It Happened One Wedding (12 page)

She poked him in the chest.

He swatted her ass in return.

And then together, they drifted off to sleep.

AT SEVEN THIRTY
A.M.
, the ring of Vaughn’s telephone yanked him out of a deep sleep. His head jerked up off the pillow and he blinked, quickly getting his bearings.

Sidney’s bed.

Gun on the nightstand.

Sexy redhead curled up against his chest, who rolled off him with a grumpy mutter and covered her head with a pillow. A few waves of red hair escaped, cascading over her bare shoulders and back.

Apparently, somebody wasn’t much of morning person.

In fairness, on this particular occasion, Vaughn wasn’t much of a morning person, either. Normally, he had no problem getting up at seven thirty
A.M
., but, as demonstrated by the nakedness of the sexy redhead next to him, he’d had a long night.

He grabbed his phone off the nightstand and saw that it was Cade calling. Given the early hour, he mentally scrolled through the list of cases he and Cade were working on, assuming there had to be some kind of emergency.

“Yeah,” Vaughn answered, his voice gritty with sleep.

His friend’s tone sounded distinctly sly. “So, Huxley and I are standing outside your place, wondering where you are.”

“That sounds a little stalker-ish.” Vaughn’s attention was immediately diverted when Sidney shifted next to him, pushing the sheet down to expose the top curves of her very cute ass.

Hmm.

His best friend’s voice in his ear interrupted that line of thought. “If by ‘stalker-ish’ you mean picking up your absentee ass for the workout we’d scheduled, then sure. Huxley and I are stalking you.”

Workout.

Shit.

Vaughn got out of bed, realizing he’d forgotten that he, Cade, and Huxley had bumped up their regular Sunday training session because Cade had plans to go to the beach with his girlfriend later that morning. “Sorry, man—I completely forgot about the time change. I’ll be there in ten minutes.” He hung up as Sidney rolled over and gave him a lazy Sunday morning smile.

On second thought . . .

Vaughn pushed the errant thought from his head. He had plans, his friends were waiting for him, and besides—he didn’t do lazy Sunday mornings after a hookup. That was too couple-ish.

“Some sort of FBI emergency?” she asked, tucking her hand under the pillow as he yanked his clothes on.

He shook his head. “I forgot I’m supposed to meet my friends. We’re doing an hourlong swim and a thirty-minute run today.”

“Have fun with that.
I
, on the other hand, will be tackling an hourlong nap this morning, possibly followed by a thirty-minute bath.” She smiled contentedly, and then froze, as if thinking of something. “Wait—Simon’s car is still out front, right? I wasn’t thinking about that last night. If he picked the car up early, he would’ve seen yours out front and realized that you’re still here.”

Vaughn had a feeling that, in those circumstances, he would’ve received a call from his younger brother—
Hey bro, I’m outside Sidney’s house and you’re apparently inside. Something you want to tell me?—
but strode down the hallway to the guest bedroom to check, anyway.

He looked out the front windows and saw Simon’s car still parked out front.

All clear.

Vaughn headed back to bedroom, where Sidney was sitting up, with the sheet wrapped around her. “His car is still out front. We’re safe.”

She exhaled. “Whew. I wouldn’t have wanted to explain, you know . . . this.” She gestured between them.

“I hate to break it to you, but I think your sister and my brother probably already realize that you and I do ‘this.’”

“Not together.” She watched as he grabbed his gun, holster, and badge off the nightstand and put them on.

“I notice that you check out my gun a lot,” he said teasingly.

She gave him a look. “I don’t ‘check out’ your gun. I’ve just never been around anyone who carried one before.” The sheet dipped at her chest, exposing one tantalizing breast and rosy nipple.

It’s an eleven-week training program,
Vaughn mused.
Really, missing one swim wouldn’t make
that
big of a difference.

“So, you said something about leaving?” Sidney asked.

