38. Chapter 38
Chapter thirty-eight
Friday, the wedding day: Frankie
“ Y ou’re telling me you aren’t even the teensiest bit nervous?” Todd asked Lucy as he secured a few rhinestones in her expertly sculpted hair. Glossy chocolate waves cascaded down her back while delicate wisps played about her face. Todd truly was a master craftsman when it came to beautification. He’d plucked, shaped, teased, painted, and pinned the bride within an inch of her life, all the while managing to enhance her natural features into something ready for the runway.
“Looking this good, how could I possibly be nervous?” Turning her head this way and that, she inspected her friend’s handiwork, smile beaming with unfiltered joy. “I look like me, only airbrushed,” she said with a giggle.
Frankie watched her almost-sister rise from the chair and hug the only man allowed in the bridal party’s dressing room. “You look stunning, Luce. My brother is one lucky SOB. In more ways than one. You’re way too good for him, and if you ever figure that out, it will be too late. You’ve already been claimed by the Miller clan.”
Lucy grinned, mist gathering in her eyes and embraced Frankie in one of her notoriously bone-crunching hugs.
“Enough of that, ladies.” Todd marched over, handing a tissue to the bride and lightly pinching Frankie’s side. “You’ll sully my masterpiece. Go pee so we can get you into your gown.”
Gingerly dabbing at her eyes, Lucy scurried off to the bathroom.
“I’m surprised you went with a suit,” Frankie mused, perusing the tall, slim man from head to toe. Dark hair swooped and secured in a GQ -worthy fashion, custom-tailored suit grazing every inch of lean muscle, ridiculously expensive shoes buffed to perfection, Todd looked every ounce the stunning male specimen that he was.
“Our girl told me Dirty O’Feelya was welcome at the shindig, but I declined. She’s a performer, a show stealer. And as you so rightfully pointed out last night when that walking louse showed up late—today is about Lucy and your brother. It’s not about the rest of us.”
“You’ll still turn heads in this getup.” Frankie nodded in admiration, appreciation warming her words.
“Well, it’s not like I’m dead .”
They both laughed as Lucy emerged from the bathroom. With the assistance of the other two bridesmaids, Lydia and Kylie, the group draped the bride in her long-sleeved lacy wedding dress. Frankie had begun the arduous process of fastening the thirty-thousand buttons that trailed from nape to just below Lucy’s rear when there was a gentle yet adamant knock on the suite door.
“I got it.” Todd walked over and greeted whoever stood on the other side with a low voice. After a little back and forth, he shut the door, reapplied a winning smile, and said, “Frankie, dear. Duty calls.”
“What’s wrong?” Lucy asked, voice wobbling for the first time all day.
“I’m sure it’s nothing,” Frankie reassured Lucy. “Probably the caterers asking where to put the chocolate fountain or something.”
“But we didn’t get a chocolate fountain—”
“I’ll handle it. Want me to bring back a snack for you?” She crammed every shred of calm she could manage into her expression and practically breathed a sigh of relief as Lucy smiled and nodded. “Great. Bourbon and a packet of fruit snacks coming right up. Lydia, can you take over the buttons? My fingers were about to bleed from the sheer number of them anyway.”
“Bite me,” the bride said as she laughed.
Frankie winked and joined Todd at the door.
“If you need backup, text me, and I’ll come running,” he rumbled, one perfect brow arched mischievously. “Oh, and I’ll take a bourbon.”
“I already planned to bring back the bottle,” Frankie drolled then slipped out the door.
She lifted her gaze and froze at the laughably sexy display of male beauty leaning against the opposite wall. With nothing in her mouth, she still managed to choke and cough.
“You all right?” Benjamin stepped forward and gently patted her back. His hand singed through the ice-blue velvet of her bridesmaid gown. The heat rippled across her skin and quelled the onslaught of shock that had taken her aback.
How?
How was he this devastatingly handsome in real life? Practically poured into his dark navy blue tuxedo, the fabric stretched seductively across his shoulders, tapering down to a trim waist. Her gaze lingered on his hips, recalling how they’d moved in ways that could ultimately lead to her destruction.
She shrugged his hand away and got ahold of herself.
“Fine. What is it?” She aimed for clipped but winced at how snotty she sounded.
“Zac,” he said after taking a moment to conduct his own perusal of her.
“Fuck,” she cursed sharply and started down the hall to the groom’s suite. “You can fill me in as we go.”
