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“I worried about that all day.”
She gave him a gentle elbow poke. “I know this is a lot to ask, but it does make you a hero. Justin’s mother came through the surgery very well, so we’re in complete celebration mode.”
“That’s good, about the mother.”
“It really is. I’ll introduce you to Channing and his men, help you get set up.Then I’ll come back in about an hour, just to give you a run-through since you weren’t at rehearsal.”
She gave the door of the Groom’s Suite a brisk knock. “It’s Parker,” she called out. “Is it safe to come in?”
The man who opened the door wore tuxedo pants and had a beer in his hand. “I can’t say we’re decent, but we’re covered.”
“Good enough. Malcolm, this is Darrin, recently promoted to best man.”
“I told Channing I’ve always been the best man. You’d be today’s pinch hitter. Nice to meet you.”
They shook hands before Parker nudged Malcolm inside where beer poked their frosty heads out of iced buckets, and a bottle of champagne stood in another. Platters held sandwiches and finger food, and men hung around half dressed. Five of them. Six counting the newly appointed best man.
One—tall, golden, gym-ripped—broke away. “Malcolm? I’m Channing, and I’ll be your groom today.”
“Good luck with that.”
“I really can’t begin to thank you for doing this. It probably seems bizarre, but . . . I know you from somewhere.”
“I’ve been somewhere, but you don’t look familiar.”
“I could swear—”
“Hey.” One of the men paused as he poured a glass of champagne. “It’s Kavanaugh, right?”
“Yeah.” Malcolm narrowed his eyes at champagne guy. “Mercedes SL600. Tire rotation and detailing.”
“That’s exactly right. Best detail job I’ve ever had.”
“That’s it.” Channing ticked the air with his finger.“I knew I’d seen you.You rehabbed my father’s T-Bird. I was there when you delivered it. I dried his tears of joy.”
“Hell of a car. So you’re Channing Colbert.”
“Yeah. I thought my father was crazy when he bought that car. Then I saw it after you’d finished with it and thought, why don’t I have one? Want some champagne, a beer?”
“Beer.”
“I’ll leave you in good hands.” Parker patted his arm.“Your tux is right over there. Our photographer will be here in about fifteen minutes.”
It wasn’t so bad, Malcolm decided. There was food, there was beer, and the other men were in such a damn good mood it was hard to feel put-upon.
At least he felt that way until Mac swung in and pointed her camera at him.
“Hey, I’m just subbing.”
“And they’ll want that documented. Don’t pay any attention to me.” She waved at him, and moved around the room like a redheaded snake—slithery and silent.
He felt a profound sense of relief when she cut Channing out of the herd for formal shots.
He changed into the tuxedo pants and shirt while she was gone. Parker had been dead-on, again.They fit, as did the dark red vest.
Half the guys had questions about cars, but he was used to that. A mechanic was a car doctor, and everybody wanted free medical advice. Since advice could lead to new customers, he didn’t mind handing it out.
When Parker came back, he was struggling with his tie.
“Here, let me do it.”
“When I rent a tux, you just hook this bastard on.”
She smiled up at him.“I think half the reason men wear ties is so women have to get in close to tie them. How’re you doing?”
“It’s okay.” He glanced over her shoulder to his fellow groomsmen. “They’re all pretty easy.”
“Your attendant’s name is Astoria.”
His gaze shifted back to hers. “Seriously?”
She cleared a chuckle out of her throat. “They call her Asti. She’s beautiful, a little bit shy—and married, so don’t get any ideas.”
“And here I was thinking about a quickie in the cloak room.”
“They all do. She works with special needs children in Chicago. She and Leah met in college. There.” She stepped back, angled her head.“You’re fulfilling your part of the deal.You’re having a good time and you look gorgeous.”
Mac stepped back in. “Okay, boys, let’s move out to the terrace for the formals. It’s a risk. I don’t know if my camera can handle this much handsome.”
Parker helped Malcolm into his jacket, brushed at the sleeve. “I’ll be back to do that run-through as soon as Mac’s done with you.”
“With me? I’m not doing the group shots. I’m not part of the group. I’m the sub.”
“Channing really wants you in them. It’ll only take a few minutes.”
“Listen, Parker—”
“Oh, sorry.” She tapped her headset. “I have to run.”
Sneaky, Malcolm thought as she slid away like butter on a griddle.
He was going to want a lot of caramel sauce.
He did his part, escorting people to seats in the shimmering lights of the Grand Hall. Candlelight and firelight added to the glow.
Laurel swung through for an on-scene check, sent him a wink. “How’s it going?”
“Is the cake as good as advertised?”
“Better.”
“Then it’s all worth it.”
“And there’s plenty of caramel sauce.”
He caught her smirk—they seemed to be going around—as she glided away.
Jesus, did those women tell each other everything?
Fine, he’d make sure they had plenty to talk about over breakfast. Maybe he’d just cop a bottle of the champagne to go with the—
“Well, well, moonlighting as an usher these days?”
His back went tight even before he turned to his uncle.
Not aging well, are you, Artie? Malcolm thought, and there was some satisfaction in that.The man still had all his hair—which had always been his pride and joy—but he’d put on weight, gone thick in the face, in the middle. His eyes, a deceptively mild blue, seemed shrunken in the wide plate of that face.
She’d fared better, he decided, glancing at his uncle’s wife. Kept her figure, maybe had a couple nips and tucks. But the look of distaste didn’t do anything attractive to her face.
“You can find your own seats.”
“Courteous as ever. I’d heard you were chasing after the Brown girl and her money.”
“You never knew your place.” Marge Frank sniffed. “Now it looks like Parker Brown’s forgotten hers. Her grandmother must be rolling over in her grave.”
“Sit down or leave.”
“It doesn’t look like her breeding’s rubbed off on you,” Artie commented.“It shouldn’t take long for Parker to see you for what you are. Just how do you know the bride and groom? Changed a few tires for them?”
Fuck it, he thought. Just fuck it. “That’s right.”
“You can scrub the grime from under your nails, Malcolm, but you’re still a grease monkey. And people like the Browns always end up with their own kind. Come on, Marge.”
He needed five minutes, Malcolm thought. Five minutes to get some air, to settle himself. But even as he backed out, started toward the foyer, Laurel came back.
“Less than a dozen guests left to seat.We’re going to want you and the rest of the boys to take positions in two minutes. Are you—Is something wrong?”
“No.”
“Okay. If you’d nudge the last stragglers into seats, then go around . . .Parker showed you how it works, right?”
“Yeah. I got it.”
“I’ll be there to cue you. Don’t worry. It’ll be painless.”
He didn’t feel pain. He felt a rage that wanted to claw out of his throat. He didn’t want to be there, wearing someone else’s tux, standing in front of a crowd of people in a room filled with flowers and candles watching people he didn’t even know get marrie
d.
And feeling—helpless not to feel—the utter contempt from his uncle, coiling its way across the room to clamp onto his throat and trap that rage.
Once he’d escaped it, had traveled three thousand miles to shed it. He’d come back a man, but there was still a piece inside him, he hated knowing it, that burned with that raw and bitter anger.
And struggled, even now struggled, with the echoes of humiliation.
