What the fuck am I doing?
I ask myself for the umpteenth time as I damn near pace a hole into the brick floor of the corridor outside Sammi Deluca’s bridal suite.
My imagination runs wild with visions of her in a white satin dress, her long blonde locks piled atop her head. Her cheeks dusted pink, and those full lips that have begged for my attention since we were teens painted the perfect shade of just out of reach.
My chest draws tight at the thought of her walking down that aisle in a few short minutes…toward the wrong man.
I’m supposed to be the one waiting on that altar. In every version of this moment I’ve envisioned throughout the years, that’s how it’s ended—with me watching through dewy eyes as the girl who secretly captured my heart at the ripe age of fifteen finally became mine.
Instead, I’m here, lurking in the hall, actually considering shooting my shot with my best friend’s baby sister. And on the day she’s set to wed another man, no less.
“Fuck.” With a loud groan, I fist my hands into my hair and give the long ends a firm tug.
It’s now or never.
Nervous energy floods my veins; my pulse is a thundering stampede reverberating through my body. And I’m this close to pounding my fist on that massive mahogany wood door when I wrench my arm behind my back and stalk around the corner. Defeated, I sag against the wall and drop my head into my hand.
I can’t do it.
Not because I don’t love her.
Not because I don’t have the balls.
Not even the fear of my best friend’s reaction would be enough to stop me from going in there.
No. I won’t do it out of respect for her father. It’s Wayne Deluca’s dying wish to walk his baby girl down the aisle.
The rage I feel toward myself festers like an open wound, raw and angry and blistering for an outlet as I slam a fist back into the stone wall.
I knew Sammi was seeing someone. Even that it was getting pretty serious. But I did nothing because I thought I had time. Time to wait it out while she completed college. Time to finish sowing my own wild oats before settling down.
But time is a fucking thief, and I’m about to be left holding an empty hourglass, forced to stand by and watch as the last few granules—and the only girl I’ve ever loved—slip through my fingertips.
This all came out of nowhere: The cancer diagnosis. That big brawny man’s rapid decline. This wedding. I had to steel my reaction when I saw him at the rehearsal dinner last night, wasted away to skin and bones.
How could he be the same man that used to have me and Dane shitting our britches with a stern look?
Fucking Dane, man… This is tearing him apart. I’d give anything to fix this for him. For his mother, Trudy. And for Sammi.
Sweet little Sammi has always been such a daddy’s girl. While he could be a bit of a boar to the rest of us, that man was putty in her hands. She can’t be handling it well. And it kills me that it’s another man’s place to comfort her.
When I heard the news, I offered to pay for the best doctors money could buy—not that the Delucas couldn’t have afforded it themselves. No one in our affluent town of San Robles Shores is hurting for cash. But having more of it than I know what to do with, my first response to any problem these days is to throw money at it. There isn’t much the right amount of the mighty dollar can’t fix. But the harsh reality is that apart from some medical trial he’s so far not responding to, there’s nothing to be done. He’s too far gone.
It’s for this reason alone I know I won’t knock on that door. That I’ll bear witness from a pew in the second row to the woman of my dreams pledging her love and loyalty to a man who could never love her the way I do—the way I always will.
I took for granted that she’d always be there. Truly believed promises whispered in secret from two doe-eyed kids would win out in the end. Because love’s supposed to conquer all, right?
I thought we had time…then fate intervened.
I’m rounding the corner to head back to my seat when the sound of footsteps drawing near has me retreating right back to the safety of the abandoned hall.
“Darci, the wedding should have started ten minutes ago. We don’t have time for whatever this is.”
I recognize the voice as that of the groom, Trent.
He sounds like a fucking douche—a mental assessment that I’m sure has everything to do with the fact that he’s about to marry my girl.
“She’s refusing to leave that bridal suite until she talks to you,” her friend clips. “So get in there and let’s get this show on the road, please.”
The door creaks open, and I find myself holding my breath until I hear it click shut.
I should use this opening to escape unseen. No one would ever know I was out here stalking the bride like a total creeper.
But of course, that’s not the road I choose.
Instead, I flatten my ear to the wall, straining to make out the hushed conversation on the other side. I catch something about a breakup a few months ago when Trent dumped her because things were getting too serious. As a result, Sammi and a few of her friends took off for a girls’ week in the Bahamas to drown her sorrows. Apparently, weeks went by before he came to his senses and went crawling back with his tail between his legs. They got back together on the day her father learned of his grim prognosis. It was then that she asked Trent to marry her, so Wayne would have the opportunity to walk her down the aisle before he passed.
“Why are we rehashing all this now? Baby,” he croons, “that’s all water under the bridge. We’re about to be married.”
“Just give me a minute to get this out, please.” The crack in her voice makes me want to rush in there and rescue her from whatever it is she’s trying to confess.
“Trent…I’m pregnant.”
Silence.
All I hear is the sound of my own heart clattering to the floor in a billion pieces. Because this settles it. There’s no way I’m coming between a child and its father.
“Pregnant?” Trent finally sputters. “We’re having a baby?”
“Well, yes and…and no. I mean, I’m having a baby.”
“You’re breaking up with me?” he snarls. “Oh, this is rich…and after I agreed to marry you? You can’t keep my child from me, Samantha.”
“It might not be yours!” she shouts.
Hope restored, my adrenaline soars.
“Come again?”
“I slept with someone.”
“Who?” he bellows. “I’ll kill him with my bare hands!”
