Bad Boy's Bridesmaid
Read Bad Boy's Bridesmaid Online
Authors: Sosie Frost
Bad
Boy’s
Bridesmaid
Copyright
© 2016 by Sosie Frost
All
rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof
may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever
without the express written permission of the publisher
except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This
is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and
incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a
fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual
events is purely coincidental.
This
book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold
or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with
another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you’d like
to share it with. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.
Cover
Design
: Mayhem Cover Creations
http://mayhemcovercreations.com/
To
L.G.
Because
you thought it’d be cute…
Note
to the Reader:
Hi
there!
Thank
you so much for grabbing a copy of Bad Boy’s Bridesmaid!
As
a special thank-you, I’ve included
two
bonus books in this file—
Bad
Boy’s Baby
and
Bad Boy’s Revenge
!
All
three of these books are full-length (350+ paperback pages a piece), standalone
romances, and I think you’ll really love them!
Happy
Reading!
Sosie
The ivory
wedding invitations were mistakenly printed on indigo paper. That accident was
the same color as the positive line on my secret pregnancy test.
The bride would
flip out, and she was already a couple roses short of a bridal bouquet.
I had to fix
it—and fast. My fingers shook as I pulled the invitation from the box.
The tissue paper
wrinkled, crinkled, then ripped.
Uh-oh. Now they
were the wrong color
and
wrecked. This was a disaster, but at least we
ordered a printed sample of the invitations before we sent them out to the
three hundred invitees.
The flaking
purplish ink stained my fingers and did not bode well for the bride’s wishes or
my likelihood of surviving her impending tantrum. Lindsey had been
specific
in
her designs. It was a…delicate word to use in lieu of
unrepentant bridezilla
escaped from the clutches of Satan
.
The devil
reserved a special circle of hell for traitors, thieves, and wedding planners. While
my sister wasn’t usually the biblical plague type, little things like the wrong
color invitations or photographers who overused sepia tones triggered a furious
nuptial wrath. At least she refused the outdoor venue we toured—less chances
for a wave of frogs or locusts.
I sighed and tucked
the invitation in the box. The Prescott/Harris wedding was one bad shrimp ring
away from a nuclear meltdown. If carnations in the centerpieces were any
indication of Lindsey’s mood, purple invitations would set the bridal party to
DEFCON two.
I sighed. I
probably couldn’t bleach the invitations before her inspection, and there
wasn’t enough White-Out in the world to hide the purple. I’d have to tell her
what happened.
I checked the
calendar. Eight weeks until the wedding.
I swiped my
phone. Eight minutes until her daily call at noon to discuss the wedding
preparations.
Eight minutes it
was then. I should have spent them actually doing the work my Dad and his
advertising company paid me to do, but I collapsed at my desk. Pregnancy
fatigue won out.
What I wouldn’t
do for eight hours of rest. So far, the itsy-bitsy break was the only peace I
had since I ripped open the pregnancy test one week ago and discovered I was
now a Maid-Of-
Dis
honor.
Of all the
complications in my life, I thought the worst would be getting hit by a bus or
beat to death with the bridal bouquet.
But a
baby
?
I was
twenty-three. Single. And my family was in full crunch-mode for a wedding that
would rival Will and Kate’s royal shindig. The preparations were not going
well.
The
twice-baked-mini-sweet-potato appetizer nearly tore my sister and her fiancé
apart, and Mom had cried for two hours about improperly dyed high heels. I was
still apologizing to the caterers for Dad’s choice words about the impractical
ice sculpture, and I owed the church one hell of a tithe after the accidental
insult about the placement of an “unsightly” crucifix.
My family would
spontaneously combust if I revealed the pregnancy now. So I wasn’t risking
anything
.
My lips were zipped until after the wedding.
If
I could hide
it.
And if I could
keep the secret from the baby’s father, Nate.
The agency’s
main line rang. Dad grumbled from his office.
“Mandy, can you
grab that?” The telltale rustle of a fast-food bag outted him. “Gotta finish
this email.”
“Did that email
come with onion rings?”
Dad hesitated. Like
he’d
ever
get away with lying to me. “French fries.”