Vaughn blinked, snapping out of it. He stepped over to the bed, unsure whether he was amused or insulted by her bluntness. Maybe a little of both. “Don’t get all sentimental on me now, Sinclair.” He leaned down and kissed her forehead, then turned to head out.

Her voice stopped him in the doorway. “Vaughn.”

He looked back over his shoulder.

“Tell the ‘other you’ to be careful on Monday night, when he’s hanging out in those dark, sketchy alleys.”

Something in Vaughn’s chest tugged tight that she’d remembered. “I will.”

 • • • 

VAUGHN FOUND A
spot on the street a half block down from his apartment, parked, and braced himself for the inevitable. Cade and Huxley sat on the front stoop to his building, their bikes parked on the sidewalk out front since the plan was to ride together to the gym at the FBI building for extra exercise.

The two men took in the sight of Vaughn walking up in his clothes that were rumpled after a night spent on Sidney’s floor, and his hair that undoubtedly was sticking up in every direction.

“At least you’ve moved on from the maid of honor,” Cade said, with a grin.

“Well, not exactly . . .” Vaughn hedged.

Cade’s eyes widened. “You slept with the maid of honor?”

“Sidney.” Vaughn unlocked the main door to his loft condo building.

Alongside Cade, Huxley followed Vaughn up the steps to his unit on the second floor. “Oh, boy. I’d been hoping it was just the cute hostess at that Mexican restaurant we ate at last week.”

Vaughn looked over his shoulder quizzically. “What cute hostess?”

Huxley shot Cade a knowing look. “This is getting serious.”

“
Nothing
is getting serious,” Vaughn said emphatically, as he let them into his apartment. He tossed the keys on his counter. “And why are you riding me about this, Hux?” Sure, his partner was a little on the uptight side—actually, a lot on the uptight side—and seemingly had come out of the womb ready to propose to a woman, given how quickly he’d put a ring on Addison’s finger. But Huxley usually just responded to his myriad dating adventures with a roll of his eyes and a few sarcastic remarks.

“Because I think it’s a bad idea for you to get involved with the sister of your brother’s future wife,” Huxley said bluntly.

Vaughn scoffed at that. “We’re not ‘involved.’” Both Cade and Huxley raised an eyebrow. “Okay, so maybe we got involved for one night. We’re adults. We can handle it.”

“Your families are connected. You’re going to be running into this woman for the rest of your life. When this goes south”—Huxley gestured to Vaughn’s disheveled, post-hookup appearance—“and with you, it inevitably will, the situation could get complicated.”

Vaughn grabbed a PowerBar out of his pantry. “Last night, a sexy, smart woman told me that she wanted to use me for sex. That’s not a complicated situation, that’s an
awesome
situation.”

“Sexy and smart? Sounds like someone has a crush,” Cade said.

Christ, these guys were all up in his business over this. “Was I really this annoying when you two were single?”

“Worse,” Huxley and Cade said simultaneously, without hesitation.

Well, still. The circumstances were completely different between him and Sidney. Vaughn cracked open a bottled water to wash down the PowerBar. “Look, I get that you guys are all settled in your perfect relationships, and as part of that, you’ve shut down the part of your brain that used to actually have some game.” He paused. “Except for you, Hux. It’s pretty much always been lights-out in that department for you.”

His partner glared.

“The point is, I think I’m good here,” Vaughn said. “Sidney made it perfectly clear that last night was a no-strings-attached deal. That’s my wheelhouse, gentlemen.”

That having been established, he headed down the hallway, toward his bedroom, to change into his workout clothes.

“Checking to see if she texted you yet?” Cade called out.

Vaughn shook his head.

Yep. All up in his business.

 • • • 

LATER THAT DAY,
after Sidney had caught up on some much-needed sleep, showered, and had breakfast, she drove to the hospital to visit Isabelle. On her way out, she noticed that Simon had picked up his car. For the second time that day, she breathed a sigh of relief that he hadn’t come by in the wee hours of the morning and spotted Vaughn’s car out front. That would’ve been . . . not good.

