Jilt Trip. Heather Macallister

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      “I did advise against selling stock to finance that oil drilling project,” Bob piped up in an I-told-you-so tone.

      “And I relayed your concerns to Carter,” Nikki assured him, “along with my own.”

      Bob addressed Carter. “Perhaps she didn’t emphasize—”

      Carter glared him back into silence.

      “The minister’s coming,” Julian said seconds before Reverend Royer sailed into the room.

      “Mr. Belden…and best man?”

      “Here!” Saunders stepped forward, holding the battered carnation.

      “Saunders!” Nikki hissed.

      “Let’s go.” Carter moved forward.

      “Carter!” Nikki shrieked.

      Everyone froze.

      Nikki had gone white, and her freckles stood out like the cinnamon on Carter’s morning cappuccino. She hadn’t accepted that he was marrying Dee Ann. His heart twisted for her.

      “Could we have a few more minutes?” he asked the minister.

      “Young man.” Reverend Royer inhaled deeply. “Miss Karrenbrock is waiting in the vestibule with her bridesmaids. The organist has repeated “Sheep May Safely Graze” no less than five times. Miss Hicks is bemoaning a melting ice sculpture and the candles are beginning to drip. May I suggest you conduct your business at a later time?”

      Carter gritted his teeth. “Why don’t you start without me, then?” He heard a strangled sound from Nikki’s direction and didn’t dare look at her.

      “I’ll be praying for you in the antechamber.” Reverend Royer piously withdrew.

      “Now look what you’ve done!” Carter rounded on Nikki. “I’ve insulted a man of God!”

      “Nikki,” Saunders began, “just tell—”

      She held up her hand. “If—if you’re determined to go through with this marriage—”

      “I am.”

      “Then I’d like to propose a toast,” she announced. Julian handed her a bottle of champagne. The cork had already been popped.

      “You have all lost your minds,” Carter said in amazement.

      Saunders solemnly produced paper cups and handed him one.

      “You can’t seriously think I’d greet my bride with alcohol on my breath!” No one met his eyes. “It’s not even a good vintage.”

      “Well, she didn’t want to ruin—ow!” Julian broke off.

      “Sorry.” Nikki, the bottle shaking slightly, poured a little champagne into each cup. When she reached Carter, she filled his to the brim.

      “So is this your new plan?” He tapped the cup. “Get me drunk and I won’t go through with the wedding?”

      Everyone stared at his own cup.

      They were so transparent, Carter thought. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Gazing at them defiantly, Carter held his cup aloft. “To Dee Ann Karrenbrock, may she prove you all wrong.” He drained his cup in a single gulp. The domestic champagne tasted even worse than he’d expected. It wasn’t like Julian to select something so inferior.

      Didn’t Julian, one of his best friends, think Carter’s bride was worth a toast with the finest champagne?

      Lowering the cup, Carter was immediately aware that no one had drunk with him. His face heated with anger at the insult.

      His eyes narrowed. “Aren’t you going to propose a toast to my happiness, N-Nikki?” His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. Nasty vile stuff. He thrust out his cup, anyway.

      Nikki clutched the bottle so tightly, her knuckles were white.

      “More,” he commanded.

      Nikki filled his cup.

      No one said anything.

      “I’m waiting.”

      “May you find happiness in spite of yourself,” she said, her eyes mocking him as he quaffed his drink.

      The second cup went straight to his head. Carter clutched the podium as the room wobbled. Damn cheap champagne.

      “Carter?” Two Nikkis spoke to him. He closed his eyes. One Nikki was more than enough.

      “’S hot.” He tried to loosen his collar, but the pearl stickpin got in the way.

      Saunders took his arm. “Do you want to sit down?”

      Irritated, Carter shook off his lawyer’s hand. “Wrinkle my panths.” Oh, great. His tongue was swollen. How could he recite his vows? Maybe if he practiced.

      “I, Cawtuh, take thee, Dee Ann, do be mah lawfoolly weddud wahf…”

      “What’s he saying?”

      “Shh.”

      Water. He needed water. Cold water would shrink his tongue and cool his burning face. He took a step backward and the room tilted, then began a slow spin.

      Drunk?

      Dee Ann would be livid.

      “Not dunk,” he muttered. Not on two paper cups of champagne.

      “Carter, sit down.” Saunders urged him in the other direction.

      “No.” He closed his eyes against the spinning room and concentrated on putting one foot directly in front of the other. He would stand in front of that altar. He would marry Dee Ann…

      “Carter! Carter…Car-ter…Caaaaarterrrr…”

      The sound came from all around him. He took another step and missed the floor.

      Clawing at air, he landed on his knee, then fell prone.

      His boutonniere would be completely crushed. Trying to save it, he rolled over and opened his eyes. Four anxious faces peered down at him. Four anxious and guilty faces.

      He was the only one on the floor.

      Black ringed his vision as the faces receded down a tunnel.

      Realization struck. “Dug! You…dug me.” He tried to point, but his arm was too heavy to lift.

      A cool hand touched his forehead. Huge green eyes filled his vision. From a distance, he heard, “Trust me.”

      Through sheer force of will, Carter managed a reply as darkness overtook him. “Fahd! Yoo awl fahd!”

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