Bolted (2 page)

Gavin the Hunk murmured something in Allie’s ear. In this case, it probably
was
sweet nothings, given the faint smile that drifted across her lips as she whispered something back.

Josh took a breath to say something else, but the Hunkster apparently felt the same way Greta did about the whole scene. Time for it to be over. He turned and strode toward the side door of the sanctuary, Josh’s fiancée still cuddled in his arms. Mrs. Gurney, the pianist, obligingly opened the door for him—Greta figured she could kiss her wedding music fee good-bye.

The moment seemed to hang suspended in silence. Josh stared after his fiancée. Greta’s mother stared after her future daughter-in-law. Or the woman who had been her future daughter-in-law until five minutes ago. At the moment, the prospect of Allie and Josh ever getting married seemed pretty remote.

Then Josh turned and stomped after them, throwing the door wide without Mrs. Gurney’s help. Greta hurried after him, the two bouquets still clutched in her hands. Behind her the cell phone cameras clicked away, apparently recording every moment of this debacle for future reference. Greta managed to refrain from whirling back to flip off the photographers. She figured that would only make things worse.

Greta heard Josh cry “Wait,” as she opened the door.

The Hunkster turned on the sidewalk outside the church, Allie still cradled in his arms while Josh strode near them, glowering. Greta wasn’t sure she’d ever seen her brother glower before.

Josh balled his hands into fists at his sides. “What the fuck, Allie? Are you leaving with him?”

Gavin narrowed his eyes. “Allie called me last night.”

Greta blinked.
Well, hell.
As the matron of honor she should probably have confiscated Allie’s phone. But who knew she had that in mind? Most brides-to-be drunk-dialed the guy they wanted to yell
nyah, nyah, nyah
at, not the guy they wanted to have carry them up the aisle. The fact that Allie even had someone she wanted to carry her up the aisle was maybe an indication that the wedding itself wasn’t such a great idea.

Josh straightened, staring at Allie. “You did?”

Allie squeaked. She was losing perfection points by the second.

Gavin Whoever squared his already-square jaw. “She called and told me that she’d always love me.”

Oh, way to rub it in, Hunkster.
Now Allie groaned, closing her eyes. Greta had the feeling a groan or two wouldn’t be enough to make her brother back off.

Josh folded his arms across his chest. “Allie? Is this true?”

There was another of those long pauses. “Well…” Allie murmured.

Josh shook his head. “Jesus Christ. Were you drunk?” He sounded like he was gritting his teeth.

“Maybe a little.”

A little?
Oh, Allie was losing those perfection points right and left now.

“You called Gavin the night before our wedding and told him you’d always love him?” Josh was staring at her as if he’d never seen her before.

Allie licked her lips. “Not
exactly
,” she said. “I didn’t tell him to come or anything. I didn’t
say
that I loved him.”

“Allie. We’re getting married,” Josh said flatly. “You don’t just change your mind at the last second about something like this.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Right.
Greta wasn’t a lawyer, but she had a feeling that defense wasn’t going to fly.

“That’s all I need to hear.” The Hunkster tightened his grip on Allie again, then headed down the sidewalk.

Greta pressed her lips together, watching a muscle dance in her brother’s jaw. All of a sudden she really wanted this to be over.
Let it go. Just let it go.
She swallowed. Even with her own hard-won cynicism about marriage, it would be tough to top the last ten minutes in terms of marriage disasters.

Behind her, she heard someone catch her breath.
Great.
Apparently, she hadn’t been the only one to follow them out of the church. Greta pivoted quickly—ready to tell whoever it was to go back inside and shut the hell up—and saw Devon Grant, Josh’s ex, standing a few feet away.

Only judging from the way she was looking at Josh right now, she wasn’t all that ex after all. Her dark brown eyes were wide, and she chewed on her lower lip as she watched the drama unfold in front of her.

Greta took another in a series of deep breaths. This was getting way too complicated anyway. She turned and slipped back inside the church. Let them figure it out for themselves—she was totally done.

Her mother stood in the middle of the aisle. Her lace fascinator had shifted forward over one eye and her navy taffeta was definitely showing creases. Greta figured if Mom had had an RPG, Gavin Whoever would be a grease spot by now.

