Baiting the Maid of Honor

She dropped the smile. “Well, this is nothing like that.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Reed doesn’t do the woo. I’d hazard to guess that he doesn’t even know who Norah Jones is.”

Mouth full, Christine sadly shook her head.

“Uh-huh.” Julie picked at the comforter. “He doesn’t compliment. Or try to find things we have in common. He doesn’t ask. He takes.” She thought about the way he’d made sure she got something to eat after the party at Spago. The way he’d cleaned up so she wouldn’t have to. His refusal to let her search alone in the dark woods. “But when he does make an effort, even just the smallest thing”—like chanting my name until his voice goes hoarse, taking me to that hot spring—“it blows Bobby Cox and his Norah Jones CD out of the water.”

She glanced over to find Christine studying her. Wordlessly, her friend handed her the box of fudge, which she gratefully accepted.

“Can I ask you a question, Christine?”

“You know you can.”

Julie hesitated. “Am I different? Since Serena…?”

Christine tilted her head, eyes full of sympathy. “You’re the same person, Julie. The same person with different priorities.”

Absorbing that, she nodded. “Right.”

“What brought this on?” Christine’s eyes widened. “Oh God. Today…”

“Don’t worry about it,” Julie rushed to say. “And please, don’t remind any of the girls. This week is about Kady.” She patted Christine’s arm when she nodded reluctantly. “Anyway, the anniversary is only partially responsible. Reed said…he thinks I’m overcompensating for Serena’s absence. Trying to be her.”

Her friend paled. That’s when Julie knew there’d been some truth behind his words. Why had no one ever said anything? How could she not have seen it?

She shifted uncomfortably on the bed. “Guess he was right.”

“No. Not entirely.” Christine exhaled on a sigh. “But we all worry you take on too much.” She laid her hand over Julie’s. “I don’t know Reed. But is it possible he said it out of concern? You’ve been working yourself to the bone. It’s hard for the people who care about you to ignore.”

“He doesn’t…it’s not like that with us. It’s sex. Plain and simple.”

“Julie.” Christine pursed her lips. “Give me some credit. I’m an investigative journalist. When that man is around you, he looks like he doesn’t know whether to kiss you breathless or tie you to a chair so you will finally relax.” She laughed at Julie’s stunned expression. “Does he want to jump your bones? Yes. But for my money? He wants more than inappropriate activities involving a ladder.”

She gasped. “How did you know about that?”

“I didn’t. I suspected it when I interrupted you two. You just confirmed my hunch.”

“How come you haven’t won a Pulitzer yet?”

Christine smirked. “All in good time.”

Feeling slightly better, even though she still had a lot to think about, Julie flopped back on the bed. She didn’t believe Christine’s assessment of Reed, but she needed to stop thinking about him for now. Against her will, she’d let herself develop some seriously complicated feelings for a man who saw her faults way too easily. One who would leave her behind at the earliest opportunity. She spoke around the lump in her throat. “Your turn. What had Tyler walking out of here like a scolded toddler?

Christine stared off into space. “It’s a long, long story.”

“I’ve got time.”

Chapter Sixteen

Well heck, Julie thought, surveying the nearly silent bridal party in the ballroom. Where was Reed? Rain and howling wind battered the floor-to-ceiling windows, putting a damper on the already-gloomy mood inside and preventing escape to the outdoors. The atmosphere was so thick, if you tried to cut it with a knife, the knife would get good and stuck. Leaving you weaponless. Sort of how she felt at the moment. Defenseless, unsure of herself. Anxious.

Would Reed show up to dance rehearsals or blow it off? Just the thought of seeing him made her pulse pound, even as she dreaded coming face-to-face with him after their last encounter. Seeing the judgment on his face. The pity. Perhaps she’d see none of it. Only the evidence that he’d mentally moved on.

Which would be worse? At this point, Julie couldn’t tell. Nor could she allow herself to think about it another second. Pigs would fly before she spent the anniversary of Serena’s death obsessing over a stubborn, unavailable man. Four years ago today, when she’d received the call that would forever be seared into her brain, she’d been on the way to hang banners at a pep rally for the football team, deciding which postgame party to attend, wondering if her butt looked fat from certain angles in the mirror. So frivolous. Pointless. She wouldn’t be that girl again. Worrying about things she couldn’t change. Reed was one of those things.

Julie took a fortifying breath and surveyed the room. Apparently she and Reed weren’t the only ones who’d quarreled. Christine and Tyler were having a hushed, seemingly tense conversation on the far side of the room, Regan was pointedly ignoring Brock, and Sophie—well, damn, she’d gone and dressed herself up like a rebellious preacher’s daughter. She looked dynamite. Julie raised her eyebrows when she saw Logan take careful notice of the transformation. Kady and Colton entered the room laughing, but their steps faltered as the obvious tension rolled over them, too.

“Uh…good evening?” Kady said hesitantly.

