests that, in retrospect, the bride has decided she has too much self-esteem to be tied down to a man who treats women like dirty dishrags. I want you to make it clear that calling off the wedding is
Stacy’s
decision. And then I want you to tell everyone to go home.”
The priest nodded and hurried off to do her bidding.
“Mr. and Mrs. Blair, I know you want to put Mike’s balls in a nutcracker, but right now, all your daughter needs is your shoulder to cry on. Let her cry as much as she wants.”
Stacy’s parents put their arms around her trembling shoulders.
Winn crouched before the jilted bride. "I'm going to give you something I never got. Closure. I know Mike is terrified to confront you, but we're not going to let him fade into the night this time. Patrick and I will see to it."
"What do I do if he texts me?" asked Will.
"Ignore him, and for God's sake, don't you dare tell him we're coming. Your brother needs to ’fess up and stop running from his problems."
Will nodded.
She turned to Patrick. "Feel like joining me for a quick drink at the Blind Man's Bluff?"
"Oh, yeah. We can take my car."
As they left the room and exited the church through the back to avoid prying eyes, Patrick jingled his keys. Did she spy a spring in his step? "You can be badass when you want to be, Busby."
She grinned. "From your mouth to God's ears."
* * * *
She let him hold her hand as they entered the bar. He knew it was nothing more than two sets of fingers and palms touching and gliding, but he felt he carried her heart. She trusted him to do this, seemed to believe in him again, and it made him soar. He felt like puffing out his torso like a barrel-chested tenor singing high notes in an opera.
They looked around the quiet bar and she pointed to a man sitting in a booth in the back. Patrick sized him up, the infamous Shithead Mike. Dressed in his tuxedo, he'd loosened it at the neck and his bow tie hung as two limp strips of fabric. He supposed women might consider him good-looking with his dark hair and brooding eyes but he seemed less enigmatic as he stared into the three empty glasses in front of him.
He glanced at Winn. "You can do this."
She stared straight at Mike, as if daring him to notice her. "Oh, I know I can." With that, she hiked up the edge of her long bridesmaid skirt and marched over to his table.
Mike looked up and his eyes slowly widened. "Winn. Oh, shit." He promptly dropped his head on the table.
She stood before him, her eyes flashing like a goddamn warrior princess. She reached out and curled her fingers into his gelled hair and made him lift his head to look at her. "Hello, Mike. Once a shithead, always a shithead, I see."
"Winn, please…"
"Oh, no. You're going to listen to me and you're going to listen good." She sat in his booth.
Patrick stood vigil, standing next to Mike in case he decided to bolt. He crossed his arms over his chest and struck his best bouncer pose.
"First," Winn continued. "I'd like you to tell me why. Why are you doing this to a second woman?"
"Third," he mumbled. "You were the second. I never told you about the first."
"Un-freaking-believable."
Patrick wondered if this might be Winn's panic-attack moment. However, to her credit, she remained in her seat, coherent and breathing, her gaze locked on her former fiancé. In truth, Patrick sort of wanted to have the panic attack for her. He glared at Mike, hating the misogynistic scum. "You are a shithead."
Mike had the nerve to bristle. "And you are?"
Winn spoke for him. "My boyfriend. And I know he's just dying to get his hands on you and beat you to a bloody pulp, so show some respect, for once in your life."
Patrick tried to retain his fierce expression, but had to bite his tongue so he wouldn't smile. She called him her boyfriend. Awesome.
"Mike, why have you done this to Stacy? I thought she was the one. You certainly made it seem that way when you left me standing at the altar."
He grunted and balled up his hands into fists. "Ah, I wish I knew, Winn. I love her, I really do, just like I loved you. And Heather, and Terri…"
"Oh, for God's sake, if you tell me there was a fourth…"
"No, no. Just the three fiancées. And each time, I was so happy, so excited, but then the wedding plans began and it all got a little too bridezilla for me."
"I was never a bridezilla."
He offered her a sad grin. "I know. You're right. You weren't. I think I'm just allergic to the idea of settling down. I enjoy dating and even living with these women, but once we start talking ceremonies and tuxedos, my heart stops pumping. I swear I can feel myself die a bit, Winn, every time I think about marrying someone."
"So why the hell did you propose three times?" Patrick asked.
"I don't know," he confessed. "It just seemed like the right thing to do at the time. But then the day of the ceremony arrives and I can't breathe. Winn, I just couldn't breathe. Can you understand what that feels like?"