Summer of Love Page 3

  My real wedding date is no Huxley Athens. Sure, he’ll probably give me a tepid peck on the lips and then back away from me as if I might bite him, but at least he’ll act like a grown-up at the reception.

  “Are you enjoying yourself this afternoon, Ms. Vandercliff?” Oberon asks me in that way—the way that wealthy, well-to-do men always seem to talk to young, well-to-do women.

  Next to me, Huxley snorts, spots his fellow groomsmen at the wet bar, and takes off, leaving me alone with Oberon. Typical.

  I wish I could say I liked Oberon. For a billionaire who’s gobbled up most of the real estate in the Hamptons, he’s generous about how he swings his wallet around—the charity ball he hosts at the end of every summer season is only the half of it. I’m sure he’s left a sizable wedding gift for Emma and Theo over at the receiving table—if they actually show up to open it.

  But everything else about him is so fake. I can never tell if he’s smiling or sneering at me. If I have to endure any more of his thinly veiled insults, I’ll need champagne to wash them down.

  “I’m having a lovely time, Mr. Lawson. Cheers,” I say, accepting a flute from Oberon’s sexy, brooding right hand man. “From what exclusive reach of the world does tonight’s bubbly hail?”

  “My private cellars—and beyond that, it’s my little secret. The vintner makes it in limited batches for special clients only. Are you a champagne snob, Ms. Vandercliff? Fewer calories than wine, you know.”

  “Hardly,” I admit, giving him a charming little wink. Men like him don’t like women who know too much—and in this case, I’m not even playing dumb. “But I did have the most luxurious vintage of gummy bears yesterday—HARIBO, perhaps you’ve heard of it? Absolutely divine.”

  He smiles coldly, but I think he might be a little bit amused. “You’re toying with me, Ms. Vandercliff—that’s a dangerous thing to do.”

  “I’m a dangerous woman, Mr. Lawson.”

  “And a charming one,” Lawson admits, looking at me with a guarded interest. “A dangerous thing to be. That’s why I bought the winery, you know.” He nods to the glass of champagne in my hand. “When I like something that much, I like to have it all to myself. Your sister would do well to remember that—you should call her and ensure she’s here for the toast, I think.”

  He steps away before I can think of something clever to say back to him—taking the smoldering, rugged beefcake he has pouring the champagne with him.

  While he’s gone, I check my phone to see if my sister has called, texted, or, hell, even posted a sex tape on YouTube. I wouldn’t put it past her now.

  But my notification screen comes up empty. She’s still MIA.

  Huxley slides next to me and puts his arm around my shoulders. I slide them right off again.

  “Hi, Hux. Thanks for leaving me alone with Oberon Lawson. It’s been really cool hearing his opinions about my caloric intake.”

  Huxley nods. “That guy gives me the creeps. Are you still freaking out?”

  He reaches out to feel my forehead like a television doctor—you know, a guy with great abs but no medical degree. That’s what Huxley is acting like right now.

  And if he keeps it up, I’m going to binge watch every episode of his show until I think he’s my boyfriend. Which is why I need to back away before it’s too late.

  “Yes, I’m freaking out,” I admit, scooting away from him as subtly as possible. “I still don’t know what’s happened to Emma other than a mind-blowing orgasm. Hopefully, she’s with your brother.”

  “You shouldn’t worry about that,” Huxley reassures me. “It’s her wedding day. She and my brother can’t wait to throw the rest of their lives away. If they’ve changed their minds, then they’ll let us know when they’re ready to talk about it. In a true emergency, someone would’ve contacted us by now.”

  Apparently, Huxley is a television doctor who also plays a detective on a crime show. He has no fucking idea how long it takes to contact someone in an emergency. But at least he’s with me on the marriage being a bad idea.

  “I think your sister would be really grateful to have you here, holding down the fort,” he adds. “She’s probably just taking a break.”

  “It’s just that…she chose me to be her maid of honor over all her friends because I’m the responsible one. Maybe I’m no fun, but at least I always get the job done. If I lose the bride, then I won’t even know who I am anymore.”