My best friend,
Dad’s cardiologist, wouldn’t be happy about that. Rick did not order Dad onto any
low salt diet that included a cheeseburger and chili fries with a giant Coke to
wash down the coronary waiting to happen. Hopefully he’d just have heartburn by
three o’clock. Luckily for us, I stashed a bottle of Pepto-Bismol in my drawer.
I bought it when I still thought my nausea was just a little bug.
Boy (
or girl?
),
was I wrong.
Well, I could
cure Dad’s indigestion, but I’d never fit him into a tux before Lindsey’s
wedding. Pretty sure she had finally re-invited him last week. I’d have to
check. The tailor was on standby anyway.
The office line
rang again. I answered the call with a glance to the clock on the wall. 11:55. Maybe
I’d salvage five minutes of peace?
No dice.
“
Mandy!”
Lindsey
practically growled at me. I flinched, holding the phone away from my head in
case my sister learned how to reach through the receiver. “Answer your freaking
texts before I march down there and shove my veil down your throat!”
So…she wasn’t
cheerful today. At least I knew how to deal with her. Lindsey had skipped the
blushing bride phase and transformed directly to fire-breathing hell-beast, but
she
was
family…
I had double-checked.
After the engagement dinner debacle, I’d demanded to see our birth
certificates.
“You wouldn’t
hurt your only sister.” I scrolled through my phone. Twenty texts in the past
hour from her… mostly composed of angry frowny faces. Not good.
“You mean I
wouldn’t hurt my
veil
,” she said.
“That too.”
“It’s
hand-stitched.”
We weren’t
reliving the cross-stitched rose fiasco too. “What’s up, Linds?”
“Do you have the
invitations?”
Eek
. I covered the box
with work files and took a breath. “Um…”
Lindsey
shrieked. “I tracked the package! They said it was delivered and signed for.
What if someone
destroyed
them?” Her voice shrilled. “What if someone
stole
them?”
“No one is
stealing your invitations.”
“They might!”
“What use would
they have for a piece of paper with your names, church address, and date on
it?”
“You work with
Photoshop. Who knows what people will do for a wedding!”
Well, that was
true. I was living through that madness first hand. Invitations were easy
compared to the bridesmaids’ war that was strappy sandals versus slip-ons.
“I have the box
right here,” I said.
“I expected you
to be on top of this, Mandy. You were supposed to call the
instant
they
arrived.”
“I know. I’m
sorry, but listen. There’s a slight problem.” I tried to keep my voice light
and bouncy. “Nothing I can’t handle, okay? The invitations are the wrong color.
They’re indigo. But we can order new ones—”
Lindsey wailed.
Great, now my sister made an enemy out of
another
section of the
rainbow. After the sage/forest/mint green bridal shower crisis, I was running
out of acceptable color pallets to use for the event.
My sister
dropped the phone. I called her name. Lindsey didn’t answer.
What was the only
thing worse than confronting a raging bride on the phone?
Mom picked up
instead.
“Mandy? What
are
you doing to your sister?” My mother’s fake falsetto posed the question like I
deliberately meant to cause another rampage.
“She’s okay, Mom.
I can handle it.”
“She’s stressed
enough as it is, the poor thing. She doesn’t need you causing problems.”
It was easier to
apologize than argue with Mom. “Sorry. Let me talk to Lindsey. I’ll take care
of everything.”
“You
need
to stop being so insensitive!” Mom muttered to me as she helped Lindsey to her
feet, offering to fetch her some lemonade. “Honestly, Mandy. This might be the
only wedding this family
has
. Lord knows you have no one and no plans.”
I didn’t have
the patience for Mom to list all my faults next to the wedding day to-do list,
but off she went.
No boyfriend.
Working as an assistant to Dad. Making the wedding more difficult on my sister.
My hair was too
long, my dress size too big, and, my favorite, somehow
I
lost the TV
remote when I helped with the centerpiece planning last night.
Then, we went
full circle.
“At least you’re
saving us fifty dollars on the reception dinner. I won’t plan for you to bring
a
plus one
to the wedding.”
She wanted a
plus
one
to rsvp?
