Page 1 of Accidentally Marrying the Best Man

CHARLOTTE

I brush my hand over the flowing skirt of my wedding dress and marvel at how light it is.

My reflection in the full-length mirror shows an amazing gown that pairs a structured, silk Mikado corset with a floor-length, silk mousseline skirt.

I never thought I’d get married, and this ceremony is about doing a favor for a friend, not committing to forever after with a soulmate.

And yet, I spent more money than I should on the dress.

It’s inspired by a design from Elie Saab’s website.

The celebrity-favored designer charges around fifteen thousand dollars for the lower end of her collection, and as much as I love quality fashion, even I think that’s too much to shell out for a dress I’ll only wear once.

All I need now is a groom, but my childhood friend, who begged me to marry him, is suspiciously absent.

And very late.

I’ve been waiting in the vestry of the small wedding chapel for a while.

But maybe that’s not the right word to call this space, since the venue is not religious.

I guess it’s more like a lounge or a waiting room.

Bride’s room? But that implies that I should have a bevy of girlfriends in here, getting ready with me. And I’m here alone.

Maybe a green room?

Anxiety creates ruminating thoughts in my head, so I shut that thread down, but this wedding is definitely a performance.

So, calling this space a green room feels right, like where actors wait before going on stage or on camera.

Except, the sunlight shining through the small room’s stained glass windows paints the floor and the walls in all the colors of the rainbow.

Not just green. Okay, my mind is off on a tangent again, and I need to shut that down.

The minute hand on the analogue wall-clock ticks forward one mark. Jay is now officially an hour late, and he’s not answering calls or texts.

I study my reflection again, stubbornly refusing to think about what could have happened to my friend.

Thick braided straps and trim detail the corset frame and neckline of my dress like hand-drawn contours, lending me a badass Game-of-Thrones-like warrior vibe.

But the soft, gauzy volume of the skirt reflects how my insides feel right now.

All empty and airy. I don’t know how to fill them because that forces me to confront that either something horrible has happened to Jay.

Or, I’m such a loser that I got stood up for a marriage of convenience.

One that the groom begged me to agree to.

Jay and I grew up together. His home served as the sanctuary where I hid from my dad’s heavy fists and my mom’s manipulative mind games.

Jay and his twin brother were raised by their grandmother, who had a heart so filled with love that there was enough for her grandsons and me, the dirty, half-starved girl from the wrong side of town.

Jay is more than just a friend. He’s the brother of my heart.

A month ago, Jay found out that his grandmother’s will stipulates that he has to get married before he turns thirty, or lose his inheritance, He begged me to do him this favor so he could keep the bar he’s run for most of his adult life. Of course I said yes.

And then I was stupid enough to create a situation where I also need this wedding to actually happen.

I press my forehead to the frosted window.

I can’t see the winter landscape on the other side through the colored glass, but the icy surface helps calm my racing thoughts.

Practicing some deep breathing, I imagine I’m somewhere else.

Anywhere else, Maui, Costco, dental surgery.

It doesn’t work, so I curse my miserable life and my stupid superpower of self-sabotage.

A doorknob rattles. I spin around, expecting Jay in all panicked glory, but when the door cracks open, his twin brother slips through instead.

When they were younger, people said the boys looked exactly the same, but I could always tell them apart. And now, as grown men, it’s even easier.

Nick King is all sharp angles and planes, while Jay’s features are softer and more likely to crack a smile.

Right now, Nick’s square jawline is more prominent than usual because he’s clenching it so hard, I’m worried he’ll crack a tooth.

In his best-man outfit—a dark maroon tailored suit made of an expensive material that shimmers in the winter light—he looks like he belongs in a movie. A historical drama where everyone is heartbreakingly beautiful, never says what they mean, but their eyes glow with intense repressed emotion.

“Charlotte.” Like always, his deep voice brushes against my skin like warm velvet, heating my lady parts in ways I’ve tried to suppress since puberty. I take a deep breath, willing my hormones to stand down. I’m here to marry the groom, not ogle the best man.

