Her Kind of Trouble. Sarah Mayberry

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СКАЧАТЬ he knew he couldn’t top that, he offered one last smile and turned away. Jason was angling toward him, and Seth headed in the opposite direction and sat beside his grandmother. As he’d guessed, Jason stopped short, unwilling to give a lecture about keeping his pants zipped in front of an octogenarian.

      Wimp.

      “Seth, sweetheart. Good to see you. Tell me about all the trouble you’ve been causing,” his grandmother said, patting his hand.

      “I don’t know who you’ve been talking to, but I’ve been busy working. No trouble here.”

      She laughed heartily, tickled, and he set himself to entertaining her. And all the while he puzzled over Vivian’s parting words. What, exactly, did people say about weddings? And did it mean he was in with a chance tomorrow or not?

      * * *

      VIVIAN STAYED UP half the night hand-stitching the sequins, seed pearls and feathers onto the belt. She was bleary-eyed when she finished, but the belt was gorgeous and she was certain that Jodie would love it.

      It wasn’t a dress, but it was something.

      She set her alarm before burrowing into the pillow and willing herself to sleep on the narrow bed. For some reason, her conversation with Seth slipped into her mind as she drifted off. Man, he was cocky. So confident he was almost offensive.

      Almost. If he actually delivered on the promises he made with that body and those eyes... Well, it would be a whole lot of fun.

      She fell asleep with a smile on her face, slept through her alarm and then had to shower in a panic before joining her sister downstairs to have her hair and makeup done with the other bridesmaids.

      “Vivian,” her mother said reproachfully as Vivian slipped into the lone empty seat at the kitchen table.

      Vivian widened her eyes. It wasn’t as though the makeup artist or hairdresser had eight arms and was able to work on more than one person at a time. She would have been sitting around twiddling her thumbs if she’d been on time.

      The next hour flew by in a waft of hairspray and a dusting of powder. Then it was time to get dressed. She and the other bridesmaids shimmied into their pale green sheaths before helping Jodie dress. Then, holding her breath, Vivian handed over the belt.

      “Oh, Viv.” Jodie eyes popped as she reached for it reverently. “It’s so beautiful.”

      “Good. I’m glad you like it.”

      “I love it.”

      Vivian was pretty sure she’d remember the look on her sister’s face for the rest of her life.

      There were photographs to take next, then the drive to the church. In the vestibule Vivian and the other bridesmaids helped arrange the small train on Jodie’s dress, then Vivian tweaked the veil one last time. The doors to the church proper opened, the organ chimed the opening chords to “Here Comes the Bride,” and Vivian started down the aisle, her suddenly sweaty hands clutched around her bouquet.

      She might not want this for herself, but it hit her that this was a big deal. Jodie was getting married. She was about to become someone else. Mrs. Anderson. She was about to lay the foundation stone for starting her own family.

      Vivian blinked rapidly, worried she would ruin her makeup. Then her gaze found the tall figure of Seth standing at the head of the aisle, and she saw the smirk on his lips, as though he fully expected her to turn into a slobbering sentimental wreck any second. She sucked back her tears and lifted her chin. She loved her sister, but she had her dignity to consider.

      The ceremony passed in a blur, the only stand-out moments in her memory being when Jason and Jodie exchanged rings, and the time when she got caught staring at Seth’s profile and had to let her gaze drift as though she’d been examining the stained glass window over his shoulder and not wondering what kind of a kisser he was. She wasn’t entirely sure he bought it, but she’d tried.

      There were more photos—endless photos—after the ceremony, then they piled into the cars and drove to the Fairfield Boathouse for the reception. The food came quickly, which was just as well as Vivian was starving, having somehow forgotten to eat breakfast and lunch in all the rush. The champagne flowed freely, and before she knew it they were at the speeches part of the evening. Her father spoke well and made everyone cry, then Jason’s mother took the floor and made them laugh. Seth told droll stories and earned his brother some raised-eyebrow looks from her sister. Then it was Vivian’s turn to talk about the happy couple.

      She’d never been crazy about public speaking, so she chugged down her glass of champagne before taking the mike. She’d written out her speech, and she pretty much stuck to the script as she shared how happy she was for Jason and Jodie, and how she thought they made a great couple and couldn’t wait for little Johnny and Jan and Jill to come along. Everyone seemed to think that was funny—phew—so she finished on a high note.

      With the official stuff out of the way, the music started. Vivian knocked back more champagne while watching her relatives make idiots of themselves on the dance floor, then went in search of the ladies’.

      Afterward, she couldn’t quite face returning to the rowdy din. Not just yet. She slipped out the front entrance onto the covered balcony that circled the Victorian building. The river was dark as night, but fairy lights circled the gum trees nearest the boathouse and the world seemed mysterious and full of promise.

      The scent of smoke drifted to her and she glanced to her left. Someone stood in the shadows of the balcony, the tip of his cigarette glowing.

      She smiled, because she knew exactly who it was. Full of champagne and mischief, she went to talk to Seth.

      * * *

      WHATEVER ELSE A person thought about Vivian—and Seth had had a few very detailed, very specific thoughts regarding her in the twenty-four hours since they’d met—it was impossible to ignore the fact that she knew how to move. There was a swing to her hips, a strut to her walk that issued a challenge.

      Look at me. Take me on.

      Watching her walk toward him, half her face in shadow, he could only admire the way she worked it.

      “Ms. Walker. Taking a break from the festivities?”

      “Avoiding the ‘Chicken Dance.’”

      He winced. “Really?”

      “Yep. There will be some ‘Greased Lightning’ and the ‘Bus Stop’ before the night’s over, too.”

      He swore under his breath and took another drag on his cigarette.

      “You got another one of those?”

      “Didn’t realize you smoked.”

      “Only when I’m drunk.”

      He gave her an assessing look. She wasn’t swaying on her feet or glassy-eyed, but her cheeks were a little flushed. She waved a hand dismissively.

      “Relax. I’m not there yet,” she said.

      “Hey, whatever gets you through the night.”

      God СКАЧАТЬ