As far as she was concerned, Isabelle and Simon never needed to know that anything had ever happened between her and Vaughn. Last night had been fun, and hot, but that was
all
it had been—a one-night stand. Sure, she was attracted to Vaughn, and she had no regrets that they’d slept together, but it wasn’t like anything serious would ever happen between them. As Trish had said, he was a Mr. Right Now.

And a
fantastic
Mr. Right Now, at that.

Sidney parked the car in the hospital garage, thinking she should probably erase all traces of her suspiciously glowing I-just-got-laid grin before she got to her sister’s room. She didn’t normally keep secrets from her sister, but obviously, this was different. It would be awkward for all of them if Simon and Isabelle knew that she and Vaughn had slept together—especially when neither she nor Vaughn planned to take things any further than that.

Just act normal,
she told herself as she exited the elevator at Isabelle’s floor.
Like nothing happened.
As far as her sister and Simon were concerned, Vaughn had driven her home from the hospital last night, and then they’d gone their separate ways. That was her cover story, and she, being the confident woman she was, would have no problem sticking to—

She stopped in her tracks just outside Isabelle’s room, hearing a familiar low masculine voice with that distinctive sexy, gritty edge.

Shit—Vaughn.

Sidney was grateful that the drawn privacy curtain prevented everyone from knowing she was there. She needed a little space from Vaughn right then, especially while the hot memories of the things they’d done were so fresh in her mind. She turned to go, thinking she would run a few errands on Michigan Avenue and come back in an hour or so. But then she caught a snippet of Vaughn’s conversation with Isabelle and Simon.

“I’d been thinking,” Vaughn was saying, “given all you two have on your plate, that maybe there are some things I could do to help out with this wedding.”

Dead silence followed.

“You know, you all can stop staring at me like my eyebrows fell off for throwing out the suggestion,” Vaughn said dryly.

Out in the hallway, Sidney fought back a grin as Simon and Isabelle laughed.

Vaughn continued. “Look, I know I might not be the first person everyone thinks of when it comes to weddings. But I would very much like to be a part of
this
particular wedding.”

Out in the hallway, Sidney couldn’t help but smile.

Well. That was actually kind of sweet.

“We’d like that a lot, Vaughn. Thank you,” Simon said. There was the sound of some hearty man-type backslaps—
aw
, the Roberts brothers were hugging—and then Isabelle spoke.

“Actually, if you’re interested, we have our tasting at the Lakeshore Club scheduled for next Sunday, so we can finalize the menu for the reception,” she said. “They said we could bring two guests, so we plan to invite Sidney. Maybe you’d want to come, too?”

“I’d like that,” Vaughn said.

Sidney stepped away from the doorway as they finished their conversation. While walking back to the elevator, she thought about Isabelle’s remark.

Our tasting at the Lakeshore Club . . . We plan to invite Sidney.

The last contact she’d had with anyone at the Lakeshore Club had been seven months ago, when Douglas, the club’s events manager, had regretfully informed her that he couldn’t refund any of the deposit she’d paid for the wedding, given how close to the date she and Brody had canceled. And now, on Sunday, she would return no longer as the bride-to-be, but as the dutiful maid of honor and the bride-who-never-was.

She was bracing herself for a lot of damn head-tilts.

VAUGHN PULLED HIS
car up to the ornate wrought-iron gates at the end of the Lakeshore Club’s private driveway and gave his name to the security guard. “Vaughn Roberts. I’m here for a tasting for the Roberts-Sinclair wedding.”

The guard consulted his guest list and nodded. “You’ll be in the reception hall. Follow the driveway until you get to the end. It’s the white building with columns overlooking the lake.”

Vaughn thanked the guard and proceeded onto the club’s grounds. He passed by tennis courts, an indoor and outdoor pool, an indoor ice-skating rink, and a picturesque nine-hole golf course before arriving at his destination: a stately white Georgian-style mansion.

Nice digs
.

