The Wedding Wrecker

12. Emma

12

EMMA

I found my mom waiting in the resort's lobby. The vast space hummed with morning activity as sunlight streamed through the frost-rimmed windows and fires crackled in the fireplaces. She was sitting at the bar with a drink nestled between her hands and a troubled expression on her face. Before I could reach her, I saw I was going to have to try to squeeze past Mr. Wellington and a group of about ten people all wearing fancy snow gear by the lobby's entrance.

The scene reminded me of a luxury sportswear catalog come to life—all perfect hair and coordinated outfits despite supposedly being ready for the slopes. At a glance, I didn't recognize many of the faces in the group except Dick and Mr. Wellington.

The wedding party was relatively large, because the Wellingtons were the type of family that had dozens of cousins and aunts and uncles. At the center, there was Mr. Wellington and his wife, Martha. Then Marcus and his brother, the aptly-named Dick. Marcus also had a sister named Charity, but I hadn't crossed paths with her yet. Outside that, I admittedly hadn't looked too deeply into who was who, beyond confirming things like allergies and preferences that might be relevant for my work.

My eyes lingered on a trio of brothers within the group who were all different flavors of gorgeous. They looked like they'd been ordered from some "Rich Bachelor Monthly" catalogue—one of each type to suit any preference.

One had dark hair and big muscles, his jacket straining slightly across his shoulders. The other had sandy blonde hair with a longer face and bedroom eyes, and the last had reddish curls with blonde stubble on his chiseled face. The three of them were standing in a group and laughing about something, their perfect white teeth gleaming.

"Ah! Emma!" Mr. Wellington boomed across the lobby, clapping his hands like he'd just discovered buried treasure.

"Hey," I said, forcing a quick smile. "Planning to go out to ski?”

"We're all a bunch of snow bugs," he said as he tightened what looked like a cashmere scarf around his neck. "Can't keep us off those slopes. Just like I can't keep my Dick off pretty women!"

I choked as I sipped my coffee, which nearly made a surprise appearance through my nose. "Pardon?"

Dick appeared at Mr. Wellington's shoulder like he'd been summoned by the unfortunate comment.

Oh. I wasn’t sure if I should be relieved to know Richard Wellington was talking about his son and not his… member.

"Hey, now," Dick said, shaking his head. "Let’s shoot it straight, dad. You’re not keeping Dick off the pretty women. You’re keeping pretty women off Dick!”

I was currently engaged in a horrible internal battle not to laugh aloud.

“If you’re lucky,” Dick said, leaning close. “You may even get a chance to find yourself getting pulled off Dick by dad before this trip is over.” As usual, he punctuated his creepiness with a wink—like a dash of salt to finish off the world’s most off-putting meal.

My brain short-circuited trying to process that entire exchange. "I'm spoken for," I managed in a quiet voice that was somewhere between laughter and crying. Did they seriously not hear themselves right now? And why was Dick speaking in the third person in this context? Maybe they really were just messing around, and maybe I could ingratiate myself a little by joining in on the fun.

"Well," I said. "I hope you're all careful on the slopes. I wouldn't want you having to... pull your Dick out of a snowbank."

Mr. Wellington's expression darkened like I'd just insulted his ancestry. "Excuse you?"

I went bright red. "I just meant—you two were talking like, and I?—"

"Dick is an incredible athlete, Emma. All of my children are. He would never get stuck in a snowbank."

"Oh," I said. Right, because that was the inappropriate part about my comment. I couldn’t figure these people out. "Sorry."

Mr. Wellington shot me a look that could have melted ice before joining the group.

Wonderful. Maybe I was imagining it, but it felt like Mr. Wellington had soured on me from the moment James arrived.

With a sigh, I headed toward my mom, whose drink looked significantly emptier than when I'd first spotted her.

"Hey," I said, sliding onto the barstool beside her. A ball of ice formed in my stomach.

"Em," she said, lifting her eyes to me. My mom was in her late fifties with laugh lines that spoke of a life well-lived, silver hair, and a beautiful smile. This afternoon, though, she looked like she'd aged ten years overnight. "I was looking for you."

"Yeah, Lily told me."

My mom traced the rim of her glass with one finger, lips working like she was trying to find the right words.

Here comes the James conversation I've been dreading.

"I... know you probably hate me right now. I assume he told you who asked him to come here. And I know what he did to the wedding you planned in Ireland, and how much you likely hate the man, but?—"

"Mom..." I said. "Why, though? You don't seriously think there's something to uncover between Lily and Marcus, do you? They're practically perfect for each other."

"I don't know," she said, slumping like her spine had suddenly given up. "But a mother has intuition when it comes to her babies. And my intuition is telling me something about Marcus and his family isn’tright."

"Wait... his family?"

She shook her head. "There's just something. And I called this wedding wrecker man because, well, you told me how he exposed that man in Ireland. I looked him up, and it sounds like he only works cases if he looks into them and thinks there's a good chance something is wrong. I was honestly hoping I'd talk to him and he'd get back in a few days and say there was nothing to investigate. But... here he is." She lifted her drink and drained the remains, then raised the glass toward the bartender.

I frowned. "What did he find?"

"Nothing yet, as far as I know. But do you care to explain why I saw him with his arm around you claiming to be your boyfriend?"

I rubbed the back of my neck. "Um, well. It's actually pretty easy to explain, but I need you to promise to keep this quiet. We can't even tell Lily."

Somewhere behind us, the large group of Wellington clan-mates let out a manly whoop and charged out the doors to load onto a bus that would presumably take them to the slopes.

My mom raised her eyebrow. "You know what? I don't want to know. I can't handle any more secrets right now. As far as I'm concerned, you two are a happy, confusing couple. And that's that."

"You really don't want to know?"

"I don't like keeping things from my daughters. If I don't know, I don't have to keep the secret. So, no. I'll trust that you know what you're doing. You're both smart girls, and I will always trust you two."

"Which is why you hired a wedding wrecker to investigate the man Lily wants to marry," I said softly, the words tasting bitter.

My mom winced, her shoulders curling inward. "I know, Em. This isn't like me, but what am I supposed to do? Just sit by and ignore the feeling in my gut? And trust me, I talked to former clients of his. I read as much about him as I could. If he finds nothing, he just enjoys the ceremony and goes home. Nobody is the wiser. So we should be happy he's here. If there's something to expose, he'll expose it. And if not, then nothing changes."

"And what if it's something Lily wants to be able to work through with Marcus? It's not natural, Mom. Relationships are about compromise, forgiveness, and trust. This whole wedding wrecking thing just... sidesteps all that."

She took another long sip of her fresh drink. "Maybe you're right. But he's already here. And if I'm wrong for doing this, then I'll ask God for forgiveness when it's all through. And I'll know I did everything in my power to protect one of my daughters. Just like I always will." She cupped my cheek with a trembling hand and gave me a sad smile. "So be careful, because your momma is prepared to do crazy things for you."

I smiled back, reaching over to hug her. "I love you, even if this is batshit insane, and I wish you hadn't called him."

I opened my eyes as I was hugging her and spotted James across the lobby. He was... wearing pristine white ski gear and holding up a bright pink suit that had matching patterns of yellow crisscrossing lines to match his.

Really?

Giving me the best sex of my life the night before destroying my career and then returning like a ghost three years later to haunt me wasn’t enough? Now he had to try to kill me with embarrassment… those?

He wiggled his eyebrows and pointed at the matching suits like he thought I was going to jump for joy.

My mom followed my eyes, then laughed softly. “Those are cute.”

Oh dear God. He wasn’t serious, was he?