The Sometime Bride

Chapter Eight

Paulette Pierce held out her narrow grip. “My, my, how time improves,” she said, unabashedly looking Mike up and down. The moment they’d arrived, Carrie had been lost to a swirl of old ladies in pastel brocade, and Mike hadn’t seen her since.

“Why thanks, Paulette,” Mike said, shifting on his feet and taking her hand. The woman was birdlike and gaunt, probably Carrie’s age, though her thinness made her appear much older. “I take that as a compliment.”

Paulette enclosed his hand in her viselike flesh and leaned forward. “A compliment meant for you, not Wilson Haywood,” she said in a hushed tone.

Mike fought the urge to wince in her talons and forced a tight smile.

Paulette kept hold of his hand and took a step forward, straight honey-colored hair swinging over her shoulders. “That stuffy old suit, Wilson,” she continued in a whisper. “I can barely remember. But you, sweetheart, a gal’s not likely to forget.”

She leaned in and brought her mouth very close to his ear. “Is it serious?” she asked, just as Mike felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Paulette,” Carrie said, stepping between the two of them. “How nice to see you getting reacquainted with Wilson.” Carrie slipped an arm through one of Mike’s and linked him in tight. “Isn’t he even better than you remembered?”

“Quite,” Paulette said, eyes narrowing. “In fact, if I didn’t know better, I’d say—”

“Of course, the plastic surgery helped a lot.”

Paulette’s jaw dropped open. “Wait a minute. You’re not saying—”

Mike raised his free hand and massaged his rugged jaw. “A little here, a little there. Filling in the face, that is. Worked wonders. Maybe you ought to try it.”

Paulette huffed, but Carrie just bit into her bottom lip and raised her eyebrows.

“And the gym helped too, of course,” Mike continued, finding himself getting more and more carried away. “But I said to myself, I said, nothing’s too good for my Carrie. She wants a certain type of man, she’s going to get it…”

Carrie held her breath and watched Paulette’s eyes widened.

“I mean, why not?” Mike asked. “You women do it all the time, reinvent yourselves for your men. Breast augmentation—”

Paulette went positively white and glanced down at her own flat chest.

“Come on, Wilson,” Carrie said, nudging him soundly with her elbow. “Time you talked to a few more of our guests…”

“And not,” she whispered sternly in his ear, when they’d left the mortified Paulette behind them, “about breast implants.” In spite of her admonition, Carrie found herself fighting the urge to giggle. From the time she’d been fourteen, Carrie’s first cousin Paulette had made it her personal goal to steal every man in Carrie’s life right out from under her. Well, not this time, Carrie thought, glowing brightly as the man on her arm looked down into her eyes with a naughty grin.

“She deserved it,” he whispered back. “Not only did she suspect the truth, she was coming on to me besides.”

Carrie looked back over her shoulder at Paulette, who was downing a fast cup from the punch bowl, then broke into a chuckle. “Oh Mike,” she said, patting his arm. “You’re absolutely right. Busybody Paulette got just what she deserved. But do you think she’ll tell?”

Mike looked straight over the top of Carrie’s head. “I think she’s leaving. Hope she wasn’t your maid of honor or anything important like that.”

Carrie spun around to see the back-porch door swinging shut at Paulette’s back. “Holy cow!” Carrie exclaimed, stretching up on her toes and giving Mike’s cheek a firm peck. “How on earth did you do that? I’ve been trying to get Paulette to keep her nose completely out of my business for nearly twenty years and never even came close to succeeding until now.”

Mike’s cheek tingled where Carrie’s warm lips left their mark, reminding him ever-so-pleasantly of the type of fiancé he was expected to be. Touchy-feely. Amen, Mike thought, winding his arm around Carrie’s shoulders like a prayer. She was truly radiant today. Looking very bride-like in her white linen dress, its clean lines unintentionally outlining every curve. Even its scooped neckline, which professed its innocence by camouflaging itself with a hint of lace, looked positively villainous in its enviable position right next to Carrie’s bosom.

“What? What is it?” Carrie asked, bringing a hand to shield her briefest hint of cleavage. “There something wrong with my dress?”

Mike gave her shoulders a reassuring squeeze and planted a light nibble on her tantalizing neck. “Nope, nothing at all. I was just thinking about how great you look in white.”

Carrie slapped a palm into the side of Mike’s head. “Behave yourself! Grandma Russell’s coming!”

“Just playing the part,” Mike said, drawing her into an affectionate hug and kissing her lightly at her temple. “Of the loving fiancé.”

Carrie blinked as her world went cold and hot. Hot and cold. No, wait! Her palms were sweating, but her belly was a pit of ice.

“Carrie, darling!” An elderly lady with more salt than pepper in her short curly hair scuttled over and wrapped frail arms around the two of them.

“Wilson,” she proclaimed, beaming up at Mike and whacking him soundly on the shoulder. “I do declare, you are a hunk!”