When he pulled into the lot for the reception hall, he spotted Sidney’s black Mercedes. It had been a week since he’d seen her, both of them keeping their distance after their hot night together—as was expected. In order to avoid emotional entanglements, he had a strict rule against seeing the same woman twice in one week.

Technically, as of 7:35 this morning, he was free and clear of that rule as far as Sidney Sinclair was concerned. Not that he was anticipating anything, he’d just . . . made a mental note of that fact.

He followed the walkway to the open front doors of the mansion. He stepped inside and took in the lobby’s elegant crystal chandelier and wide, grand curving staircase. The doors to his left led to a large ballroom, presumably where the reception would take place.

Vaughn walked into the oak-paneled ballroom and saw French doors that led out onto a terrace. He stepped outside and took in the sight of the sparkling blue water of Lake Michigan that stretched before him. He smiled slightly, having a proud big brother moment, as he thought about Simon dancing with Isabelle out here, or his parents, who he was pretty sure had never attended a wedding anywhere this upscale before.

The Robertses of Apple Canyon, Wisconsin, had indeed arrived.

“You must be Simon’s brother.”

Hearing the voice, Vaughn turned to face the neatly dressed fortysomething man who stepped out onto the terrace. “Guilty as charged. Vaughn Roberts.” He extended his hand in introduction.

The other man, who wore a crisp linen summer suit and blue shirt, smiled as they shook hands. “Douglas Slater, events manager for the Lakeshore Club. Isabelle called just a minute ago, saying that she and Simon got held up at their appointment with the florist earlier this afternoon. She said they would be a few minutes late. I saw you out here and thought I’d see if I could get you something to drink while you wait.”

Vaughn’s phone buzzed just then. He pulled the phone out of his suit jacket and saw that he had a text message from Isabelle, letting him know about the delay. “Thanks, but I’m good for now,” he said in response to Douglas’s drink offer. He tucked the phone back into his jacket. “Have you seen Isabelle’s sister, Sidney?”

“Not yet. You’re the first to arrive,” Douglas said.

Having seen the Mercedes, Vaughn knew that wasn’t the case. The Mysteriously Absent Miss Sidney Sinclair was here somewhere.

Douglas cocked his head, his tone softening. “Speaking of Sidney . . . how is she doing these days? I’ve thought about her a lot since, well, you know.”

Actually, Vaughn didn’t know all that much, although he’d gathered the gist of what had happened between Sidney and her ex. “She’s doing great,” he told Douglas. And he left it at that.

Then he looked around. “Maybe I’ll walk around for a bit while I’m waiting.”

“Of course.” Douglas pointed to their left, where the terrace wrapped around the ballroom. “I don’t know if you’re a golf man, but if you walk down the steps around the corner and follow the path to the left, you’ll come to a gazebo that has some nice views of our nine-hole course.”

Perhaps Sidney had decided to check out the view herself while they waited. “Thanks for the tip.” Vaughn followed Douglas’s directions and quickly found the path the events manager had referred to. The walkway led him away from the lake, to a wide green lawn not visible from the road and parking lot. The lawn sloped up, and at the top of the hill, nestled next to a weeping willow tree, was the gazebo. Spotting a splash of auburn red inside the white gazebo, he headed over.

Sidney had her back to him as she leaned against the gazebo’s railing, the sunlight playing with the copper and gold highlights of her hair. Vaughn slowed down as he approached. Part of his interest, admittedly, was because she wore killer red heels and another one of her summery dresses—this time, some red, yellow, and blue dress that looked both arty and New York chic with its blowsy top and short flare shirt. But he also paused because there was something about the way she looked out at the golf course that struck him as somber.

His footsteps were soft against the wood as he climbed the two steps into the gazebo. Sidney looked over her shoulder as he approached.

Vaughn joined her at the railing. “Are you hiding out here?” he asked bluntly.

She looked surprised. “No.” But after a moment she conceded. “Maybe a little. I got Isabelle’s message that they were running late, and I didn’t feel like hanging around inside.”

