Stand-in Groom (8 page)

There were a dozen men who fit that description, but Johnny nodded anyway.

“He’s my father’s second cousin, Philip Spencer.
Former CEO of a company called Tristock. He spent eight years in jail for vehicular manslaughter. DUI. Got offered another job with the company on the day he got out. After all, he’d only killed a young woman—he hadn’t done something truly awful like embezzle corporate funds. Oh, and look. See the couple sitting all alone at the table in the corner of the room?”

Johnny followed Troy’s gaze.

“That’s my cousin George and his wife. We don’t remember what her name is, because she grew up in the projects in the South End. We call her George’s Wife, or That Gold Digger from the Projects Who Married George. After all, it’s obvious that she married Georgie for his money—never mind the fact that he chose to teach school instead of work for my uncle, and never mind the fact that he spent most of his share of my grandfather’s trust on a tiny little house in the suburbs. The rest of it he’s spending lavishly on renovations on that house so that the Wife can bake bread or something ridiculously low-class. See, she never went to college, which, as we all know, is either a sign of total stupidity, sheer slothfulness, or pure evil.”

Troy clearly didn’t buy in to any of what he was
saying, but Johnny couldn’t keep from commenting. “Your family really believes that?” God, what would they think of him?

Troy rolled his eyes. “You should hear my uncle Ron—George’s father—go on and on and
on
about the Wife. Some times even right in front of her, the tactless bastard. She could be a prizewinning rocket scientist, and my family would still call her That Girl from the Projects.” He smiled at Johnny. “Don’t worry about it—Chelsea told me you come from royalty.”

“That shouldn’t matter.”

“Yeah, but in
this
family, it does.”

“Excuse me,” Johnny said. “I should go find Chelsea—”

But Troy caught his arm. “She’s right there—dancing with Benton Scott—he’s an old Harvard friend of mine.”

Sure enough, Chelsea was on the dance floor, in the crush of dancers. She was laughing at something her partner said.

“When Chelsea was in high school, she had the biggest crush on Bent. He went out with her a few times, but it wasn’t serious—she was seven years younger than he was. Then Bent knocked up his
law-firm partner’s daughter, and like a good little law clerk on the fast track toward making partner himself someday, he married the girl. Chelsea cried for about six months.”

Johnny looked more closely at the man Chelsea was dancing with. He looked like money. Everything about him, from his perfectly coiffed dark blond hair to his quietly expensive tailored suit and his Hollywood movie-star face, screamed dollar signs. His fingernails looked manicured. His shoes were freshly shined, presumably by one of the servants. His straight white teeth gleamed as he laughed with Chelsea.

It was hard to imagine Chelsea crying for six months over anyone—except possibly this man. Who was married, and had gotten married not for love, but for money.

Just as Chelsea was in the process of doing.

Johnny headed for the bar, in search of a drink. He was willing to bet that he wasn’t just a stand-in for Emilio, but that he was a stand-in for this Bent guy as well.

The revelation made him feel all kinds of things he didn’t want to feel. Disgust. Envy. Frustration. Jealousy.

He wanted to go onto the dance floor and cut in. But that was stupid. Chelsea might have pretended to marry him in a church just a few hours ago. She was intending to marry him for real at a wedding chapel in Las Vegas before the day ended.

But he had no right to feel jealous. He wouldn’t—and would probably never be—anything more to her than a business partner.

There was a line at the wedding chapel.

Johnny was still wearing his tuxedo. When he found out that they’d be going to the wedding chapel straight from the airport, he’d refused to change into jeans and a T-shirt for the flight. But he’d been comfortable enough on the plane to put his head back and go straight to sleep during the flight to Nevada, even without changing his clothes.

Chelsea had changed, though. She’d put on a pair of wide-legged white pants with a white silk blouse. It was what she would have chosen to get married in—if she’d had a choice. In fact, this Las Vegas setup was entirely the way she would have planned. The ceremony was going to be short and
sweet, and she and Johnny were going to walk toward the justice of the peace together, as equals. And—if she had her way—they would seal the deal with a handshake.

She’d had enough of Johnny Anziano’s soul-shattering kisses earlier today.

