Authors: Rosanna Leo
“Have you forgotten all about Suddenly Gay Dennis?”
“Enid…”
“And Shithead Mike? It took, what, all of two weeks for you to decide you loved those bozos. I’m not trying to nag you, but I know how you roll. You’re a love-at-first-sight girl.”
She frowned. “Not anymore.”
“Well, I’m glad to hear it because it doesn’t exist.” Enid punched her gently in the arm. “I’m just looking out for you. And with sharks like Slimy Patrick circling, it’s a good thing.”
“Hey. I just met him. You’re not allowed to give him a derogatory name yet.”
“Fine, fine. I’ll stop needling you now.” She tapped her fingernails on the pub table, picking out a syncopated rhythm. “So there’s something I need to tell you.”
“Okay.”
“Remember my old boyfriend Jerry? The street performer?”
“The guy who ate flaming swords?”
“Yeah, that’s him. I ran into him at the organic food store. He has a friend named Lou who plays hockey on Shithead Mike’s team.”
At the second mention of Mike’s name, Winn’s stomach pitched. She took a swig of Perrier in an effort to quell the ruckus in her gut. When that didn’t work, she reached across the table and sipped Enid’s Guinness. Dark circles be damned. “Okay.”
“Anyway, we started chatting.” Enid pursed her lips. “Mike’s engaged. To
her
.”
The lurch in her belly turned into an all-out explosion of acid, but she ignored it. “Who cares? I figured he’d marry her. It doesn’t affect me.”
Enid’s right brow shot sky high. “It doesn’t?”
“Nope.”
“Aren’t you mad?”
“Nope.”
“Winn, I know you’ve bought into the ice queen approach to this situation but you can’t keep this shit bottled up.”
She stood, a little too hurriedly, and almost upended her glass of expensive water. “I’m fine. And I’m not an ice queen. I’m just…reserved.”
“Reserved. Right.”
“Look, I’ve got to go. I want to be fresh for the wedding tomorrow.”
“Winn…”
“I’m done talking about this, sis. Catch you later.” Before her sister could stop her, she barreled out of the pub onto the busy street and charged down the sidewalk, ignoring the homeless woman who asked for change. With a sigh, she then turned around, fished in her pocket and threw a five-dollar bill into the woman’s outstretched hand.
“Shit. Thanks, lady.”
“You’re welcome. And I’m not an ice queen.”
“Whatever you say.” The woman got up from her stoop and walked around the corner.
Winn watched the woman disappear into a convenience store, and she then continued down the sidewalk at a determined pace. By the time she reached the next block, she stopped short and rolled her eyes.
Lost in thought, she’d headed in the wrong direction. Huffing, she turned and aimed for the subway station around the corner, her stomach issuing warning growls all the while.
* * * *
“Damn,” Patrick muttered, checking the time again. The drive from Toronto to Woodbridge had been more stressful than Moses’s walk through the parted Red Sea. Once he got back into the political arena, his first article would be a scathing diatribe on the crumbling infrastructure of the city. Toronto politicians thought nothing of throwing up scads of high-rises all over town, congesting the roads, before ever considering improving those roadways. Why, if he ever got another chance to sit down with the mayor, he’d…
He’d what? Tell him about the latest in bridal fashion? Tell him, no, sea-foam blue really does not complement every complexion?
Grunting, he checked his GPS to see how close he was. There, up ahead. He spotted the church and peeled into the parking lot, his tires screeching. He turned off the ignition, swore a few more times, and got out of the car. He’d hoped to snag a seat up front so he could watch Winn in action, but he’d likely be stuck in the back pew now.
Maybe, while he was there, he should say some prayers. After spending the evening with her at the Stallion Club, his last couple of sleeps had been laced with bizarre, sexual dreams. Only Winn had been the star of the show, prancing onstage for him in one of those sequined G-strings.
Okay, Hot Chocolate had been there, too, but he’d only been cheering them on.
Fixing his tie, he crept into the church in case the bridal party was gathered in the foyer. However, Our Lady of Perpetual Sorrow was one of these new fancy churches with all kinds of meeting rooms attached. He had to pass a couple to get to the inner sanctum.