“Douglas the events manager asked about you. He wanted to know if you’re doing okay.”

“Did he say it like this?” She cocked her head in imitation. ‘How
is
Sidney doing?’” She smiled slightly. “I get that sort of thing a lot.”

Vaughn waited to see if she continued.

“You obviously know there’s a story,” she said.

“I do.”

“I suppose you expect me to tell it to you now.”

“Nope. No expectation.”

A long silence fell between them.

“Well . . . as long as you’re twisting my arm with all these questions, Agent Roberts,” she quipped. “Look, I think it’s inevitable that you’ll find out sometime before Simon and Isabelle’s wedding. I suppose I’d rather you hear the story straight from me.” She gestured to the mansion on their right. “I was supposed to get married here this past October. But I broke things off with my fiancé a month before the wedding.”

“Name?”

“Brody. And you’re not going to do your FBI interrogator thing through this whole story, are you? That kind of ruins the flow.”

He fought back a smile. “Sorry.”

“It was a Sunday, and I was at the bridal salon for my final dress fitting. The people who worked at the salon were making a big deal out of it, so they had me try on the shoes, and the veil, because it was all about creating the moment. They had me come out of the dressing room, to the three-way mirrors in the middle of the shop, and everyone was
ooh
-ing and
ahh
-ing over the dress and the whole effect. But then this woman walked into the store.” Sidney paused at that part, remembering. “She stood there for a moment, staring at me in my dress, until she said, ‘You’re Sidney Sinclair, right?’ So I’m thinking maybe she’s one of my friends’ younger sisters, because I can’t place her but she seems to know me. So I said, ‘I’m sorry. Do we know each other?’ To which she replied, ‘You should know me. I’m the woman who’s been fucking your fiancé for the last three months.’”

“Sidney,” he said, his voice softer than usual.

“You’re doing the head-tilt.”

Right. He wanted to say that she didn’t need to be glib about this, but he sensed she needed to tell the story her own way. “So what did you do?”

“Well, seeing how we were standing in front of all the bridal salon employees, not to mention the other customers who’d gathered around for my big dress moment, there wasn’t much I could do. I excused myself and followed the woman outside the bridal shop. When we were standing on the street, I just looked at her and said, ‘All right. Let’s hear it, then.’” Sidney shrugged. “And she proceeded to tell me everything. How she and Brody met at the gym, the things he’d told her about me and about how he was freaking out about getting married, and all the ways they’d had sex—including in our apartment, in our bed, when I was traveling. Apparently, she’d been trying to convince Brody to break it off with me for some time. When he didn’t, she decided to follow me from our apartment to the bridal shop, thinking she could catch me alone and take care of things herself.”

She looked out at the golf course. “After hearing everything she said, I just . . . started walking. All the way home, twenty blocks. By the time I got to our apartment, I had blisters on my feet, so I took off the shoes to walk up the two flights of stairs. When I opened the front door, Brody was sitting on the couch, reading the
Wall Street Journal
like it was just a regular Sunday afternoon. His mouth fell open when he saw me standing there, barefoot and in my wedding dress. But then he smiled and said, ‘Isn’t this supposed to be bad luck?’”

“Please tell me you chucked the shoes right at the dickhead.”

That got a small smile out of her. “Believe me, I was tempted. But at that point, I was just
done
. So I simply told him to pack a suitcase and get out.”

There were lots of things Vaughn wanted to say in response to that story. But in the end, it boiled down to one thing. “Your ex is an asshole.”

“Yep. And I’m the fool who somehow missed that.”

He cocked his head, thinking that was an interesting thing to say. “In the FBI, we have this mantra: ‘Trust but verify.’ It means always corroborate what someone is telling you, no matter how believable they seem.”

“‘Trust but verify.’ I like that,” she said. “Too bad I hadn’t heard that mantra three years ago.”

Vaughn turned to face her. “The point is, we’re trained professionals. Every agent brags about his instincts, his ability to read people and know when someone is lying. Yet, still, we get that corroboration whenever possible. Because we’re only human—sometimes, we put our faith in the wrong person. And you’re only human, too, Sidney.” He gave her a nudge. “Even if it kills you to admit it.”

