Page 2 of Accidentally Marrying the Best Man

NICK

C harlotte stares at me, open-mouthed, and there’s a weird knocking sound in the room. At first I think it’s my brain knocking against the skull, because what the fuck just came out of my mouth? But then I realize it’s Charlotte’s foot, tapping against the floor.

I smile at the familiar sign of her anxiety.

She’s always pretended to be tough—with parents like hers, she had to in order to survive—but the nervous tick of that twitching foot always gives her away.

I can’t actually see her foot. It’s hidden under the gauzy skirt of her wedding dress. Fuck, she’s beautiful.

She took my breath away when I walked into the room. The first thing I noticed was that bustier-thingie top that does wonderful things to her breasts.

Hey, I’m a guy. Boobs are always going to be major points of interest.

But it’s more than that. The dress makes her look ethereal, like a fairy warrior princess. And yes, I can’t believe I’m even thinking those frilly words. She’s got me completely discombobulated.

Jay’s a fucking idiot for jilting her. But also, what the fuck is going on?

This is Charlotte, the ravenous kid with skinned knees and dirty hair who shadowed Jay and me when we were younger.

She’s been around all my life, but suddenly, it’s like I don’t know her at all.

And my body is reacting to her in ways it’s never done before.

My dick is harder than marble, and my mouth blurts out things like, I’ll marry you.

She pulls in a deep breath and stops tapping her foot. “I’m losing it,” she says with a nervous laugh. “I thought you said I’m going to marry you.”

I grip the back of my neck and squeeze. “Yeah, that’s what’s going to happen.

” This is bonkers, but also, it feels so right.

Somehow, the universe has given me an opportunity I can’t squander.

And I’m going to grab on to it with both hands.

I want to grab on to her, Charlotte, right now.

I shove my hands in my jacket pockets to keep from reaching for her.

“You sound awfully confident about that.” Her makeup is a mess, but she’s still beautiful. The weak winter light that filters through the windows highlights rose-gold streaks in her auburn hair.

Grandmother used to call her Aud, because she thought she looked like Audrey Hepburn.

And with her hair up, Charlotte looks a lot like the Breakfast at Tiffany’s movie star.

She has the same delicate heart-shaped face.

The same elegant, long neck. And similar big, brown eyes, although Charlotte’s are rimmed with runny black makeup and they narrow as she studies me.

“Uh,” I say, when I realize I haven’t addressed her comment. I guess I sounded like an asshole, ordering her to marry me. She arches an eyebrow. “It’s the right thing to do,” I add.

She blinks and then looks away. Something in her expression makes my chest tighten. “Look, I’m fine. Devastated, obviously, but in that shallow way where I’m mostly concerned about how much I spent on this dress.”

Bullshit. I see right through her sarcasm, always could. Charlotte uses humor like armor, and right now she's suiting up for war, strengthening her defenses. She gets up from the chair and smooths down the front of her dress. “Nick, it’s okay. Really. The inheritance was the whole point?—”

“No.” The word comes out rougher than I intended. “It’s not okay.”

Something shifted the moment I walked into this cramped little room and saw her standing there in that amazing dress, looking lost and trying so hard to pretend she isn’t.

Maybe it’s the way the afternoon light catches in her dark hair, or how she makes jokes to keep from crying, but suddenly Charlotte isn’t just Jay’s convenient bride or the girl who hung around our house growing up.

She’s a woman. A beautiful, funny, sharp-tongued woman who deserves better than being treated like a business transaction.

And the realization messes with my head in ways I don’t want to examine.

“I should just go home,” Charlotte says quietly. “I just need to tell the officiant that there’s no wedding and to invoice me whatever we owe for the chapel and their time.” She steps toward the door.

“You’re not going anywhere.” The possessiveness in my voice surprises us both.

She arches that eyebrow again. “You’re very bossy today, even more than usual.”

“Do you like it? I take a step toward her, close enough to catch the faint scent of her perfume.

The words hang in the air like a live wire. Charlotte’s eyes go wide, and I see the pulse fluttering at the base of her throat. Have I ever noticed before the way her lips part slightly when surprised?

“Nick,” she says carefully, “that’s insane.”

“Is it? You need married status to advance at work. I need...” I trail off. I want to say I want her, that suddenly she’s the center of my world, but I don’t have the words.

“You need what?” she whispers.

I cup her face in my hands, thumbs brushing her cheekbones. Her skin is softer than I imagined, and when did I start imagining touching her?

“I need to make this right,” I say roughly. “Jay screwed up. Let me fix it.”

“By marrying me?” She laughs shakily. “Nick, that’s bonkers. We spent our childhood and teenage years together, but we barely know each other as adults.”

“I know enough.” I know she still bites her lip when nervous, like now, and that in a minute, her foot will start tapping against the floor, again.

I know she’s brave enough to joke when her heart is breaking.