As he marched by the small anterooms, he heard heavy breathing and looked in. Much to his surprise, there stood Winn, all alone, attired in her huge dress. He took a moment to check her out. The seamstress had been right. The dress was better after alterations, and Winn’s boobies popped pleasantly from the tight bodice. However, he couldn’t help noticing how those boobies rose and fell with shaky breaths.
Damn. She was hyperventilating.
He rushed in. “Winn, are you okay?”
With one hand on her stomach and another to her pale forehead, she looked up and cringed. “I’m…uh, just taking a minute.” She promptly turned the color of Kermit the Frog.
He put a hand on her shoulder and guided her to a chair. “Here. Sit down.”
She plunked into the chair. “I’ll be fine.”
He took the chair next to her. “You look sick. I mean, you look very nice, but sick. Do you want me to call someone?”
“No!”
“Okay, okay.” Her pallor disturbed him, but even as they sat together, the roses began to return to her cheeks. She forced a few more breaths and closed her eyes. He rubbed her hand, staring at her buffed fingernails. Perfectly coifed, from head to toe, she wore her blonde hair in a tight bun with jewels in it. Despite her unfortunate gown, the hair was nice. The sort of hair a man would like to free of its pins and watch as it cascaded around her face.
Oh, brother. So she cleans up good. So what? You’re here to do a job, you horny bastard
.
She opened her eyes and offered him a sheepish glance. “I’m better now. Just a little winded.” She stood up, still sucking in slow breaths but in control of them once again. “I need to get to the bride.”
He stood, keeping a careful eye on her. Winded, huh? Something told him it wasn’t quite the full story. “You sure you’re okay?”
A brilliant smile flashed across her face. “Absolutely. It’s a great day for a wedding. I’ll see you after the ceremony.” With that, she flounced out of the anteroom and disappeared around the corner.
Patrick followed, peering at her in interest. His every sense went on high alert. The hackles at the back of his neck told him to pay close attention to Winn Busby.
Which was good because he now had a rationalization for thinking of her the whole drive over.
* * * *
“Where’s my bridesmaid?” hissed Elena as she approached the main aisle of the church. “I need my bridesmaid right in front of me.”
Winn hurried toward her, her fluffy coral train draped over her arm. She hoisted Elena’s bouquet in the other hand, balancing it with her own. She took her place next to the bride. “Right here, Elena. I was just getting your bouquet out of the limo. You don’t want to forget your flowers, do you?”
She gasped and grasped the bouquet of lilies, whispering, “What the fuck would I do without you?” She looked to the heavens. “Oh, Christ, I just swore in church. Forgive me, Jesus. Winn, you’re a fricking lifesaver. If I ever get remarried, I am so hiring you again.”
“That’s why I’m here. To help you navigate the day.” She swallowed and smiled. “Being a bride’s not easy.”
“You are so right. I never asked. Are you married?”
She blinked and set about fixing Elena’s train. “Don’t worry about that now. The music’s about to start and your handsome groom is going to fall over when he sees you.”
Elena clicked her long, French-manicured fingernails in a show of nerves. “Oh,
Madonna
.” She let out another dramatic gasp and turned to Winn. “You do remember our story, right? We met in college but you moved away, and that’s why I haven’t mentioned you much.”
She winked. “I believe we met in French class. Madame Renard was our professor. She used to yell at us for disrupting class with our chatter.”
“Oh, you are so good. You’re getting a big tip for this one.” The organ launched into the opening strains of Schubert’s
Ave Maria
. As Winn took her place at the top of the aisle, Elena grabbed her. “Thank you, Winn. You’re the best bridesmaid money can buy.”
“You’re welcome. Now let’s go dazzle everyone.”
While Elena continued to click her nails, waiting for her moment, Winn slowly took her first few steps down the aisle. Clutching her own bouquet, smiling, she wondered about the panic attack in the anteroom. It had come out of nowhere, paralyzing her. She’d done several weddings now for Margie, but had never been stricken with such a case of nerves. If Patrick hadn’t shown up, calming her with his cool touch…
Patrick
.
Okay, stop thinking of him. You have a job to do
.
Steeling herself, she smiled harder, and continued the slow march down the aisle, nodding at the guests. As she made eye contact with one or two people, her gaze landed on a face she recognized.
