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Copyright © 2015 by Terri L. Austin
Cover and internal design © 2015 by Sourcebooks, Inc.
Cover designed by Dawn Adams/Sourcebooks, Inc.
Cover image by Shirley Green
Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks, Inc.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks, Inc.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
Published by Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc.
P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567-4410
(630) 961-3900
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Contents
Front Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
A Sneak Peek at His to Keep
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Back Cover
To Gretchen Jones, Czarina of All Knowledge. Thanks for being so patient with all my car questions. You are awesome in every way.
Chapter 1
Monica Campbell eyed the refreshment table, ignoring the appetizers and zeroing in on the champagne. “Why ruin a perfectly good Saturday night with a wedding?”
Evan Landers flicked a piece of lint off his green-and-black tartan jacket. “This isn’t the way I want to spend the evening either, and I’m not even related to the groom.”
“Don’t remind me.” Monica uncrossed her arms. “Okay, I’m going in for another glass. Keep a lookout for Allie.” Monica’s sister had already pulled her aside once and told her to slow down. Not happening. Even Allie’s disapproval couldn’t keep Monica away from the booze. It was the only thing this party had going for it.
Not party. Wedding.
So her dad was getting married. Great. Monica was happy for him. Really. He was moving on, and good for him. That’s what people did, right? They moved on, got remarried, started over. Totally natural. But the cloying smell of all these flowers reminded Monica of that hot, cloudless day when they’d buried her mom. Patricia Campbell had loved gardenias. Her casket had been covered with them. You’d think he would have remembered that.
Yeah—definitely time for another drink.
Stepping forward, Monica threw a smile at the cute waiter manning the table and trailed one hand across her bare shoulder. “How are you tonight?”
His gaze dipped to her cleavage. She showed quite a bit of it. Allie had bitched about that too. Along with the color of her dress. What was so terrible about wearing red to a wedding? It was a joyous occasion. That’s why they were all here—the bride’s small family, Monica’s tribe—to celebrate her dad’s new life.
“Good,” he said. “I’m very good.” He leaned forward and stage-whispered, “Technically, I’m only supposed to serve you sparkling cider.”
Ugh, Allie. Monica might have been a few months shy of legal, but since when had that ever stopped her? “I hate getting technical. Don’t you?”
After glancing over each shoulder, he reluctantly nodded. “Go ahead,” he said. “I won’t tell.”
Monica plucked up two glasses. “Thank you. You’re sweet.” As he blushed at her words, she spun around and did a quick scan of the room. Filled with bright, delicate flowers and dripping in candlelight, the glass-walled conservatory reeked of romance. A perfect setting for a perfect couple. Yep. Happy, happy.
Monica tipped back her head and chugged the expensive champagne as if it were tap water. She ignored the burst of fizzy bubbles that tickled her tongue. Barely tasted the dry, cool flavor. She needed to get her buzz on—ASAP.
“Easy there, slugger. This isn’t a kegger,” Evan said.
“God, I wish it were.” Monica set down the empty flute and stood shoulder to shoulder with him. He’d come as her “acceptable date,” per Allie’s instructions. Evan lacked a criminal record and attended college, although attended might be a liberal use of the term. He deserved a best-friend award for suffering through this with her.
Monica had met most of Allie’s requirements for this event. Appropriate date? Check. Mandatory attendance? Check. Stone-cold sober? Not for long.
Allie had commandeered Monica’s day from the time she’d woken up this morning until now: breakfast with the bride and her family, mani-pedis, hair and makeup, pictures. Monica had reached her snapping point. She just wanted out of here.
She missed her mom all the time, but today that grief was a persistent ache. It sat in the middle of her chest—a hot, painful burn that never let up, not for one minute.
This time, Monica didn’t bother to look around before she drained the champagne. If Allie didn’t like it, tough shit.
“How long do we have to stay?” she asked.
Evan patted her arm. “I’m not sitting through all this without getting a piece of cake.”
“I’ll buy you a cake. You can eat the whole damn thing.”
“Come on, Monnie. It’s one day. You’re tough, suck it up.”
She might be tough, but she was restless and unhappy, and oh shit—
“Uh-oh,” Evan whispered. “Incoming.”
Allie Campbell Blake headed toward them, her long white-blond hair flying outward with each step. At five months’ pregnant, Monica’s sister had never looked better. The bright blue dress she wore matched the color of her eyes. A fake smile she’d perfected over the years graced her lips. That smile fooled most people. Not Monica.
“Hey, Evan, do you mind if I speak to Monica for a few minutes?”
“Sure.”
He turned to leave, but Monica snagged his arm and refused to let go. “He can stay.”
Allie’s smile grew brighter. That always spelled trouble. “I thought we talked about the champagne.”
Monica raised her brows and attempted a look of innocence. “I’ve been drinking sparkling cider.”
Evan nodded. “Yep. I can vouch.”
“See?”
Allie stared at Monica until she nearly squirmed. “Okay. I won’t nag you anymore.” Right. “But this is Dad and Karen’s special night, Mon. Please don’t ruin it.” Then she walked off to greet the officiant.
“Thanks, Ev.” Monica gave his forearm a quick squeeze. “Do me one more favor? Keep her away from me.”
“I’ll do my best. But you could at least make an attempt at being subtle.”
“I don’t do subtle.”
He laughed. “No kidding.”
After a few minutes, Monica began to feel it—that nice little sensation starting at the base of her neck, the one that numbed her brain. She welcomed it. One more glass, and she just might make it. But before she could reach for it, Evan nudged her arm.
“And I thought you were underdressed. I think that guy stumbled into the wrong place.”