Once Upon A Diamond (Prince Uncharming Book 1) (9 page)

EPILOGUE

“Mrs. Woods,” Greg shifted beside her at the large table, a grin crinkling the skin around his eyes.

Not an ounce of sadness in his gaze. Mostly, there was a wicked promise that made her a little lightheaded. Two years and he still could make her swoon with a look. “I'm never going to get tired of hearing that,” Yvonne said.

“Better not,” he said before throwing his arm behind her chair. He'd shrugged out of the tuxedo jacket sometime after the wedding, but left the tie. He was handsome as hell, always. If they weren't in a room full of friends and family, Yvonne might have balled her hand around the material and pulled him into a long, slow kiss.

“I told you she'd be here.”

Yvonne gasped, turning her gaze to the banquet hall. “Where?
Where?
”

He pushed out an amused chuckle. “I still don't know why you were adamant about sending her an invite.”

“As of an hour ago I officially became Mrs. Woods.”

He snorted. “And?”

“I'm partly evil. You should know this by now. A girl gets to preen on her wedding day.”

He leaned closer. “That's not the only reason why.”

No. The past two years hadn't been smooth sailing. They'd worked hard at their relationship. She'd had to let him in, to see all her faults. He had to trust that she wanted to be with him and no one else.

So when they stood in church, exchanging their vows, she'd cried half her make-up off because it took so much for them to get there. And Greg had kissed away every tear.

“Curiosity. Preening. I also suspect...” She trailed off, not sure if Greg had picked up on the way Drew talked about Abigail. “So...
where, dammit?”

He sighed and glanced out on the floor. “Do you see the woman Drew's dancing with? The one that looks like she wants to gut him? Yeah. That's my ex.”

It took Yvonne about two seconds to spot them. They were slow dancing. Her brown skin looked flushed and...And, well, Abigail was nothing like Yvonne imagined. Outside of the scowl Abigail directed at Drew, she looked soft, pretty and curvy. Greg never talked bad about her. That just wasn't him. Yvonne expected...something else. Abigail pushed away from Drew and stalked away.

“She's beautiful.”

“Yvonne,” Greg said, concern coloring his tone.

“Statement of fact. No jealousy.”

“You expected a troll.”

She laughed and then kissed him since he was right.

“I leave you guys alone for two seconds and you're already dry-humping each other in public.”

Drew.

She sighed at the same time Greg did, but he spoke first, “We weren't the only ones. How's Abigail?”

“Abby didn't unman me. I think she's getting soft in her old age.”

Yvonne shook her head, not quite understanding the banter between them. “You guys are strange.”

Drew laughed but maybe for the first time since she'd known him, there was an edge to it. “That's an understatement, Yvonne.”

Greg's hand tightened on her shoulder. “Are you okay?”

She met his gaze. “Am I waking up with you tomorrow and the day after that? So on and so forth.”

He cupped her face. “Yeah. Forever and always. I wouldn't have asked you to be my wife if I didn't mean it.”

How did she get so damn lucky? Her heart filled with joy. “Then I'm more than good.”

She started to say something else when Drew tapped a fork lightly against his champagne flute.

His cousin said, “Time for the sappy speech.”

Yvonne winced. “I forgot to check it.”

This time Drew's laugh had no edge but it did not give her any comfort. He stood before either she or Greg could grab him. She put a hand over her face and waited for the worse of it.

“We are all here to celebrate the union between Greg and Yvonne. There was a time when one of them dreamed of this day. The color coordination. The preacher who would officiate the event. The dress. Even had mental pictures of the orchids in the bouquet.” He paused, smiled at them. “So, Greg did it turn out as you dreamed?”

She peeked from behind her hand to see her husband grinning. If they were anywhere else, he might have flipped his cousin off. Instead Greg simply said, “Yes. Though I'm still angry you didn't wear the dress I bought you. It brought out your eyes.”

Drew snorted and focused back on the room. “Two years ago, I saw these two together for the first time. Even though I'm not the best candidate to talk about everlasting love, I know it when I see it. There was sparks. Some lust.”

“Drew,” she muttered.

He ignored her. “Most importantly, when they locked eyes you could feel it in the air. You could see it on their faces that these two were meant to be. So I can stand up here much longer and make dirty jokes. Or trot out all the embarrassing stories I have. That would definitely take a while.” Drew lifted his glass. “But none of that matters. Today is about true love. To Mr. and Mrs. Woods.”

Yvonne rested her head on Greg's shoulder. Yeah. She didn't understand the banter sometimes but there was no question why Greg and Drew were best friends. She whispered to him, “He's sweet when he wants to be.”

Greg cleared his throat. “Yeah.”

Hearing the emotion in her husband's voice, Yvonne lifted her head and smiled simply because she couldn't stop whenever she looked at him. “To true love?”

His eyes were soft and filled with love. “Always and forever.”

They didn't lift their glasses but they sealed that toast, that promise with a kiss.

BIO

Payton Lane is a lifelong lover of romance novels. So it only made sense to pen a few herself when she got to the bottom of her TBR pile one day. Years later it's still the best job she's ever had. Lane writes sweet-ish contemporary romances. She lives in California with her children, and painfully adorable dog.

Where to find her online:

http://paytonlane.com

To sign up for her newsletter and get the latest news on releases:

http://eepurl.com/bJjLm3

EXCERPT FROM PRINCE UNCHARMING

Chapter One

“We’re getting too old for this.” Emmaline Sharp passed over her left high heel from the back of the SUV.

Sasha sniffled from the passenger seat, causing Emma to pause mid-speech. Guilt, like a fresh wound, ached in her chest. Even in the dim streetlight she could see her friend’s reflection in the car’s rearview mirror. The hint of make-up didn’t hide the puffiness of her friend's eyes.