  Huxley looks at me sympathetically. “I don’t want to fuck this up, either.”

  For a minute, I consider putting my head on his shoulder and releasing all my pent-up emotions about the wedding plans and the marriage itself.

  There’s nothing fake about Huxley. When he smiles at me, his eyes sparkle with warmth.

  He slips his hands around my waist and pulls me toward him. “But I wouldn’t say you’re no—”

  “My—you two are close.” Oberon is back, and he’s come with questions I can’t and don’t want to answer. “I didn’t realize that the Vandercliff-Athens union was a double affair.”

  “We’re not—” Huxley and I begin at the same time, but Oberon merely chuckles.

  “Any word from your siblings?” he asks before we can plead innocence.

  Though I’m not sure why, Oberon’s not someone I’d trust with a sensitive secret, like a runaway bride and groom.

  “Nothing,” I say quickly. “Emma’s out running errands and says she’ll be back in a bit.”

  It’s a lie, but it’s one that I think he won’t question. Besides, maybe if I keep saying it, it’ll come true.

  “Is she out somewhere with Theo, then? I thought she was going to be here in the house, all day.”

  Huxley narrows his eyes. “My brother is also out running some last-minute errands. I don’t know if they’re together, but I know he won’t go far.”

  He nods at the bottle on Oberon’s champagne flunky’s silver tray. “Is that the champagne for the toast?” Huxley asks, changing the subject. “Why don’t we crack open this bad boy and let the bride and groom do their thing?”

  Finally, a Huxley I can get on board with. Our guest seems a little too interested in my sister’s whereabouts. At least I’m not the only one who thinks so.

  Oberon stiffens. “Our pleasure. Leo, my boy, how about a glass of champagne for Mr. Athens?”

  Leo—Leo Young. That’s the sexy champagne server’s name. The hardworking heartthrob of the Hamptons and the apple of Oberon’s eye.

  I’ve always wondered how Leo could stand swimming with a shark like Oberon Lawson, but I guess he’s got to start his career somewhere. Now, whether he wants to be or not, Leo is Oberon’s new official serving monkey.

  Like the charmer he is, Leo smoothly takes a glass and raises it to the sky. “Here’s to a perfect wedding. May everything go according to plan.”

  Leo never takes his eyes off Oberon as he speaks. Are he and his boss criticizing my bride-wrangling skills?

  Because if so, they should say it to my face. I really don’t need this shit right now.

  As he pours the champagne for the rest of the party, he’s met with confused stares and a few half-hearted cheers, but everyone drinks up. After all, the champagne is expensive as fuck, and they’re thirsty.

  Everyone except for Huxley, that is. He leans down close to my ear and whispers, “What the fuck was that about?”

  My thoughts exactly.

  “I have no idea,” I reply. “You tell me.”

  Huxley looks around the room, as if he wants to make sure no one’s listening. Seeing that we’re surrounded by people, he puts his hand on the small of my back and leads me away from the group.

  My heart is pounding. If I’m alone with him for too long, I can’t promise I won’t smudge my lipstick all over his face before my date shows up.

  But I should at least hear him out. Maybe he can tell me why Oberon’s acting like such a fucking weirdo.

  “Is there something going on between your family and Oberon Lawson
that I should know about?” he asks me.

  I shake my head, confused. I wasn’t expecting that question from him.

  “No, of course not. Except for coordinating the champagne, we’ve barely spoken to the guy.”

  Huxley looks at me as if he wants to believe me but isn’t sure he can.

  “I hope you’re right,” he says softly. “For your sake.”

  Huxley

  “Look at her eyeing him up and down like he’s a weak gazelle,” I say, discretely pointing out hot bridesmaid Kristen and that fucker Oberon’s right-hand man Leo.

  Sure, I think Olivia should know what’s going on with the rest of the bridal party—there’s a lot of gossip to unpack among this group—but if I’m being honest, it allows me to stay glued to her side, my hand firmly on her lower back, my lips close to her ear.

  “If I liked the guy, I’d warn him,” I say, taking a sip of champagne as Oberon’s man continues to fill glasses and hand them out to everyone assembled.

