Last-Minute Bridegroom

Chaz put his arms around her. At first she stiffened, thinking she should make sure he didn’t get the wrong idea. His arms tightened, holding her close; she felt one hand stroking her hair. ‘Poor Tash,’ he said softly. ‘All that trouble just to end up with Mr Wrong.’

Tasha giggled. The hours and hours of arguing over the guest list came back—the arguments over the style of invitation, arguments over refreshments, arguments over venue for reception, and after every argument all the work of putting it all into place. All that just so marriage-allergic Bad Cousin Chaz could walk in at the last minute and stroll down the aisle. Tasha thought of Chaz’s look of horrified disbelief on first seeing the flower girls and she started giggling all over again. She remembered, vividly, Chaz’s letter of refusal, her disgust at his rudeness, which was absolutely typical of the man, the way she’d shrugged and laughed because his absence was the one thing wanting to make the day perfect. And now her cheek was pressed against the jacket of the one person she’d wanted to stay away, because he’d come not to be just an unwelcome guest, but her husband.

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