Page 48 of The Work Wife

“I didn’t exactly bring a nice dress. I didn’t know my pretend husband was going to lose his mind,” she whispered when they were alone in her room.

“I’m not your pretend husband. I’m your legal husband, and I haven’t lost my mind. Or rather, I haven’t lost any more of my mind than when you talked me into this crazy plan of yours. Now humor me and put on something nice.”

“Fine.”

Ten minutes later she was in the living room in a black party dress from college that she found in her closet. She’d done her hair and everything, but Weston frowned when he saw her.

“What?” she said defensively.

“Black?”

“I have four dresses here, Weston. Every one of them is black. One of them I wore in fourth-grade chorus.” She wasn’t sure why it was taking up real estate in a closet. “What color is my dress supposed to be?”

“Never mind. You look great. Let’s get going. We have a stop to make before we eat.”

He held the door for her and then jumped in the driver’s side. She hated surprises, but he looked so damned excited, she didn’t want to ruin whatever he had planned.

She looked over at him as he drove. He was wearing gray slacks and a white shirt. He even had a tie. He hated wearing a tie. Her father was also wearing a tie. He fidgeted with it in the back seat.

As she wondered what could be so important to warrant a tie, they pulled up in front of St. Matthew’s.

“Oh, my God,” she said.

“Relax.”

“We’re not even Methodist,” she whispered to him as they walked up the sidewalk where the pastor was waiting.

“Well, I am. Kind of.” He winked at her. “Just go along with it. We’re not doing this for us. It’s for him.” He gestured over his shoulder to her father, who was following behind them looking confused.

Inside the vestibule, a woman was waiting with a bouquet for Jamie and a boutonniere for her father.

“Pastor Gregory and I will be up at the front of the church. You’d better show,” he told her before he strode off.

When the lady had affixed the flower to her father’s coat, she gave them a smile and went into the sanctuary. A few seconds later the organ started bellowing a familiar tune.

“I can’t believe he did this.” Jamie looked down at the flowers in her hand. White roses and purple flowers. He knew her favorite color.

“You sure know how to pick them.” There wasn’t an ounce of hostility in her father’s words this time. Instead they were said with affection. “I have to say after all the yahoos you’ve dated, I expected this guy to be a half-wit too. But he’s not bad. Not bad at all.”

“You could have just said ‘I like Wes.’ You didn’t have to go for the kill.”

“That’s our cue.” He pointed as the music picked up. “We don’t want to keep your groom waiting.” He held up his arm officially. Seeing the moisture gather in his eyes made her throat tight, and soon she was tearing up too.

Her father walked her down the aisle and paused in front of the man who was already her husband.

“Who gives this woman to be wed?” the pastor asked.

“I do,” her father answered, and reached out for Weston’s hand. “Thank you,” he said before he kissed Jamie on the cheek and went to sit in the front row.

They exchanged wedding vows much like the ones they’d said to each other in Boston, but for some reason they touched her deeper than they had then. Maybe it was because her father was watching. Though she thought maybe it had more to do with the man standing in front of her.

In Boston, this arrangement had been surreal. Now it seemed almost right.

Weston was still her best friend, but now there was something . . . else zipping through her chest.

When the pastor pronounced them husband and wife by the Commonwealth of Virginia, she tensed, knowing what came next.

“You may kiss your bride.” A jolt of something much like excitement moved her a step closer to Weston.