“Just a little.” She cocked her head, studying him. “What’s going on? You’re suddenly being so . . . nice.”

“It’s really sweet, Sinclair, how you manage to say that with such surprise.”

She laughed. “Sorry.” Then her cell phone chimed from inside her purse. She checked it. “Isabelle says they’re pulling into the driveway now.”

 • • • 

A FEW MINUTES
later, the group was seated in the main ballroom, at a rectangular table that had been set up for the tasting. Vaughn sat on Sidney’s left, to her right was Douglas, the events manager.

On the opposite side of the table, Isabelle mulled over the appetizer options spread before them. “Okay, so far we’ve got the caprese cups, sage-and-sausage-stuffed mushrooms, mini crab cakes, and coconut shrimp—which means we need two more appetizers. What do you think about the bacon-wrapped scallops?” She turned to Simon, who sat next to her.

“If it was up to me, I’d wrap this entire dinner in bacon.” Simon looked at Vaughn. “Back me up here, best man.”

“Absolutely. Nothing says ‘party’ like cured meat.”

As the rest of the group chattered away, Sidney found herself tuning them out, their voices fading. Being here, in this room, brought back memories of her own tasting, for which she and Brody had flown in from New York. It had been a whirlwind of a weekend, and she’d noticed at the time that Brody had seemed somewhat stressed and anxious to get back home. He’d told her he was just overwhelmed at work, but knowing what she did now, she realized that he’d likely been hurrying to get back to
her
.

I’m the woman who’s been fucking your fiancé
.

We did it in your shower, on your kitchen counter—in your bed, too.

“Sid, what do you think about the butternut squash croustades? Do you like those or the spring rolls better?”

But the best was the time we did it against the wall in the alley outside your apartment, while you were upstairs making dinner for him on his birthday.

“Sid?”

She blinked and saw everyone looking at her. “Sorry. I just was . . .” She took a breath, gathering herself. “I vote for the croustades.” Across the table, Isabelle looked at her with concern, and Sidney could also feel Vaughn’s eyes on her.

She ignored both of them.

“So? What’s next?” she asked, eagerly rubbing her hands together. “Salad course, right?”

Determined not to let any more unwelcome memories slip in, Sidney made sure she was on top of her game for the rest of the tasting—even remaining unfazed when there was an awkward moment during the entrée course.

“So that’s the beef tenderloin and the salmon for the meat-eaters, and the potato tikki cakes as a vegetarian alternative.” Douglas jotted down the selections. He smiled, pointing the pen between Isabelle and Sidney. “Funny, you two chose the exact same entrees.”

As soon as the words came out, he looked at Sidney with a chagrined expression. “I shouldn’t have said—”

“Great minds think alike,” Sidney said, cutting him off and tipping her wineglass to Isabelle.

Later, in the parking lot as they said their good-byes, Isabelle pulled Sidney aside. “I’m so sorry that was awkward for you, Sidney.” She looked contrite. “I shouldn’t have asked you to come.”

Sidney was a big girl—if she hadn’t wanted to come today, she would’ve simply said no. “How many times do you plan to get married, Isabelle?”

“Um . . . just once, I hope.”

“Exactly. And I don’t want to miss any of it.” With their father only tangentially involved in their lives, it was basically just the two of them—the way it had been for a long time.

Isabelle squeezed her tight in a big hug. “Have I ever told you how glad I am that you’re back from New York?” Then the two of them headed back over to join the men, who were talking by Simon’s car.

“I heard a rumor that an e-mail went out to people about the bachelor party,” Simon was saying.

“Sure did,” Vaughn said.

“On a scale of one to ten, how worried do I need to be about whatever you have planned?”

Vaughn dismissed this with a wave. “
Pfft.
Like a two.”

Simon raised an eyebrow. “Your idea of a two or mine?”