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ONE
Amelia Darcy wasready to crawl out of her skin. Red ants marched through her veins, leaving burning anxiety in their wake. They traveled the length of her body in an unending loop, through every artery, vein, and capillary, around and around and around.
Because he waslate.
Huffing in a failed attempt to clear her mounting frustration, Amelia spun on her heels and continued wearing a line through the thin red carpet of the church’s narthex. The single strap of her bridesmaid dress draped strangely over her shoulder. Why had her sister chosen an asymmetrical design? At least with two straps, the feeling would be mirrored on both sides of her body, which would be acceptable. Amelia hadn’t been comfortable since she put the thing on.
She wouldn’t even think about the color; that would only make her anxiety worse. Earlier, when Amelia had slipped on the lilac silk garment and caught sight of herself in the mirror, she’d fully recoiled. Against her pale, desaturated skin and her pale, desaturated hair, the pastel purple shade produced a distinctly corpselike effect. Even her eyes, which she’d always thought were her best feature, looked sunken, their pale gray irises turning dull as worn pewter. The makeup artist had tried to glue false eyelashes on her lids, cheerily claiming they’d brighten her face right up, but then Amelia had twitched and blinked so much the whole endeavor had been aborted. So she still looked like she belonged outside in the church’s graveyard instead of the bridal party, except now with slightly irritated eyelids.
But today was Maggie’s wedding day, and Amelia would wear a sparkly leotard and dance the cha-cha backward if it made her sister happy. It didn’t matter what color her dress was, or how many straps it had, or if that number was one too few.
Wedding planning hadn’t been fun, exactly, but Amelia had thrown herself into it. She’d made phone calls, coordinated vendors, ordered decorations, planned and attended a hellish bachelorette party, helped set up the church and the reception venue, and completed countless other tasks—all in the name of sisterly love. She’d taken her role as Maggie’s maid of honor seriously.
The best man, on the other hand?
Not so much.
He hadn’t shown up to the rehearsal dinner, hadn’t helped with any of the preparations, and now, the only time thatactuallymattered, he was late. Two more minutes, and she’d lead the bridal progression down the aisle on her own. He could slink in whenever he arrived and watch from the back pew, for all she cared. If he showed up at all.
The strap on her shoulder slipped, so she yanked it back up. Stupid thing.
She’d strangle him when she saw him. Months—months!—of planning, and now the whole wedding hinged on the arrival of some mysterious best man. Nerves morphed into anger, and Amelia wanted to scream. She’d make him sorry for being so late. That was a promise. She’d strangle him with his own tie and enjoy every gruesome second of it.
Her feet stomped as she made another lap. And another. And another. Her teeth gnashed so hard a headache started pulsing near her temples.
A door creaked open behind her. Amelia whirled, only to let her shoulders drop in disappointment.
A dark-haired man poked his head out of the room where the bridal party waited. He lifted a brow. “No sign of him?”
“No.” Her answer was curt. Her lips compressed, as if she could make the missing best man appear by drawing her mouth into a perfectly straight line. It didn’t work.
“All right. I’ll let them know.” Marlon St. James didn’t seem worried about his brother’s tardiness. He certainly didn’t seem surprised. Even the groom hadn’t worried when she’d scurried to the altar to inform him his best man was missing in action.
Emory had given her a little half-smile and said, “He’ll show. He’s flying in this morning, probably hit traffic.”
Amelia didn’t share Emory’s confidence. A scowl etched itself over her brow as she spun around to do another lap. She hadn’t been able to get a straight answer from her sister’s other bridesmaids when she asked about the best man. Sly looks and rolled eyes were the usual response to the mention of his name. Maybe a snort and a wry, “You know how he is.”
But she didn’t know how he was. She’d never laid eyes on the man. All she knew was he waslate.
Murmurs swelled in the church as guests grew restless. She’d wait one more minute, and then they’d start without him. She’d apologize to Maggie and Emory afterward, but really, it was—
Hinges groaned to her left. Amelia turned toward the sound, only to be struck dumb by the vision unfolding before her.
The church’s arched doors split down the middle, letting in golden sunlight through the widening gap. A man stood in the center, a hand on either door, silhouetted by the sun’s honeyed rays. He pushed the doors all the way open to step through them then straightened, standing as tall and proud as a king returning from war. Or maybe a fallen angel, seeking vengeance.
Or a missing best man, finally deigning to make an appearance.
Leo St. James stepped into the church, the sunlight limning the edges of his body in gold while casting the rest of him in black, impenetrable shadow. He looked impossibly large. For no reason at all, Amelia’s heart rattled.
The doors squeaked on their way shut and bit by bit, the best man was revealed to Amelia’s hungry stare.
Because that’s what was growing inside her—hunger. A ravenous ache pulsed in the very heart of her as she saw the strong lines of his face, his heavy-lidded green eyes, his softly masculine lips. There was a sort of disheveled grace to him, a quality that made him seem more than perfect. Like his appearance was a veneer her mortal gaze wasn’t supposed to penetrate, his flaws purposefully chosen to make him seem simply human.
Slowly, sunlight disappeared behind heavy timber doors until a final groan and a click sounded. The best man watched her, a brow quirking at her perusal.
Suddenly she realized she’d been gaping. Her spine snapped straight. “You’re late,” she clipped.
His gaze didn’t leave her face. “Am I?”