She glanced at her watch, trying her best not to be nervous. Why should she be? She’d done this once today already. The second time should be a piece of cake.

“What time does our flight to St. Thomas leave?” he asked.

Of course, this time when they said “I do,” it would be for real. She had to clear her throat before she could speak. “In two hours.”

“We have plenty of time.”

“Yeah.”

Johnny was watching her, his dark eyes unreadable. “So what
is
your favorite color?”

“Red.” She glanced at him. “Yours?”

“Blue.”

Chelsea looked down at the forms they’d had to fill out to get a marriage license. “I didn’t even know how old you were until I read this.”

“I’m twenty-six.”

“Yeah, I can do the math. I minored in math in college.”

“Now, you see, I didn’t know that. What was your major?”

“I did a double major—computer science and physics. And then I went on to get my business degree.”

Johnny whistled through his teeth. “Well,
I’m
impressed. I had no idea I was marrying a scholar.”

“How about you? What was your major?”

He shook his head, smiling slightly. “I didn’t go to college. At least not exactly.”

Chelsea was embarrassed. She shouldn’t have assumed. Quickly she changed the subject. “Your birthday’s in October.”

“Yep. I’m a Libra.” He looked over her shoulder at the forms she held in her hand. “You were born late in January—an Aquarian, huh?”

She lifted an eyebrow. “Are we compatible?”

“Librans are pretty much compatible with everybody,” he said with a smile.

“What a relief.”

“What’s your favorite holiday?”

Chelsea had to think. “I don’t know. Christmas, I guess.”

“Mine’s New Year’s Eve. It’s such a high-energy night—everyone’s all jazzed up for the coming year, with high expectations. And hope. The hope on that night is off the scale.” He paused as the woman who was acting as a sort of hostess came out into the waiting room and took the couple who had arrived directly in front of them into the chapel.

They were next.

Johnny looked back at Chelsea. “Who’s your favorite dead president?”

She blinked. “What?”

“For most people it’s a toss-up between Washington and Lincoln, with Kennedy running a close third, but I’m an FDR fan, myself.”

“I don’t think I have a favorite president—dead or alive.”

“You must’ve had one when you were a kid.”

“When I was a kid, it was Washington,” she said. “Definitely. That whole story about the cherry tree. ‘Father, I cannot tell a lie, I chopped down the cherry tree.’ I always thought he was a lot like Mr. Spock on
Star Trek
. Vulcans can’t tell a lie, either. It’s supposedly physiologically impossible.”

“Except Spock
could
lie because he was half-human,” Johnny pointed out.

“Which says a lot for humanity, doesn’t it?” Chelsea sighed, her smile fading.

“You feel bad, don’t you,” he guessed perceptively, “for fooling all those people at the church today.”

“My dad was so …” Chelsea shook her head, smiling ruefully. “God, for the first time during the twenty-eight years I’ve been alive, I actually saw him with tears in his eyes. All I could think of was the way I was lying to him.” She miserably blew out a short explosion of air. “And not only was
I
lying to everyone, but I’ve gone and dragged you into it too.”

“At least now when you go to hell, I’ll be there with you, so you’ll have someone to talk to.”

“That makes me feel
so
much better.”

“It’s not too late to back out,” he said. “We can just walk out of here, spend the next twenty-four hours playing the five-dollar blackjack table at Circus Circus and drinking beer with whiskey chasers on the house.”

Chelsea had to laugh. “Sounds tempting.”

“Then when we’ve had too much to drink to
keep our balance at the blackjack table, we can get a room upstairs and sleep it off for another twenty-four hours straight.”

Sleep. As in share a bed. Yeah, right, they would sleep.

Johnny smiled, as if he were following her thoughts.

“I don’t think so,” she said.

“After a couple of days you could run home to your parents, claiming that Emilio was heavily into bondage and discipline, and that you left him, because that’s not quite your style.”

“How do you know that B and D isn’t my style?” she couldn’t resist asking.

He laughed in surprise, but recovered quickly. “Even if it is, I’m betting that you wouldn’t share that fact with your mom and dad.”

“Oh, that’s a bet you’d win.”

“Spencer and Anziano.”

Chelsea looked up to see the wedding-chapel hostess beckoning to them. “Oh, God,” she said. “It’s time.” She turned to Johnny. “It’s not too late for you to back out.”