  Typical Oberon Lawson. He has to throw his weight around every chance he gets.

  “What’s the deal with them?” Olivia asks, discretely motioning to fellow groomsman Erik Storm.

  It takes me a second to register, but he does seem to be drooling over that cute little dark-haired local real-estate agent.

  “I don’t know,” I say, “but I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re the next couple we overhear fucking. Before the ceremony, even.”

  Olivia laughs into her champagne glass and pokes me in the side. I get the message to cool it with the gossip.

  That is, until she looks up at me with her gorgeous green eyes sparkling with laughter. Seeing her actually loosen up a little just spurs me on.

  “Check this out,” I say as I motion to the corner where bridesmaids Lauren Keen and Chloe Adams are huddled in a hushed conversation, stopping only to grab the champagne Oberon hands them, while another groomsman Desmond Stone is butting into their privacy.

  “I can’t hear anything from here,” Olivia says, scooting closer to them so we can eavesdrop.

  Saucy. Gossip and eavesdropping? Olivia is just full of surprises. She seems like she’s wound so tight, but there are hints of a wild side underneath all that tension.

  Maybe it’s just the stress of wrangling this motley crew of a wedding party. Honestly, that would make a Zen monk start popping Xanax.

  Either way, I’d like nothing more than to pull her into the other room and fuck her so hard all her bobby pins come flying out of her perfectly styled hair. A few good orgasms would do her good, and I’m just the man to give them to her.

  “Recently removed a ring, I see,” Lauren whispers to Chloe, motioning to a tell-tale tan line on Chloe’s left ring finger. Granted, I would have never noticed it, but women home right in on that sort of thing. “Is there some news you want to share?”

  “Scandalous. Some kind of secret engagement you’re hiding from the class, Chloe?,” Desmond teases, taking a gulp of champagne.

  Chloe, in return, looks uncomfortable, using her right hand to cover up her left, looking like she’d like nothing more than for those heavy drapes behind her to swallow her right up.

  “Lucky her,” Lauren says as she stares at me intently over her champagne glass. “I’d like to find someone to hook up with tonight.” And then she winks at me.

  Don’t get me wrong. Lauren is hot as fuck. And her tight little bod I’m sure would be a sight to behold writhing beneath me.

  The problem is, I get the distinct impression that she’s a virgin, and I’ll be damned if I’m the first one to scale her mountains and explore her valley.

  Uncharted territory is not my style. I prefer someone who at least knows what they’re doing, like Olivia. Stressed-out as she may be, I sense that once she loosens up—she really loosens up.

  Besides, any reason to get her out of that god-awful dress with its mile-long train sounds excellent to me.

  I look over to check out Olivia once more. I could stare at those pouty lips forever.

  Well, not forever. At some point—and that moment is coming soon—I’ll want to see those lips wrapped around my cock. Right now, though, she’s doing what appears to be a headcount on the missing bridal party.

  “Where’s Blair?” she asks no one in particular.

  “Haven’t seen her,” I answer. “But you really can’t blame her, what with Oberon for a father. I’d stay away, too.”

  “Yeah,” Olivia says with a sigh, “besides, she’s not known for her punctuality.”

  “Is that the tight-ass way of saying she’s always late?” I ask with a chuckle, then immediately regret it when Olivia cuts her eyes at me.

  She’s pissed, sure, but I pick up something else in her eyes. Sadness? Hurt?

  “I-I didn’t mean anything by that,” I say. “It’s got to be tough being the maid—”

  Olivia dismissively waves her hand, ready to change the subject. “My brother’s missing, too,” she says as that cunt Chad Huntington-Beaumont bumps into her.

  Up to his usual obnoxious tricks, Chad appears to be on his second or third bottle of champagne, plastered out of his mind. I instinctively draw Olivia closer to me and hold up my hand to block Chad from knocking into her again.

  “Hey, hey,” Chad slurs, “sorry, man. Sorry. Lookin’ hot, Olivia!”

  Then, he stumbles over to the other side of the room where there are a few open bottles chilling on the table.

  “Douche,” I say under my breath, and Olivia chuckles in agreement.

