The Secret Mistress Arrangement

“I don’t care what y’all do.” Surprise and disbelief must have shown on his face because she waved a hand dismissively. “Seriously, I don’t. All I care is that you have Brian at this church, bright-eyed, bushy-tailed and ready for pictures by one o’clock. Understand?”

She finally looked directly at him with her last statement. Wide green eyes held a “Don’t mess with me” warning, and silent agreement seemed the safest course of action.

“Good. Make sure the other groomsmen understand that, as well. I don’t want any bleary, half-drunken men coming in late and unshaven.” Consulting her clipboard one last time, she seemed satisfied and attempted a smile that fell flat when it didn’t reach her eyes. “I know Brian is looking for you, so I’ll let you go find him.” A cell phone Matt hadn’t seen earlier rang, and Ella juggled the clipboard to her other hand as she retrieved it. With an “Excuse me” she was gone, already engrossed in conversation with whoever was on the other end.

Clearly dismissed, he watched her walk to where the caterers were setting up for dinner, obviously unhappy about something and consulting her clipboard as she went.

With Ella’s departure, Jason returned to his side. “I told you so.”

He understood now why Jason and the other groomsmen were staying far away. “Good Lord, I haven’t been talked to like that since Sister Mary Thomas called me into her office in tenth grade after the girls’ locker room had been raided.”

“Exactly.” A bitter and exasperated tone edged Jason’s voice. Ella must have really given him a hard time about something. “Hell, she lined us all up earlier, checking to see if we needed haircuts.”

So that’s what the inspection was about.

“Well, she made an appointment for me to get a haircut and called to make sure I went.” Brian had finally disengaged himself from his family and joined the group surrounding Matt. Brian greeted his oldest and best friend with, “So for once you’re the idiot.”

“I know, I’m sorry. The airline canceled—”

“No problem.” Brian’s good-natured shrug was a nice contrast to Ella’s earlier reaction. “It’s not all that complicated a job. Stand, walk, hold the ring. You’re a smart guy—I think you can handle it.”

“I’m not sure Ella agrees with you.”

“Ella? She knows you’ll have it under control. Melanie and this wedding have her wound a bit tight these days, but Mel would be a complete basket case by now without her. She’s done an amazing job.”

“Well, I don’t know much about her, but she’s certainly missed her true calling.”

Brian nodded. “Yeah, I’ve been telling her for weeks now she should open her own bridal consulting business.”

“I was actually thinking drill sergeant. Or maybe one of those nuns from high school.”

“Ella? A nun? Hardly.” Brian laughed. “We call her Melanie’s attack Chihuahua. Tiny, but fierce when crossed. You might be onto something with the drill sergeant thing, though.” He inclined his head toward his groomsmen. “She certainly has this motley crew toeing the line.”

Matt looked over to where Ella had reestablished herself by Melanie’s side, cell phone and clipboard held unobtrusively behind her back. Whatever the crisis had been, it was either averted or solved, and Ella was all smiles as she talked to Melanie and her family. The pinched look was still there around her eyes, but she certainly no longer looked quite so formidable. In fact, she looked…

No, Ella wasn’t nun material. Hiding that body under a nun’s habit would be a crime. He watched as Ella answered her cell again, and her expression changed from serene to agitated as she read the riot act to the poor fool on the other end. This was going to be one interesting wedding.

Melanie’s wedding day dawned bright and beautiful, and Ella spent the day with her at the local spa being massaged, manicured, coiffed and pampered—in between phone calls concerning minor and major wedding emergencies. She’d intentionally booked Melanie’s treatments opposite hers so the incoming calls would not distract or worry Melanie on her big day, but Ella had her hands full. She dealt with the caterer’s problems during her pedicure and the florist’s glitch during her massage. Brian’s mother called twice during her hair appointment, frustrating both Ella and the stylist. Tension set in to muscles only recently kneaded, and a headache pulsed behind her eyes. She felt like she was the only person to ever leave a spa treatment more stressed than when she went in.

But, as she sat at the head table during the reception watching Melanie and Brian’s first dance, she knew it had all been worth it. Melanie’s wedding was everything they’d hoped for. Melanie glowed with happiness as she smiled at Brian and leaned in close to him. They made a stunning couple—both tall, blond, perfect people—and they were very much, very obviously to everyone, in love.