Nick’s amber eyes radiate anger and frustration, and as he lays eyes on me, his gaze heats even more. Before I can interpret what ratcheted up his mood, he blinks and his features return to the calm control they usually display.

He shoves his hands in his pockets, not meeting my eyes, mouth working around words like he’s chewing on the inside of his cheek. “I—uh?—”

I hold up a hand. “Let me guess. Jay got hit by a Vespa. He’s in the hospital, but he’s okay and will be here shortly.” I picked the lightest vehicle I could think of because I don’t know what I would do if my friend were seriously hurt.

Nick blinks and frowns. “Not a Vespa. Just... not here. Yet. He’s, um, missing.”

I bark out a brittle laugh that turns into a hiccup.

Nick takes a step toward me, reaching out with his hand, but then he drops it.

“Charlotte, I’m really sorry. I’ve called his cell—six times.

He’s not picking up. He was here, but kept—” he runs a hand through his dark hair, making the cowlick he always tries to tame stand up.

My hands itch to flatten it. “Anyway,” he continues.

“I told him to take a walk, and now he’s completely disappeared. ”

“Well, this is a plot twist,” I mutter. “He asked—no begged—me to marry him. And now he’s the one standing me up.

” My knees wobble, and I dump my butt onto the edge of the chair next to the mirror, careful not to wrinkle the skirt.

“But now I need him to go through with this, or I’m going to look like the biggest fool, and probably lose my job. ”

Nick’s face flickers between concern and confusion. “I don’t understand. You didn’t want to marry him? He had to beg you?” He shakes his head. “Why would you lose your job?”

I study the diamond on the engagement ring I bought for myself.

It’s a two-carat, square, Asscher-cut stone, surrounded by smaller blue sapphires.

All of that bauble-glory is set on a braided platinum band.

One more thing I spent too much money on, but I wanted the people at work to think that my fiancé spoiled me. Cherished me.

Okay, fine, so maybe I wanted one particular person to be jealous.

Patricia, a paralegal at the firm, is my nemesis.

In high school, she was the mean girl who took great delight in making sure I didn’t measure up to her and her friends’ status.

They were the cool girls. Invited to all the parties. Dated all the popular guys.

Patricia dated Nick throughout his entire senior year.

Even now, married and supposedly grown up, she enjoys pointing out my inadequacies. The main one apparently being that I’m still single. So yeah, I wanted her to covet my blingy engagement ring.

This entire wedding is pretend, I know that, but I wanted—needed—the story to include that someone wanted to be mine. Wanted to fully be my person, my family.

Suddenly, pressure builds behind my eyes, and my nose itches. I flatten my lips and blink furiously to keep from crying.

Charlotte Rose does not cry when there are problems. She figures out a solution, and fights to make it happen.

Nick crouches in front of me. He touches my knee, and his hand scorches my skin through the wedding dress material. The other pushes up my chin until I meet his eyes. “Hey,” he whispers. “Talk to me.”

The concern I hear in his voice completely undoes me, and I can’t stop the tears from escaping.

Fuck.

This is not happening. I haven’t cried since I was ten and my dad slapped me so hard I fell down the stairs and broke my collarbone.

I scrambled to the boys’ grandmother, and she took me to the hospital, holding me tight as I cried out my pain and frustration over the horrible parents I’d been given.

She wanted to report my dad, but I knew social services would take me away, and I couldn’t face leaving her—and the boys—so I swore her to secrecy.

Now, I’m mortified for blubbering in front of Nick. Being strong and independent is so ingrained in who I’ve made myself into that it feels like I’m losing my personality.

A handkerchief appears in my field of vision. I grab onto it as if it’s a life jacket and press it against my eyes until the tears stop. And then I have to blow my nose.

The pristine white square of cloth he handed me is now filled with snot and stained by makeup. I stare at the mess and can’t help but think it’s a metaphor for my life.

Looking up to meet Nick’s gaze, I say, “I’m going to have to buy you a new one. Where did you get this one?” I finger the one corner that’s still relatively clean. The material is thick and soft. “Do handkerchiefs have thread count?”