She raised an eyebrow at Greta. Greta shook her head. The muscle in Mom’s jaw danced like just like the one in Josh’s jaw.

The noise level in the church grew to deafening. Then Mom pushed her fascinator back into place, her lips narrowing to a very thin line, like a general preparing to lead her troops on a suicide charge. She turned to the wedding guests, clapping her hands for attention.

“All right, everybody,” she called. “There’s food at the Promise Harbor Inn. It’s all paid for. Go on and enjoy yourselves. There’s no reason everybody has to have their day ruined. I feel a headache coming on.”

She raised her head, surveying the crowd imperiously, then swiveled on her heel toward the same side door everybody else had used, throwing it open and then slamming it behind her without looking back.

As the noise level in the room rose to deafening again, Greta stared down at the bridal bouquet still clutched in her hands, wondering exactly what she was supposed to do with it. If she threw it to the crowd, would the person who caught it be the next one to have a traumatic breakup? Probably best not to find out.

She knelt and placed the bouquet in front of the altar, sort of like an offering, although she wasn’t sure who it would be an offering to. Maybe the god of chaos.

Then she straightened again, glancing at the door where her mother, brother, prospective sister-in-law and various significant others had just disappeared. She had no intention of following them. Whatever was happening outside wasn’t anything she wanted to be a part of.

And this probably wasn’t the best time to break the news to her mother about her own divorce.

Chapter Two

The room at the Promise Harbor Inn where the wedding reception was supposed to take place struck Greta as sort of downscale. It didn’t face the water, for one thing. The windows had a great view of the parking lot at the inn—nicely landscaped, to be sure, but not exactly scenic. Still, there was a lot of food, including a fantasy wedding cake with lavender spun-sugar flowers. She gave it a quick critical survey. A little overdecorated, but okay. Sort of par for the course. Wedding cakes were definitely not her specialty.

She wondered if they could get a refund on the thing since nobody was going to be cutting it. Maybe the baker could sell it to a bargain-minded couple who didn’t mind a little bad karma.

All around her she could hear the muttering of gossip moving into overdrive.

“Well, you knew about her and Gavin Montgomery, didn’t you? Went on for years, I hear. I’m just surprised he had the nerve to show up at all.”

The woman in the flowered dress looked vaguely familiar, in the same way most of the people in the room did—maybe a librarian, or somebody who worked in the post office. Right now, of course, she looked like the organizer of a lynch mob.

“Worked out for him, though, didn’t it? Must have known she wasn’t going to go through with it.”

That sounded like Mrs. Grossblatt, from the insurance agency. Not that they were alone in saying what they were saying. Phrases floated by right and left.

“…must have been seeing him all along…”

“…always thought there was something wrong…”

“…kidnapped her right from the church…”

“…boy was always a bad seed…”

“…heard the law was after him for abduction—Hayley Stone…”

“…Lily must be rolling in her grave…”

“…poor Josh…”

“…poor Sophie…”

Poor Greta.
She made a quick survey of the room, hoping against hope that her mother might have decided to show up after all. No luck, of course. The only family member she saw in the place was Allie’s brother Charlie, propped in a corner with a beer and the kind of expression meant to discourage anyone from talking to him.

Greta had no intention of talking to him herself. In fact, she had every intention of sliding out the door again as soon as possible. She’d started edging in that direction when someone clutched her arm so tightly she worried about her circulation. She turned to see Mrs. Terwilliger from the grocery staring up at her with sharp black eyes, looking a little like a magpie.

“How’s your mother Sophie holding up, dear?” Greta could swear she was salivating.

You mean as opposed to my mother Tatiana?
“I haven’t talked to her since the ceremony. I was heading there now.” Greta tried to pull her arm loose from Mrs. Terwilliger’s grip, but the woman hung on like an embedded barnacle.

“I’m sure she’s just devastated. And your poor brother? What an awful thing to have happen on your wedding day. He must be sick.” Mrs. Terwilliger’s fingernails dug a little deeper into Greta’s arm.