Ella couldn’t have been more pleased. Or tired. Her face ached from smiling; her hand was limp and slightly bruised from shaking hands with a hundred guests in the receiving line. She was bone-weary from the past weeks of planning, organizing and keeping Mel calm and happy. All right, she’d admit there was a teeny-tiny bit of envy in there, too, but Mel was so blatantly happy, anyone would be envious.

At times like this, she wanted to believe in the fairy tale, the white picket fence and the happily-ever-after. Not that she knew very many people who actually made it work. Her parents had been, as Melanie kindly called it, too “free-spirited” to commit to anyone or anything, preferring free love and the call of the road. Even her grandparents hadn’t managed it. In the end, they’d loved her, but not each other anymore.

But Mel believed it, and Brian knew that a failure on his part to deliver would be a death sentence. Not that she’d needed to make that threat. Melanie was the center of Brian’s universe. Anyone could see that.

Lucky Melanie. Guys like Brian weren’t exactly thick on the ground, though. She had a string of failures to prove it. Not that she was blameless, as Melanie reminded her all too often, but some people just weren’t designed to do the whole my-one-and-only-soul-mate thing.

She was one of them. Bad genes, probably.

Maybe it was exhaustion, or possibly that fifth glass of champagne, but either way, she was getting just a tiny bit maudlin. That had to explain this need to navel gaze in the middle of Melanie’s reception.

Emotion plus champagne equaled weepiness, so she forced herself to concentrate simply on the success of the moment. She could obsess over everything else tomorrow. Once Mel and Brian said their goodbyes, she was going home and going to bed.

Sleep. Sleep was all she needed to get everything back in perspective.

As other couples joined the bride and groom on the dance floor, Ella felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to find Matt Jacobs standing behind her chair. He held out a hand to her.

“Would you like to dance?”

It took a second for his question to register. One eyebrow arched up in response to her silence and she swallowed her shock. “I’d love to.”

Placing his hand at the small of her back, Matt steered her toward the dance floor, and every nerve ending jumped to full alert. Although she’d been too busy last night to pay much attention to him, her proximity to him today had made it impossible for her not to notice him.

Melanie always described Matt as a cutie, but Ella decided he was really in the drop-dead-gorgeous category—particularly in his tuxedo. And he was huge. The cut of the tux just seemed to emphasize his wide chest, broad shoulders and lean waist. All day she’d felt like a midget just standing next to him—even in heels, she barely reached his shoulders—a feeling not helped by the constant fussing of the photographer as he tried to line them up for photos.

Matt’s size had one benefit, though—he had no problem moving through the crowd. For once she didn’t feel as though she was trying to fight her way through blackberry bramble. Instead folks just magically seemed to move out of the way.

As Matt pulled her into his arms to dance, Ella tilted her head back to look him in the eye. Chocolate. She’d read about men with chocolate-colored eyes, but she’d never met one who actually deserved the adjective. Ringed by lashes any girl would die for, those eyes had the power to turn her insides to mush. Mel’s “cutie” classification seemed a woeful understatement.

When did it get so warm in here?

They made small talk over the music, with Matt having to practically bend himself in half to get close enough to hear her. Each time he did, though, her pulse spiked.

For such a big man, he moved with grace and ease. Ella’s experience with men who could actually dance was very limited, but here was one who could not only dance, but knew how to lead properly as well.

“You keep surprising me, Matt.”

“In good ways, I hope.”

“Oh, definitely.” All day long he’d been Johnny-on-the-spot, graciously assisting Mrs. Chryston to a chair off the aisle when her enormous bulk wouldn’t squeeze into the antique pews of the church, or listening politely to Great-aunt Elaine’s long-winded story of Melanie’s first communion without correcting her when she called him by the wrong name. He even adeptly solved a minor crisis with the limo service before she could even get to the scene.

He’d certainly done his duty as best man—and then some. She owed him big-time. She also owed him an apology. She cringed as she remembered the horrible way she’d talked to him the night before.

She tried to keep her voice light. “I want to apologize for the way I acted last night…and today. I’ve been kind of stressed the past few days, and I’ve been a bit, um, snappish with people.”

Matt cocked that eyebrow at her again and teased, “Is that what you call it? Snappish?”

“In polite society that’s what I’m calling it.” Grateful he wasn’t going to hold a grudge, she relaxed into the conversation. “I know what the groomsmen are calling it when they think I’m out of earshot.”

“You heard that?”

“Uh-huh. Feel free to let them know that I don’t consider ‘control freak’ to be an insult.”

“What about your ‘hair-trigger temper’?”

“If they’d act like adults, they wouldn’t have to worry about my temper.”