The Boss and the Wedding Mess (The Millionaire and Gentlemen’s Club #1)

Prologue

London

I stared at my best friend sternly. It’s so stern that she finally comes clean after I've been trying to get her to open up in the car for almost an hour.

"It's the St Mary the Virgin, Mortlake."

She hangs her head, and her blonde curls fall partially across her face, hiding her flushed cheeks and tear-stained eyes.

"Okay." I turn the key in my car's ignition, start the engine, and give her a determined look. Then I tie my long dark hair up in a ponytail and drive off. "We can still make it in time!"

She’s previously admitted that this unfaithful jerk's wedding is taking place at exactly 3 PM, so we still have a whole twenty minutes to warn his fiancée about this creep. She absolutely must not marry him!

"Not so fast," Vanessa gasps nervously, holding onto the grip above the passenger door while I floor it and race down the main road.

"If you’d just come clean right away and told me which church they're getting married in, I could drive slower now."

At least the roads aren't so crowded, even though it’s Saturday, allowing us to make good progress.

"I just don't want us to crash," she stammers, clutching her bag with her other hand. A lipstick flies out when I have to take a curve and we're both pushed to the side like we're on a roller coaster. "London!"

"Just let me handle this," I answer confidently. "It's fate that you just found out he's getting married today, and it’s fate you told me about it. Whatever planet’s responsible for this, it wants us to stop this wedding!"

"I don't even want him back," she says with a sob.

"Us women have to stick together! A man like that should never be allowed to marry. He'll cheat on her too. Just imagine what she'll go through when she finds out who’s really her husband when it’s too late? I would want someone to tell me the truth. Wouldn't you?"

"Yes, I suppose..."

“There you go.” We’re coming up at a traffic light. Just as I hit the gas, it flips.

“London? Hey! The light’s red. Red! Bright red!” Vanessa yells, staring at me in shock as I fly through the intersection.

“It was still yellow.”

“No, it was already red!”

“Dark yellow. Orange at most.”

“Oh, London…” Vanessa looks like she’s about to have a heart attack, so I ease off the gas a little.

She’s not totally wrong. Safety first. But I’m furious. When Vanessa found out her boyfriend was getting married today—and that she’d only ever been the mistress—her whole world fell apart. I can’t even imagine how much she's suffering right now.

Good thing I know this church. A friend of ours got married here two years ago, but that marriage is on solid foundations and they’re still happy to this day, at least from the outside. But really, you never know what goes on behind closed doors.

It's 2:57. We have three minutes left. I'm a little out of breath and my cheeks are burning.

“Do you really want to go in there?” Vanessa asks nervously, staring out the window. There are at least fifty cars in the parking lot. The doors are already closed, and organ music is spilling all the way out to the street.

Okay, now that I’m here, my courage briefly wavers. In my head, I pictured myself storming right in without hesitation.

"I have to. Nobody treats my best friend like that. Nobody gets to break your heart the way he did."

"Oh London..." I manage to coax a small smile from her. I quickly unbuckle and lean over to Vanessa so I can hug her. "You're such a fighter. I'm really grateful that you're here for me..."

"Through thick and thin. We promised." I pull back and hook my pinky with hers. “And now I’m going to kick that guy where the sun don’t shine."

I leave the key in the ignition and step out of my little red speedster—Tomato, as I call her.

My face is nearly the same shade. With purpose, I slam the door shut and head toward the church.

It’s old, and the walls yellowed with age, but the path is lined with white roses as I walk past. They really went all out, I have to admit.

With each step I take toward the church door, I’m getting queasier. But I have to do this. For Vanessa. And for the poor woman who's about to make the biggest mistake of her life.

I reach the dark brown doors, grab the handle and take one more deep breath, before I push it open. The organ music hits my ears, and to my shock, the bride and groom are already standing at the altar, gazing at each other. Oh no! What's going on? This wasn’t supposed to have started yet.

The church is packed all the way to the back rows, and several of the well-dressed guests turn to look at me as I enter.

Have they already said, “I do”?

Doesn't matter. It’s now or never!

"Stop! I have something to say!" I shout, startled by how incredibly loudly my voice echoes in the church.

Now everyone turns to look at me, like in a really bad movie.

And I mean, everyone!

The stunning bride stunning in a long veil, over her brown curls.

The absolute ass of a groom is in his cream-colored suit and greasy gelled hair.

The bridesmaids in light blue, and the groomsmen on the other side, in cream, matching the groom.

Even the pastor pauses to adjust his glasses while everyone’s staring at me.

Now or never, London. You've come this far. Don't give up!

Murmurs begin an older gentleman beside me snaps, “How dare you barge in here and..."

“This man is a cheater!” I shout, jabbing a freshly manicured pastel pink finger at the groom. “Don’t marry him! He had an affair with my best friend.”

Guests gasp. The bride stares at the jerk in horror, while the rest exchange irritated looks.

“My best friend thought she was the only one, until she found out today that she was just the mistress while her boyfriend was getting married! How can anyone be that cruel?” Then I look straight at the bride, dropping my arm. “Run, sister. Don’t waste your life on this idiot.”

"“Is that true, Marc?” she cries, devastated.

Marc? Wait—Marc?

I go quiet. Shit. I need to think. Something is wrong.

“What is this nonsense?” one of the groomsmen snaps, rushing toward me, while the so-called Marc tries to comfort his bride. She doesn’t seem thrilled at all about the bitter truth.

"Is the groom's name Marc?" I ask the older gentleman next to me.

"Yes. Marc Brown," he confirms angrily.

"Not Dominic?"

"No. His name is Marc. As I said. Marc. Not Dominic."

As I stand there petrified, the groomsman is charging at me, and his look says it all: he's not particularly happy that I'm here.

"Explain this to me, Marc!" the bride demands, agitated.

"Stephanie, I have no idea what she’s talking about!" he protests.

Oh God. Her name’s Stephanie?

"Fuck, I'm in the wrong church," I blurt out in panic.

The older gentleman next to me can't believe it. "Is this some kind of joke?"

The dark-haired groomsman is almost on top of me, so I bolt. I'm only wearing laced sandals and a knee-length pleated skirt, but they're still good for running.

"Sorry! I’m in the wrong church!" I call out before pulling the door open again and squeezing through the narrow gap. I step outside and run as fast as I can to my car. "Buckle up, we need to go!"

"Hey! Stop right there!" the guy behind me shouts furiously, nearly ripping the church door off its hinges.

Damn it. I have to hurry.

I reach the car, open the door, and see the guy rushing toward me like a steam engine. I immediately get in, lock the door, and fire up the engine.

"What's going on? Who is that?" Vanessa asks me, confused, while the guy reaches the driver's door and tries to open it.

“Hey, open up!” He slaps the glass—not hard, just enough to get my attention. No chance.

“This is the wrong church!” I say and glance at Vanessa, who looks unsurprised. “Seriously?”

She must not have wanted to tell me the right church, so we'd be late. "Oh, come on, I crashed the wrong wedding!"

"Okay, yes... I'm sorry!" Vanessa admits.

"What was that about?" the guy outside shouts. I continue to ignore him until I finally gather my courage, take a deep breath and finally crack the window an inch so he can hear me clearly.

"Hi, yes, sorry. Wrong church. Thanks for your understanding."

"Excuse me? Understanding?" he asks incredulously and takes a step back as I floor the gas and speed off with squealing tires.

I can still see him standing in the rearview mirror with his arms spread wide. I’m so mortified I wish I could sink through the floor. Thankfully, I'll never see him or this wedding party ever again...