“You complain every time.” Abigail twisted in the driver’s seat. Her pencil-straight, ebony hair glistened in the dark. “Right shoe.” She put out her small but deceptively strong hand.

Emma gave it up. “I’m just saying, at some point, we may have to figure out a healthier way to get over break ups.”

Sasha's hiccup sounded, ironically, like a lover’s gasp. “Brandon broke up with me over a text message. We’ve been dating for nine months and all I get is 'I’m bored with you. Have a nice life.' Then his signature is 'Conan FTW.'”

Abigail and Emma met each others’ gaze over the low-backed seat. Sasha had the tendency to date losers. For some reason this relationship lasted longer than six months, which was the minimum for a break-up dare.

Ten years ago they came up with the idea. What better way to get over some guy than to watch your friend, or yourself, make a fool of themselves to cheer you up? When the tradition started, freshman year in college, six months seemed like a lifetime to be with one boy. They chose who would do the dare like a true democracy and pulled straws. Emma pulled the short one tonight. Not an issue in the scheme of the things, except one always had to outdo traditions.

“Why can’t we be like normal people?” Emma handed over her stockings, because Abigail wasn’t having this event stalled a moment longer.

“What
do
normal people do after a break up?” Sasha frowned at Emma.

“Get drunk and whine about men,” Abigail said. “It’s a well-honored pastime.”

“She wouldn’t get drunk with us anyway,” Sasha pointed out. “She has to get up at like four in the morning. That guy is coming to the bakery to iron out their deal.”

“Oh, yeah
that
guy,” Abigail said.

Emma rolled her eyes. “He owns a coffee shop. He wants my treats—” She blanched at how that sounded. “He wants my desserts to display in his store in Heron and here too when he opens. Never met him. Never talked to him directly. Don’t know why he’s
that
guy.” She sighed. “Though the married couple who runs the day to day business are the most adorable people I’ve ever met.”

“Online,” Abigail corrected.

“Same difference. I’m excited and hopeful. Maybe we could celebrate possibilities instead.”

Heron was a town more than fifty miles away from Sweet Tooth, which made the possibilities endless and the opportunity too good to pass up. She hadn’t realized how much she wanted to branch out until Tina and George, the face of the company, had contacted her. They were co-owners with another mysterious man—Tobias Merchant. Emma wanted the expansion like nothing else. It was a rare thing for her to want something that much. She'd created a wonderful life despite past heartaches and had thought if all her life would be was her bakery and her friends...then she'd be happy.

Apparently not.

“I’ll meet the silent partner tomorrow. I still need to tweak some of the recipes,” Emma said. “A late night bender is out.”

“Your sweets are fine,” Sasha said.

“They’re delicious as is and you know it. You’re pussy footing. Skirt and shirt,” Abigail demanded.

Having dreaded this part, Emma shimmied out of her tweed skirt and placed it into Abigail’s outstretched hand. The smooth-as-butter leather cooled the exposed parts of her bottom.

“Look, even in college we avoided this kind of dare,” Emma argued. “Why couldn’t we have done this particular dare when my breasts were still perky?”

“You’re only twenty-eight. Your breasts are perky. Relatively speaking.” With that Abigail turned to Sasha. “Why didn’t we?”

“Guys,” Emma interrupted before they headed down memory lane. “I could go to jail.”

“Now that,” Sasha turned in her seat, red-rimmed eyes bright with laughter, “would be funny.”

“I could be mauled by a stranger who thinks I’m trying to give it up for free.” Emma started to unbutton her shirt. Nerves mixed with excitement made her fingers fumble over the buttons.

For a moment there was only silence. Sasha shook her head. “We’re right here. We’re going to have the lights on, so a car won’t hit you. Seriously, a pervert won’t maul you, so Abigail’s right. Stop stalling and get into your birthday suit.”

“Bra,” Abigail ordered. “See, you’re already making Sash feel better.”

“This is stupid.” Emma slipped out of the thin, red lace underwear. At least she didn’t have on her usual granny panties. She’d come prepared for anything. Too bad she hadn’t foreseen this.

Abigail whistled. “I forgot you had that tattoo. What year was it?”

That gave all of them pause. “Matt,” Emma finally replied, remembering. “You and Matt had been together for a year. You caught him with Marlene in the hot tub.”

“Right,” Abigail said. “Spring break. ’02. You threw up.”

“It’s on my pelvic bone,” Emma said. “You try to keep down greasy food when someone’s hammering on your pelvis with a needle.”

The four-leaf clover had been her first and last tattoo. She didn’t regret it, because it inspired their dating scale. The man was either
Not a chance
or
Getting lucky
.

Abigail didn’t even speak this time, just glared.

“See.” Emma pointed at the woman’s face. “This thing is creating rifts in our friendship.”

Both friends snorted. Emma sighed. “As agreed, no cameras.”

“Agreed,” they both said. Abigail added, “But since it has taken you an hour, you have to run up and back screaming ‘I’m feeling a draft.’ Now out with you.”

“This is going to be classic,” Sasha said.

Emma snorted. “Just for that I’m scooting out the car.”

The comment only made Abigail cackle. Still guarding herself with the door, Emma peeked up and down the street. No cars and no people. Not even a twitter from across the street where construction had been going on non-stop all summer.

Emma glanced back at Sasha. Dyed red curls framed her face. Loser or not, the bastard had made her friend cry. The women from
Sex and the City
harped, rightfully, about a break up with a sticky note. A text message had to be equally as bad, if not worse with the signature line.

Emma left the safety of the door, put her hands in the air, and yelled, “I’m feeling a draft.”