Julie swallowed her nerves as Francois entered the ballroom behind the smitten couple, saving them from an uncomfortable silence when no one responded to the bride-to-be’s greeting. A middle-aged man with obviously dyed jet-black hair, Francois’s every movement appeared planned, elegant. With a flutter of his fingers, he waved without looking to the sullen group and crossed to Julie, whom he’d correctly guessed—probably from the huge smile plastered to her face—was in charge. Hopefully he couldn’t tell her face felt seconds from crumbling. She’d planned this wedding to perfection, wanting it to be beautiful and memorable for her friend. Yet judging from the mood, everyone seemed hell-bent on ruining it. After Reed calling her out in the forest, even she was questioning her own motivation. Did she enjoy the exhaustive planning or was she punishing herself? No time to think about it now.

“Monsieur!” Julie added extra wattage to her smile and held out her hand, which the dance instructor shook once, inclining his head. “As you can tell, we are so excited to begin. Been looking forward to this for days, in fact.”

She politely ignored the snort leveled from Regan’s direction.

Francois nodded, giving everyone a critical once-over. “Right, then. So this is what I’m working with.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Everyone get a partner. Your hour has begun and we must not waste anyone’s time. Mine especially.”

Everyone shifted uncomfortably, unsure of who to partner with. When an impatient Francois clapped his hands loudly, Regan strolled over to Logan, put her hand on his shoulder, and sent him a dazzling smile, which he eventually returned, if slightly less enthusiastic. Tyler whispered something to Christine and helped her to the dance floor. Gaze still fixed on Regan, Brock held out a hand to Sophie, who gratefully accepted.

It struck Julie that she didn’t have a partner. Reed still hadn’t walked through the door. Francois was busy walking around, correcting everyone’s posture. She’d just have to learn the dance visually. Julie backed away from the group until she connected with the wall, leaning against it. She would not let this upset her. She would not. Tears threatened under her eyelids nonetheless. Tears that had nothing to do with dance lessons, prickly instructors, or feuding friends. Things that would normally get under her skin so deep she wouldn’t rest until she righted them. Instead, she encountered sorrow for her sister, self-pity for herself, anger toward Reed for dredging up all these emotions, then leaving her to drown in them. It all rose to the surface, pulling her under. Thankfully, everyone appeared too caught up in their own situation to notice her smile finally fall prey to the pressure.

Julie had no idea how long she stood there, watching the proceedings without actually seeing them. After catching one or two worried glances in her direction, she’d zoned out. Numbed by grief and confusion over too many feelings at once. She’d spent too long fixing everyone else. Now she had no idea how to fix herself.

Angry whispering, coming from Christine and Tyler, snapped her out of her daze. Swallowing her emotions, she started forward, intent on mediating the argument before it disrupted the lesson. Kady beat her to it. She pulled away from Colton with an irritated groan. Her arms encompassed the entire bridal party as she yelled, “What the hell is wrong with everyone?”

No one answered. With a muffled scream, Kady spun on her heel and slammed out of the ballroom, Sophie and a worried-looking Colton in her wake. Everyone stared at one another for a moment, then one by one began to disperse, beginning with an all-too-happy-to-bail Regan. Francois threw up his hands, muttering in French, and began to stor

m off. Julie, watching the disaster unfold with dawning horror, sprang into motion. She couldn’t let some lover’s spat ruin her best friends nuptials.

“Wait. We’re not finished, you guys. You need to know this dance for the reception.” No one paid her any attention, all their focuses elsewhere. Julie targeted the instructor. “Francois—”

“Monsieur,” he corrected her.

“Monsieur, please. Give me five minutes to straighten this out. I’ll—”

He shook his head in disgust. “They are unteachable.”

Julie was prepared to bribe him if necessary, but the instructor stomped out of the room before she could even open her mouth. One by one, everyone followed, some murmuring heartfelt apologies to her as they went. When she stood alone in the giant ballroom, she sank to the floor like a puppet.

Done. She was done. Every ounce of strain rushed to the fore until it felt like she was drowning. No matter how hard she tried, her efforts were never enough. Everyone could dance the Macarena at the reception for all she cared. If someone rustled up a limbo stick, she wouldn’t even bat an eyelash. Obviously everyone would prefer that to a waltz. She flat-out didn’t give a hoot anymore. What the hell was the point? She would never be good enough. Never be Serena.

I guess everyone is just going to have to settle for Julie. She hurled the clipboard across the room and took out a potted plant. “Damnitshitheadbastardmotherfucker!”

…

Reed sat at the hotel bar, a glass of whiskey untouched in front of him. Picking it up and bringing it to his lips seemed like too much of an effort. If he moved any part of himself, the numbness he’d managed to achieve would dissipate and the feelings would rush back in and overwhelm him. He’d missed the damn dance rehearsal. Completely blown it off and now he felt a dull, permeating sickness thinking of the implications of that. If he’d wanted to fix things with Julie, he’d just gone and royally fucked himself.