“For seventy-five K,” he told her, “I’m not going anywhere. Unless we can add to that Circus Circus
scenario and say that after we get a room upstairs, we get to take turns tying each other up.”

He hadn’t realized that the wedding hostess was standing right behind him. He turned to see her there, and realized she’d overheard him. She was trying her best not to look shocked.

Johnny gave her one of his best smiles. “It’s a wedding-night tradition in Chelsea’s family,” he said conspiratorially.

“He’s kidding,” Chelsea said, but the woman didn’t look convinced.

As she followed the woman into the chapel she turned to give Johnny a chilling look.

“Oh, good, the Ice Princess is back,” he said with a grin. “I was hoping I’d get to marry both of you—it’ll make married life
really
interesting.”

Ice Princess? Marry both …? “What are you talking about?” she asked, but he just smiled. With his light banter and silly questions, he’d managed to make her feel thoroughly relaxed. She liked having him around, she realized. And then she remembered those kisses. She liked having him around too much.

Chelsea’s pulse started to accelerate at the thought that within the next few minutes she was
going to marry this man, and she tried not to think, not to feel, not to anticipate.

The hostess took the forms they’d filled out and the copies of their birth certificates from Chelsea. “One moment, please.”

“No kissing this time,” she told him under her breath. “We shake hands, do you understand?”

“No way. The man says you may kiss the bride, not you may high-five the bride.”

“This is a business deal. We should shake—”

“Where I come from, people embrace and kiss when a deal is made.”

She stopped short. “Where
do
you come from?”

“I was born in the North End, but while I was growing up, I lived about a block away from the Projects.”

“The … Projects?” It was an impossibly tough part of town, filled with gang violence, drug abuse, struggling welfare mothers, and drive-by shootings. And Johnny had grown up there.

“Yeah. I won’t tell your daddy if you don’t.”

“Oh, God, someone told you about George’s wife, Cathy.”

“So she does have a name. Troy filled me in. Her status as a Projects kid hasn’t exactly won her any
popularity awards with the Spencer clan. Or should that be Klan, spelled with a
K
?”

Chelsea briefly closed her eyes. “I’m so sorry. You have every right to be offended.”

“You can make it up to me—by letting me kiss the bride.”

“John …”

He took her hand, squeezing her fingers gently. “Chelsea, this may be the only time I ever get married. Yeah, I’m doing it for the money, and yeah, it’s weird, but please, let me at least do it right. And doing it right means when the guy says kiss the bride, I kiss the bride.”

She gazed up at him. “It matters to you that much?”

“Yeah. It does. Absolutely.”

“One kiss, and then you’ll retire your lips—permanently?”

“Are you sure you want me to?” He lowered his voice. “I can do an awful lot with my lips—without running the risk of consummating this marriage.”

Chelsea felt her cheeks heat. “I can’t believe you just said that to me.”

To her surprise, he actually looked embarrassed too. “I can’t believe I did either.” He took a deep
breath. “Although, one thing my mother always taught me was, you can’t have what you don’t ask for.”

“Please don’t ask for more than I can give you,” she said softly. “John, we talked about this when we signed the prenupts. No sex. Of any kind. Just this one last kiss and that’s it, all right?”

Johnny nodded. “If that’s the way you want it …”

It wasn’t the way she wanted it. It was the way she
needed
it to be.

“Giovanni Anziano and Chelsea Spencer?” The justice of the peace was a little, wizened old man wearing a western-cut jacket and an enormous cowboy hat. “Please approach.”

“I don’t know about you,” Johnny whispered almost silently to her as they moved forward, “but the hat works for me.”

“Chelsea Jasmine Spencer, do you take Giovanni Vincente Anziano as your lawfully wedded husband?”

Chelsea took a deep breath. “I do.”

“And do you, Giovanni Vincente Anziano take Chelsea Jasmine Spencer—”

“I do.”

The justice of the peace gazed at Johnny from the narrow band between the top of his half glasses and the wide brim of his hat. “In a hurry there, are you, son?”

“Yes, sir.”

He smacked the counter with a gavel. “By the power vested in me by the state of Nevada, I pronounce you man and wife.”