I had a pretty
special guest who was coming with me, whether he or she wanted it or not. Obviously,
I had
someone
. I mean…that
someone
might have been a one night
mistake. Still, I wasn’t about to blab the baby to Mom to prove I wasn’t
forever alone.
Fortunately,
Lindsey grabbed the phone from Mom before I revealed the scandal of all
scandals to rock our family.
“We can’t wait
for these idiot printers,” Lindsey said. “I want you to come home now.”
“I’m working.”
“Yeah, for
Dad
.”
I crumbled a
saltine cracker in my hand. “This is my
job
. He’s paying me.”
Lindsey’s huff
mirrored Mom’s. “He owes us a lot more than whatever he’s paying you. Come
home. We have to fix this.”
“Linds—”
“
Now
!”
The call ended.
Dad snuck out of
his office. He offered me a bite of his cheeseburger. Just the sight of the oily,
greasy, limp meat patty turned my stomach. I shook my head and pretended like I
was texting her back. He slid a napkin loaded with fries on my desk.
Not the best for
morning sickness, but I faked eating one so he wouldn’t suspect anything.
Dad ran a hand
over his shaved head—dark, shiny, and absolutely a style Mom never would have
allowed if he still lived at home. The goatee was new too, grown after I accidentally
mentioned Mom talking at church with Mr. Calvin…who happened to have a beard.
Dad probably thought it’d give him a chance.
“So…” He crossed
his arms. His copper eyes still sparkled, though maybe not as bright as they
once did. Dad and I always did look the most alike—a more delicate dark with
high cheek bones and almond eyes. Maybe that’s why Mom favored Lindsey? “You
should probably go.”
“I can stay.”
“You don’t have
to,” he said. “I know you have responsibilities to your sister.”
I tapped the computer
monitor. “But we’re supposed to make a logo for Pebblemill Incorporated.”
“I can draw that
up. I’ll scan it in for you.”
“Are you sure?”
“Lindsey needs
you. The wedding is a big event for this family. We probably won’t have this kind
of good news for a while.”
Especially since
my news probably wasn’t what they wanted to hear.
I grabbed my
purse and kissed Dad’s cheek. His tone wasn’t as casual as he thought—less
easy-breezy and more a hurricane-force gale of insecurity.
“Mandy…your
momma…”
I braced myself
with a smile. “Yeah?”
“Is she…bringing
anyone to the wedding?”
Without the
divorce papers officially signed? No way. The only person Mom
could
officially take was Jesus, and he hadn’t rsvp’ed because she refused to drop
off his cross long enough to hand him the invitation.
“No,” I said.
“She’s coming alone.”
“Ah, okay.” His
smile wasn’t that confident.
“So no wild
dates for you then?”
He slumped. Oh,
I shouldn’t have made the joke. Was it too early to blame pregnancy hormones?
“Oh, no. No, no,
no.” He chuckled, nervously. His eyes suddenly widened. “Why? Does your momma
think I’m dating?”
“Oh, no. Not at
all. I was just—”
“She’s not
dating?”
I shuddered to
think. “No. She’s all alone.”
Dad’s expression
crumbled. “Well…that’s not what I want either.”
Shoot
. “That’s not
what I meant—”
“I mean, if I
could be at home—”
“Oh, I know. She
knows. We all…know.”
“We have some
things to work out. But it’s never been about you girls. You know that, right?”
I wasn’t a
child, but it was nice to hear it, even if I knew it wasn’t the truth. “Okay,
well—”
“You know…I let
her have the house.”
Oh, the alimony
pony was a poor substitute for the horse Lindsey and I so desperately wanted as
kids. I couldn’t get in the middle of my parents’ fights anymore. It hurt too
much.
“Dad, I
gotta
go. Lindsey’s gonna turn as blue as the invitations if I don’t get over there—”
“I know. That’s
why I wanted your mom to have the house. So she and Lindsey could have a place
to stage all this stuff for the wedding, and we could sort through our problems
without that stress.” Dad squeezed my hand. “You’ll see, Mandy-Pandy. Once the
wedding is over? Everything’s going back to normal.”