  “It’s not like Gabe to miss this,” she says, back to worrying about her errant brother.

  “He’s a big boy,” I say. “He’ll show up eventually.”

  “And the wedding planner isn’t here, either,” Olivia says. “Fuck, is anyone going to show up for this fucking wedding?”

  Actually…I remember what an uptight bitch that wedding planner was at last night’s rehearsal dinner and say a silent prayer that she isn’t here.

  But apparently, either there’s no God or there is and He hates me, because as soon as I say a silent Amen, that harpy walks back into the room, followed by Gabe.

  It’s my turn to chuckle as I look at them trying to act too casual when it’s obvious that they’ve been fooling around in some spare room or closet. Shit, she could have at least run her fingers through her hair.

  “Do they look like they’ve been…” Olivia whispers to me.

  “Fucking each other?” I respond. “Totally.”

  “Crisis averted,” that ice-queen Abigail Porter says as she holds up a bottle of champagne.

  In response, Oberon points to the bottles of champagne he’s already supplied the room with.

  “As a wedding planner,” Oberon says, “you’re a few steps behind. We already have spirits of another sort.”

  “As long as everything works out in the end,” Abigail says.

  She sets her bottle down next to the others, where it’s quickly taken up by Chad—as if he needs it. Abigail takes a moment to scan the room, and then says, “Where are the bride and—?”

  Just then, my brother and his blushing bride come storming through the door, looking more like they’d rather tear each other’s throats out than walk down the aisle. Olivia, on the other hand, is just relieved to see them.

  Emma and Theo stand on opposite sides of the round table set in the middle of the room, alternatingly glaring at each other.

  “Are we sure this wedding is actually going to happen?” I ask into Olivia’s ear.

  “It has to,” she whispers back. “I didn’t go through hell all through the planning of this event and put up with my sister’s moods just for her to bail at the last minute.”

  Oberon clinks a champagne glass to get everyone’s attention. “Now that the stars of the day have arrived,” he says, casting a disapproving look at the bride and groom, “I’d like to say a few words in honor of the couple.”

  “Emma and Theo,” he continues, “are an example of how strong w
e can be when we come together. Separately, they are strong on their own, but together, they are greater than the sum of their parts. And, after all…the course of true love never did run smooth.”

  Everyone raises their glasses with a chorus of “Congratulations,” “Hear, hear,” and “To the couple,” before taking sips. Maybe that last part was a little too on the nose, but overall, it was a decent speech.

  I look over at Olivia sipping her champagne and decide that, by the time this night is over, I’ll be fucking her. There’s no doubt in my mind that she wants this just as much as I do, and I see no reason not to give her something we both want.

  “It’s time,” Olivia says, and it takes me a moment to realize she’s talking to the whole room and not just me. “Everyone, let’s line up for the wedding march.”

  “Yes,” Abigail says. “It’s time, everyone. Let’s get ready for the procession.”

  As Olivia and I walk to take our place at the back of the line, just in front of the bride, I lean down and whisper to her, “Watch out, you’re stealing the wedding planner’s thunder.”

  “Maybe if she did her job, I wouldn’t have to.”

  “Touché.”

  Olivia looks down at her immense train, then back up to me. “Watch my train!”

  “Of course,” I say. “What kind of groomsman would I be if I let anything happen to the maid of honor moments before the wedding?”

  Olivia

  I get all of three fucking steps before I hear it.

  Riiiiiiiip!

  The train on my bridesmaid gown is actually so long, I have to listen to it rip before I feel it: a gentle tug on the back of my dress that stops me in my tracks.

  “Oh…shit. Whoops,” Huxley says from behind me.

  “Whoops?!” I turn around, teeth fucking bared, and stare Huxley Athens dead in his pretty green eyes. “Huxley, what the actual fuck!?”

  Huxley frowns, looking down at the seafoam silk train his shiny black dress shoes are currently standing on. It’s a handsome frown, unsurprisingly—and I don’t miss the way that he checks out my body all the way down before his gaze finally lands on the Grand Canyon-sized split he’s created in my train.