Somewhere in the heat of the moment, Carrie found her tongue. Which was, dammit, stuck to the roof of her mouth.

“Grandmother!” Mike exclaimed, lifting the 110-pound woman into the air with his bear-hug embrace. “It’s so good to finally meet you.”

Well, now, Carrie thought, Mike was carrying things a little far. Paulette was one thing, but…

Mike set Grandma Russell down as she reached up and pinched his cheek. “He is a doll, Carrie! An absolute doll! Just somehow I never pictured him as a blond. You should have told me he looked like Robert Redford but green-eyed, young, and sexy.”

Mike laughed out loud but felt his ears tinge hot just the same. Though he was used to compliments from women, up until now, most of those offering their rabid appreciation had been under fifty.

“Come on, darling,” Grandma Russell said to Mike. “Let me show you off…” She gave a little chuckle. “Show you around, that is. Carrie’s aunties are all dying to meet you.”



Carrie swirled the ladle nervously around the near-empty punch bowl. The shower had gone off without a hitch. She and Mike—uh, Wilson—had even gotten some lovely gifts. A blender, cooking utensils. Towels. All the nice little odds and ends that help make a newlywed house a home. This wasn’t such a good idea, after all. In fact, it was terrible. So many people had gone to so much time, trouble, and expense. Even Nellie’s place cards were beautiful. A keepsake for the happy couple. Carrie frowned at her murky reflection centered in the twirling ice ring.

And to make matters worse, Mike had been an absolute champ. Everybody adored him implicitly. He’d been warm, witty, and charming the whole afternoon through. His act as her fiancé had almost even seemed real; at least his hugs and affectionate glances had seemed authentic enough. And those few unexpected kisses, though innocent enough in their placement—one at her temple, one on the back of her hand, the one at her neckline… Well, all right, maybe the one at her neck hadn’t seemed quite so innocent in intent as the others. But still, no matter where his kisses had landed, each time Mike had surprised her with the warm contact of his lips, her world had caved in and her heart had let go. Let go of any notion that this thing between them was little more than make-believe. Because, though words could deceive, feelings seldom lied, and when Mike brought his flesh to hers… Carrie dropped the ladle into the punch bowl as goose bumps tore down her spine.

Carrie felt the hair swept from her nape. “Ready to leave?” Mike whispered, bringing his mouth close to her ear.

Carrie turned in surprise and found herself directly in his arms, her backside pinned against the table that held the punch bowl. “Never,” she said, bringing her arms up and around his neck and pulling him in close as their lips melded in the final consummation of what they’d both been desiring all afternoon.

“Why don’t you kids run on home?” Grandma Russell asked, blinking the dining room chandelier on and off above them.

Mike pulled back in a damp sweat. “Let’s!” he said, giving Carrie a firm, virgin peck on the lips.



Carrie sat in Mike’s car, anxiously fiddling with his radio and waiting for his return from the grocery store. Though he’d said he’d only be a minute, she could only guess at what he’d buy. Champagne? Wine and roses? Were things between them really moving that fast?

And where on earth would they go? She wasn’t sure she was ready for Mike to see her place. Besides, she was totally unprepared for company, and her cottage was a total wreck. Though the setting, at the western edge of the county, was gorgeous, the inside of her home looked like it had been hit by a black tornado. If there was one thing Carrie didn’t do well, it was clean. Well, in truth, her laundry skills weren’t so hot either. All the whites always seemed to come out a weird shade of neon pink. Even after all this time, Carrie couldn’t figure out which of her red sweater tops had been doing all that running.

The driver’s door popped open, startling Carrie from her reverie.

“Miss me?” Mike asked with an earnest grin.

“Absolutely,” Carrie said, hoping her face didn’t look nearly as hot as it felt. “What you got there in the bag?”

“Uh-uh,” Mike said, scrunching the paper roll at the top of the bag a bit tighter and slipping it into the backseat. “It’s a surprise.”

The only problem was, Mike still hadn’t settled on the perfect place to share it. Not at his place, for sure. His apartment was a pigsty. Not that it was usually that bad… Mike slumped back against his bucket seat at the inner half-truth. The fact was, compared to its usual state, his apartment looked good. Which wasn’t saying a whole heck of a lot.

Mike could tell from meeting her family and seeing the tidy home she’d grown up in that, though she hadn’t been raised rich, she’d definitely inherited class and style. A style that would be severely undone by the sight of his dirty boxers strewn all across the backs of his chairs. And those beers cans… Mike scratched the back of his head, trying to remember if he’d put that last batch of trash out to recycle. Better not chance it, he decided, heading the car west of the city.

“Where to?” Carrie asked, a fine sweep of color caressing her cheeks, but only half as tenderly as Mike wanted to at this moment.

“Someplace special,” he said, lowering his window just a crack to let in a refreshing breath of cool evening air.

But deep inside, Carrie knew that it scarcely mattered. Someplace special seemed to be right here with him.