Nick chuckles and stands. I immediately miss the warmth of his hand on my knee. “I have no idea,” he says and drags a chair over so he can sit across from me. “Okay, tell me what’s going on with this wedding. Why did Jay have to beg you and what does it have to do with your job?”

Silence blooms between us as I gather my thoughts. I fiddle with the disgusting handkerchief until Nick takes it from me and throws it across the small room. “Charlotte,” he growls, his voice vibrating inside my chest. My nipples bud into hard knots, and I’m grateful for the thick corset material.

Taking a deep breath, I look up and meet his gaze. “Okay, you know Jay wants to keep the bar and to do so, he has to get married before he turns thirty.”

“I don’t know what grandmother was thinking, trying to rule his life from the grave.”

I smile. “It would be you standing at the altar, if you weren’t five minutes younger.”

The hot emotion I glimpsed before flashes in his eyes, but again, he looks away before I can identify it. “That’s me,” he says. “The young irresponsible brother who never has to do anything hard.” He says it sarcastically, but there’s a bit of an edge to his voice.

I snort. Nick doesn’t have one irresponsible bone in his body.

He’s always been the serious brother who takes care of everyone.

The one who joined the army as soon as they’d let him enlist, so he could send home money to his grandmother.

Jay did the same, but only not to be shown up by his brother.

And he couldn’t stand being apart from his twin.

Taking a deep breath, I tell him how Jay and I made a deal that we’d get married but keep it platonic. His grandmother’s will also stipulates that Jay must intend to have children within two years of the wedding. We figured we’d do that via IVF.

When I pause for breath, Nick stares at me for a long moment. “Why the fuck would you get married and not have sex?” he finally asks.

My nose scrunches up automatically. “Gross. Neither of us wants to sleep with the other.” Ugh.

Nick looks out the window, or more like, at the window, clenching his jaw. “But it’s always been him and you. You’ve been together since you were kids.”

“What are you talking about? We’ve never been together. Okay, yeah, we hang out, but we’ve never been together, together .”

His gaze snaps to my face. “Friends only? Always?” he snaps. “Never dated? Never slept together?”

I make a scrunched-up face again. I can’t help it. “Never even kissed.” Why is he harping on about Jay and me having sex together? It’s so gross.

Nick rubs his face with both hands, and then sighs. “Okay, explain what this has to do with your job?”

This is harder to talk about. It’s one thing to get married as a favor to a friend.

It’s another, very embarrassing, thing to admit I’m getting hitched for a promotion.

“The managing partners at the firm are old school and think married lawyers are better partnership material. They’re voting on who’ll get the one partner seat that is up for grabs in a few weeks and my boss basically told me I had no chance because I’m single. ”

“But your law firm specializes in family law, mostly divorces.” Nick frowns.

“Yup.” I pop the last letter.

“Do they not see the irony in this?”

“Nope.” Another pop.

“Fuck, Charlotte. You’ve worked harder than anyone at the firm. You deserve that seat.”

I nod. I’ve worked my ass off.

Nobody comes close to the number of billable hours I’ve racked up in the last year, managing partners included.

Nick stands and paces the room. There’s more sighing, more face rubbing, and a lot of muttering under his breath.

I hear Jay’s name a few times, and I think the word asshole is uttered more than once, but I can’t make out anything else.

He stops mid-step and turns around, facing me. “I don’t know what the fuck Jay will do about grandma’s will and the bar, but I can solve your problem.”

I straighten in the chair. “You can?” Hope blooms in my chest. Nick is a born problem-solver. I have faith in him, but how’s he going to convince the firm to name the first unmarried partner ever?

“I’ll marry you.”

The words land so heavily between us, my mind hears a thud as if they landed on the floor. I inhale sharply as I stare at Nick. Is he on drugs?

“But I can’t marry you,” my voice squeaks out, and anxiety—or, maybe panic—makes my leg twitch, hard, and repeatedly.

As the staccato pitch my white satin shoe taps against the floor increases, Nick drops more thudding phrases. “You can. And you will.”