I know she looks at me like I’m offering her the moon, and that look does dangerous things to my self-control.

“This is completely bonkers,” she repeats, but she doesn’t pull away.

“Probably.” I lean closer, forehead almost touching hers. “But Jay’s bolted, Charlotte. And I’ll be damned if I let you walk out of here thinking you don’t deserve this wedding.”

Something flickers in her eyes, surprise, maybe hope. “You don’t mean that.”

“Try me.” There’s a knock on the door, and we both jump. “What?” I snarl at whoever dared to disturb us.

Someone clears their throat on the other side. “Um, folks? If we’re going to do this, we should probably decide soon. I have another ceremony at four.”

“Give us a minute,” I shout.

Charlotte looks around the small room as if she’s searching for something. Then she looks back at me, and I can practically hear her mind working. “So, same arrangement as I had with Jay? But without the IVF.” she says.

“No. I want the total package”

Her eyes flare wide. “The total package?”

“Yeah. I want the real deal. You won’t be my wife just in name. You’ll be mine in every way, in and out of bed. In exchange, I’ll support you emotionally and financially.” The more I speak, the surer I am about this decision. “Whatever you need, Charlotte, I’ll give it to you.”

She studies my face for a long moment. “And what do you get out of it? What do you need?”

You, I think. The intensity of that thought should scare me. Instead, it makes me more determined. “I get to piss off Jay,” I say instead. “And I get to punch him in the face later, for standing you up.”

Charlotte snorts. “Those are terrible reasons to get married.”

“Better than Jay’s reasons.” I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, marveling at how the simple touch sends heat shooting through me. “At least I’m not marrying you for money. And I’m not going anywhere.”

“Nick.” Her voice is soft, uncertain. “This is bonkers.”

“So, you’ve said. Several times now.” I step back just far enough to offer my arm.

“What do you say, Charlotte? Want to get married today, even if it’s to the wrong King brother?

” For a moment, I think she’ll say no. She glances around again, searching the room for an elusive answer.

Then she grins. That quick, mischievous smile I remember from when we were kids, and she was about to do something that’d get us all in trouble.

“You know what?” she says, slipping her arm through mine. “Why the hell not? But I want the good cake, Nick. None of that grocery store sheet cake nonsense.”

I feel something loosen in my chest, something I didn’t realize was tight.

“Deal.” Part of my best man's duties was to host a dinner tonight at my house. I’ve already bought her favorite cake.

Lemon chiffon, layered with lemon curd, and topped with whipped cream—she hates frosting—and fresh raspberries.

A timid knock rats against the door, again. “Um, folks?”

“We’re coming,” I say. “Just a few more minutes. We’ll meet you in the chapel.”

“Okay.” The voice sounds relieved and steps retreat down the hall.

Charlotte steps up to the mirror. “What a fucking mess,” she squeaks. “I have to fix my makeup.” She digs around in a bag and retrieves whatever tools she needs.

“You look beautiful,” I say.

In the mirror, her reflection grimaces, but there’s a slight smile on her lips and her eyes sparkle. “There,” she says a moment later. “That’s as good as I can make it.”

“Still beautiful.”

This time she graces me with a smile at full power.

I grab her hand, and we head out the door, toward the main chapel.

I notice things I’ve somehow missed for the past ten or so years.

The way she moves, like she’s dancing to music only she can hear.

How her dress clings to curves I can’t believe I didn’t notice before.

I know I’m an asshole for cataloging the way her hips sway when she walks when my brother just abandoned this woman right before their wedding.

But I don’t fucking care. His loss is my gain, but I’m still going to punch him in the face when I next see him.

White ribbons decorate the chapel as we walk up the aisle together. Charlotte tugs on my hand when we reach the altar, but I keep my grip. We face the officiant, a slim man in a brown suit. He tugs on his collar and clears his throat. “Ready to begin?”

“Sure are,” I say.

“Wait,” Charlotte blurts, and my heart hiccups. Has she changed her mind? “The license. It has the wrong name.”

My pulse returns to normal. “We have the same names.”

She frowns. “What?”

“Grandmother put the same names on our birth certificates,” I explain. “I don’t know if the grief of mom dying at our birth made her mess up, or if she meant to do it, she wouldn’t tell us. But we’re both named Jameson Nickolas.”

“Jameson after your grandfather and Nickolas after your mom, Nicola.”

I smile, weirdly pleased that she knows so much about my family’s history. “Exactly.”

“Shall we begin?” the officiant asks.

“You absolutely sure about this?” Charlotte whispers and tugs on her hand again.

I raise it to my lips, and I look down at her. At this woman, who’s somehow become the most important person to me, without me even noticing when it happened.

“Never been surer of anything in my life.” And the truth of that rings true in my mind. My idiot brother walked away from something precious, and I’m not making the same mistake.

The officiant opens his book, and Charlotte’s fingers tighten on mine.

Game on.