She stopped and turned when she realized he wasn’t by her side, catching him in the middle of a shameless stare. Perhaps he had all the time in the world, but Frankie needed to fix whatever clusterfuck the groomsman was causing and get back with Lucy’s hanger prevention as soon as humanly possible.
“He’s this way.” Benjamin jerked his thumb over his shoulder, biceps straining against his jacket sleeve. Frankie grumbled then followed closely behind as they made their way down to deal with the chaos the soon-to-be-dead man was causing.
The massive tent, brimming with long white tables, twinkling lights, and plenty of space heaters to chase away the December chill, hummed with activity. Caterers prepared the serving station for dinner and dessert. The wedding planner and her swarm of assistants buzzed around tables, putting the finishing touches on the centerpieces. The bartender glanced around nervously as Zac and some woman stood at the little bar, preparing to take shots of tequila.
“Zackariah Sebastian Hartford the third,” Frankie bellowed, eliciting a physical jolt from everyone nearby. “You put that shot glass down right now or I’ll cram it down your throat.”
The lanky redhead behind the counter breathed a sigh of relief and made himself useful by stocking cans of beer in the small fridge behind him.
“Busted,” Zac chortled, setting down his tequila and wiping the salt off the back of his hand with a cocktail napkin. “Frankie, you look sexy as hell. Can I interest you in a shot?”
“What are you doing?” Her lethal glare oscillated between Zac and the woman standing beside him. Either he’d convinced one of the employees to shirk responsibility and throw back a few, or this was the groomsman’s date .
“Bethany’s my plus one—”
“It’s Bethanne, actually,” the woman tried to correct around Zac’s shoulder.
“And she rode here with me. We’re having a couple drinks to kill time before the ceremony.”
“You should be with Jonathan. Not ‘killing time’ out here.”
“What’s the big deal, Francesca ?” He flicked a spiteful glance at Benjamin. “It’s not like groomsmen do anything besides walk a hopefully hot bridesmaid down the aisle. I don’t hold the rings. I don’t give a speech. I didn’t even get to help plan the bachelor party, for Christ’s sake. Not that Jon had one. He didn’t ‘feel up to it’ since you two were too busy fucking in the woods.”
“I’m sorry, what did you say?” Benjamin stepped forward, but Frankie stretched out an arm to block his path. She watched in shocked outrage as Zac clinked glasses with his date and threw back the shot. Thankfully, Bethanne, accurately reading the escalating agitation, had the good sense to set her own shot down and shrug into her coat.
“Maybe I’d better grab a seat. Let you get back to. . .” She trailed off, turned, and scurried away.
“Well, that was rude,” Zac snorted. “You scared my date away.”
The nerve of this guy. Frankie was reaching her boiling point and judging by the vibrations coming off Benjamin, she was in good company. She hadn’t quite realized until this point how bitter Zac was over not being Jonathan’s best man. Ever the casual, roll-with-the-punches-while-wearing-a-smarmy-grin kind of guy, his reaction seemed so out of left field that Frankie almost felt sorry for him.
Almost.
Still, she softened her expression—or at least made her best attempt. It was her duty to de-escalate the current drama so they could have a stress-free, happy wedding.
“Look. Your feelings are hurt.” She ignored Zac’s scoff and continued, “But Jon is counting on you. Will you please go to his suite and be there for him? Put aside whatever this is and deal with it tomorrow. He’s your best friend.”
He looked pointedly at Benjamin. “It just sucks that I’m not his.”
Frankie watched Zac slink out of the tent, relieved to have avoided the situation becoming a bigger deal than it already was. She turned to the bartender and requested a bottle of J.P. Trodden and a few tumblers.
“Weren’t you just giving Zac the business about drinking before the wedding?” Benjamin’s husky voice prickled the back of her neck. His warmth permeated their shared space. He was so close.
Too close.
“Lucy requested it. Besides, having a drink as a group before the wedding is one thing. Throwing back a few shots with your date when you should be attending to the groom is completely different.”
Accepting the bottle and stack of glassware, Frankie turned to Benjamin. “Thanks for letting me know what was going on.”
“Honestly, I was more worried about what I would do if I didn’t have you as a witness.” He grinned fiendishly and stuffed one hand in his pocket. “Can I help you carry that?”
“Thanks, no.”
She turned to make her way out of the tent. Then turned. “Another thing.”
Benjamin inclined his head. “Anything.”
“What Zac said about us in the woods. I don’t need someone defending my honor.”