“I don’t know. Just some guy in the Bahamas. I was so drunk, and so angry at you for breaking up with me. I just—I’m not proud of it…” There’s a brief pause before she continues. “We’ve always been so careful, and I assumed I’d missed my period because of the stress of everything with Daddy. But when I did the math last night, I realized I’ve missed more than one. So, I—I took a test…and it—it was positive. That’s the reason I couldn’t go out there. Trent, I couldn’t marry you without telling you this first.”
He barks out a humorless laugh. “You think we’re still getting married?”
“I would like to, yes,” she answers, resolute, like she’s simply securing a business arrangement and not planning to spend the rest of her life with this man. “If you’re willing to raise this baby as your own, no matter what. If you’ll still have me. Yes, Trent, I still want to marry you.”
There’s a loud crash, followed immediately by the girls’ shocked screams.
I’m halfway to the door when it comes flying open, nearly smacking me in the forehead.
“Sounds to me like I just dodged a major bullet. You can do the honors of calling this sham of a wedding off. We’re done. For good this time. Get rid of that kid,” he snarls. “I don’t want it. I don’t ever—and I mean ever—want to see your face again.”
It takes every ounce of restraint I possess not to slam my fist into his smug face when he turns on his heel to storm off and our eyes connect.
He garbles on a muffled laugh. “She’s all yours, man.”
“Always was,” I singsong, all smug. Like I wasn’t preparing seconds ago to accept defeat.
We’re locked in a stare down, his jaw ticking as he chews on his response before finally waving a dismissive hand through the air.
“Good luck, then.” His eyes move toward the door he just left before he shoves past me. He’s still shaking his head to himself when I drum my fist on the wood.
“Tre—” Sammi starts before swallowing her tongue. Her tear-filled eyes widen. “Lyle?”
“Hey, Li’l Bit.”
She dabs a tissue under her eyes, as if she could hide the fact that she’s been crying. “What are you doing here?”
“I was invited,” I say, stepping past her into the bridal suite, where her friend is gawking so hard her jaw’s practically dragging the floor.
“You all right, doll?” I ask the starstruck brunette. “Someone should probably check on your friend here.”
Sammi groans before releasing her hold on the door and spinning around to lean against it. “I mean here, here—like in this room.”
“Oh, that,” I say with a wink, not wasting a second as I drop down to one knee and retrieve the velvet box I thought to grab from my top drawer, just in case. “Something I should have done a long time ago.”
“Oh. My. Gawd.” Darci appears to have pulled herself out of her stupor as she brings a hand to her chest.
“Lyle…” Sammi wrings her fingers. “You’re too late.”
“I heard everything,” I say, flipping the top open to reveal the antique, oval-cut diamond I’ve been holding on to for damn near two years. “Marry me, Li’l Bit.”
“This is crazy.” She chews her bottom lip, appearing to mull it over. “You can’t be serious right now.”
“I assure you, love. I have never been more serious about anything in my entire life than I am of wanting to make you mine forever.”
“You just heard me admit to cheating on my fiancé…”
“I’m pretty sure he wasn’t your anything, if memory serves. The idiot broke up with you.”
“Still…I wanted to marry him and slept with someone else, and that doesn’t bother you?”
I can’t contain the wry grin that curves my lip, because even if they hadn’t split up for a time, why would her cheating on him bother me in the least? “No.”
She sucks her tongue to her teeth, throwing her arms out. “Why?” She snorts. “Why would you want to marry me, knowing all that?”
“Because even after all this time has passed, you listened, Jailbait.”
Her eyes narrow. “How do you figure?”
“Clearly, he never had your heart.”
“No.” Her voice is a hoarse whisper. “That’s always belonged to you.”
I shift my weight around, my knee beginning to ache on the hard floor. “I’m here to claim what’s mine.” I take hold of her left hand and ask again, “Marry me.”
She tries to pull away, but I tighten my grip, not giving an inch. I was just seconds away from losing her for good. There’s not a chance in hell I’m leaving this church without making her my wife.
“I—we can’t. So much has changed.” Her eyes fill with tears, and I swear, a part of me dies at the sight of them. Sammi Deluca should never cry, especially not because of me. “You’re Mr. World Famous. Girls throw their panties at you on stage, and I’m just—”
I rise to my feet, gripping her chin with my free hand and tip her face up to mine. “Don’t you dare finish that sentence with anything other than ‘amazing.’” Because that’s what you are, Li’l Bit. Fucking. Amazing.”
“But what will people think?” she asks, nibbling on her plump lower lip. “No one will believe it—that a manwhore like you settled down with a nobody like me.”
I pretend to be offended. “Well, that’s rich coming from a pregnant chick that doesn’t even know the father.”
She gasps, but the fire I’ve always loved so much sparks in her eyes. My girl may be down, but she’s not out.
For a split second, I worry I’ve gone too far, but then she spits out a laugh. “Touché.”
“Forget everything else. It’s you and me, babe…the way it was always supposed to be. Let’s do this. Marry me.”
Sammi dabs her nose with the Kleenex still balled in her fist. “You really want to do this?”
“More than anything.” My eyes drink her in, starting with the sheer veil sitting atop the golden waves cascading down her back. They linger on the square-cut bodice that’s in no way inappropriate but has me fantasizing about ripping it off her later tonight. I take in every curve, appreciating the way the fabric clings to her body. I don’t stop ’til I’ve reached the tips of her red-painted toes, peeking out from beneath the delicate satin and lace.
“And the baby?” she counters, the skin on her chest flushed from my perusal.
“Will be ours,” I answer, unwavering.
“Okay,” she stammers, shaking her head in disbelief. “Yes, Lyle Livingston, I will marry you.”
I’m back on one knee, slipping the ring onto her finger, when none other than Dane Deluca bursts through the door.