Greta managed a thin-lipped smile. “No doubt. I’m just on my way…”

“So did anyone see it coming? I mean, Josh must have known about Allie and that Gavin Montgomery, didn’t he? Did he know they were still seeing each other? They must have been, don’t you think?” Mrs. Terwilliger’s eyes snapped even brighter. She was moving from magpie to vulture.

Greta picked up her pace slightly as she headed for the door, dragging Mrs. Terwilliger along with her. “I really don’t know anything about it.”

“So did she tell him it was all over between her and Gavin? Looks like that wasn’t exactly true, was it? Unless you think he kidnapped her?”

Greta could see the open door in front of her. She turned quickly, letting the full force of the Crinoline from Hell hit Mrs. Terwilliger in the knees. Mrs. Terwilliger jumped back with a squawk, dropping her arm.

“Sorry.” Greta smiled at her sweetly. “Happy hunting. Or whatever it is you’re doing.” She turned and marched through the door, Mrs. Terwilliger’s outraged “Well, I never” echoing in her ears.

Greta figured she probably wasn’t doing much to shore up her reputation as a responsible person, but at that point her reputation was the least of her worries. She gathered up her skirt and trotted down the hall, doing her best to avoid all the people trying to get her attention. Bernice Cabot was stationed outside the door to the suite where Allie had gotten dressed, her arms folded across her more-than-ample bosom. The flounce around her shoulders could have served as a handy snack tray.

“Is Allie in there?” Greta nodded toward the suite.

Bernice shook her head. “I don’t know where they went. I just thought somebody ought to keep the vultures from getting in there.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Greta sighed. “Have you seen my mother?”

Bernice shrugged. “Maybe she went home.”

“Maybe so.”

Greta reversed course and headed for the parking lot, pausing only at the bridesmaids’ room to grab the small purse that had her cell phone, her wallet, and her car keys. Going home made a certain amount of sense, although it meant she and her mother would be fending off all the Mrs. Terwilligers in Promise Harbor who managed to drop by and share whatever juicy details they’d been able to manufacture during the last half hour. She really should go home to help. Her mother shouldn’t have to fight off the town gossips all by herself.

She climbed into her car, stuffing her skirt and crinolines around her like packing noodles. Her first order of business once she got back to her room at home would be to strip this monstrosity off and drop it in the largest trash can her mother owned. And after that, she would never, ever agree to be someone’s bridesmaid again.

Which should be easy enough, given that she would never, ever be around another wedding. If pressed, she could always claim that chiffon gave her hives. Not that the most ghastly bridesmaid’s dress in the history of mankind was made of actual chiffon. More like some fabric manufactured in the bowels of a cut-rate chemical company.

She turned the corner and pulled her car to the curb, studying the house where she’d grown up. The house that probably held a major complement of nosy neighbors at the moment. White clapboard, complete with gables and a wide front porch. It looked like her mother had gotten the shutters painted. The black lacquer shone in the sun. Probably trying to get the house fixed up for the wedding.

Greta closed her eyes, leaning forward to rest her forehead against the steering wheel. The Wedding That Wasn’t. Her mother had spent so much time and energy on planning this wedding, and now it looked like she’d spent at least a fair amount of money too. All for nothing.

Her mother had sounded depressed for the year or so after Greta’s father died, and she’d been worse when her best friend, Lily, Allie’s mother, had died too. The wedding had definitely perked her up. Greta only hoped the unplanned elopement didn’t send her back down again.

She turned her head and glanced at the driveway. Her mother’s Volvo was parked next to the house, with two other cars behind it. One she didn’t recognize, but the other was Owen Ralston’s car. Allie’s dad.
Great.
Well, at least they’d have something to talk about. And maybe Owen could help fend off the more aggressive gossips before they made her mother say something she might actually regret. Owen would be a lot better at doing that than Greta would be. He was, after all, a very nice man, while Greta had a long history of saying the regrettable.

She rubbed a hand across the back of her neck, staring at the front door. She should go in. She really should. Even though she couldn’t think of anything she could do or say that would make her mother feel better. Even though her track record in terms of comfort or problem solving was spotty at best. Even though she would, at some point, have to drop yet another massive helping of crap in her mother’s lap when she finally got around to explaining her own marriage, meaning, of course, her own divorce.