Patrick Lincoln, looking as edible as a six-foot-two banana split. She hadn’t really been in the right frame of mind to notice his appearance earlier, but she took him in now. Wearing a gray pinstripe suit that looked tailor-made, showing off his lean, mean body, he was easily the most gorgeous man in the church. He’d cut his thick hair and the shorter style showed off his strong features. Wow. She knew he planned to attend the wedding but hadn’t really expected him to show up looking so hot.
He made Henry Cavill look like a hobo.
Patrick locked eyes with her, clearly remembering her moment of panic. He held her gaze, peered at her with frank interest, and then grinned. As she recalled how he’d rubbed her hand, she felt lighter and heavier all at once, and months of burden seemed to tumble from her shoulders.
As she passed his pew, he gave her a discreet thumbs-up. From behind her bouquet, she gave him a thumbs-up in return.
For the rest of the hour-long ceremony, she swore she blushed.
* * * *
Patrick watched from his seat at the DJ’s table, amazed, as Winn mingled with the family as if she’d always known them. She addressed aunts and uncles by name, kissed the bride’s baby cousin, and smiled at the bride as if they’d always been bosom buddies.
And she did it all wearing that flaming-pink monstrosity of a dress.
The bridal party took their seats at the head table as the DJ announced them. Before long, the best man clinked his wineglass and began a rather raunchy tribute to the groom, reciting a long list of ex-girlfriend names. As the poor groom turned eleven shades of white, Patrick cringed on Carlo’s behalf, especially when he glimpsed Elena’s forced smile.
The dude might have a very long wedding night, and not in a good way.
Finally done lambasting the groom, the best man introduced Winn. “Let’s have a round of applause for Elena’s dearest friend from university, Winn Busybee.”
“It’s Busby,” Elena hissed.
“Busby,” the best man amended, shaking his head as he took his seat.
To genteel applause, Winn stood and dabbed at her eye with a tissue.
Patrick stared. Was she actually crying or just putting it on?
Man, this woman is good. She recovers from hyperventilating in the blink of an eye and now she’s putting on the fake waterworks
.
“Thank you,” said Winn into the microphone, wincing at the feedback. She turned to Elena and sighed, just like a woman watching her friend walk away under a wedded-bliss sunset. “This is an emotional day for me, for all of us. When Elena first told me about Carlo, I was so happy. After all, no one deserves happiness more than our beautiful bride. I know you’d all agree with me.”
Patrick glanced at the crowd, amazed to see so many heads bobbing in agreement. Jesus, some of them had tears in their eyes, too. She hadn’t said anything remotely personal and yet she had them eating out of the palm of her hand.
“Elena and I have seen each other through some tough times.” She turned to the bride. “And we gave as good as we got, didn’t we?”
Going along with the story, Elena nodded and laughed.
“Elena, your friendship has been a gift. I will always cherish our times together. I still remember the first day I met you in Professor Renard’s class. You walked in late, like you do everywhere.”
The bride’s mother collapsed into giggles. “It’s true! She’s always late.”
“Ma,” scolded Elena from the head table. “Let Winn talk.”
Winn’s voice tinkled with apparent joy. “Well, Mrs. Albano, I held your daughter’s train today, but even I can’t fix everything.” She held up her glass in salute to the bride. “Elena, my dear friend, may you find decades of happiness with your handsome groom Carlo. May you enjoy quiet times in each other’s company and excitement at the start of each new day. May you have success and prosperity and a home full of beautiful children. I know your love will be an example to us all, and that one day, fifty years from now, we’ll help you celebrate your golden anniversary. To the bride and groom!”
“To the bride and groom.” The salute echoed throughout the room.
As he sipped his champagne, Patrick eyed Winn. The woman certainly knew how to spin a web of lies, while barely uttering any. Talk about talent. He wasn’t sure if he admired her or disliked her.
For the sake of the story, he should probably try to dislike her some more.
However, he had to admit her words touched him, too. For a crazy, champagne-induced moment, he’d wanted some of the things she’d wished for Elena. Happiness with someone he loved. Long life and children. Even some goddamned romance.
All the things he’d never seen in his parents’ union.
Hell, he hadn’t come close to wanting any of those things with any of the women he’d dated. And from what he saw of married life, it was hard to get excited. Look at Gloria and Jason. Their marriage, so full of subterfuge and lies, made him sick to his stomach.