Eleven
Her husband-to-be was ready in minutes, dressed in dark slacks and a white shirt, with a tie he’d purchased in town. At her request, he’d tried on a few suits at the store, but after unsuccessfully wedging his wide shoulders into three ill-fitting jackets, she’d given him a pass.
Even so, he looked really good in the cheery red tie that arrowed down his torso and pointed at the thick leather belt. Good enough that she’d given that tie a yank and brought his lips to hers for another kiss.
How they’d return to this room as husband and wife and keep their hands off each other was beyond her. It was also a prospect that was becoming less and less desirable. They hadn’t talked about how they’d proceed, but a loveless and celibate marriage seemed unfair, unpleasant at best.
She had no doubt Emmett would be able to compartmentalize sex apart from love and marriage, but could she? In theory it sounded easy, but in practice...
Sex muddied the mind and blurred lines. And whenever a past relationship inevitably met its demise, love had been unmasked to reveal its true identity: infatuation.
Love had been an elusive beast for Stef so far. It was one of the reasons she was sure that an arranged marriage with Emmett would work. How could two people who hated each other fall for each other? But the kisses they’d shared so far were proof that he had a bigger effect on her than she’d previously acknowledged.
A physical effect.
While she didn’t have a problem with attraction, being attracted to him was foreign. And like any other unfamiliar circumstance, she was both excited and nervous to explore. Could they proceed without getting carried away? She wasn’t sure. Even the most carefully managed campfire had the potential to spread.
A soft rap on her door brought her out of her ponderings. Margaret’s muffled voice announced, “Do you need help with anything, dear?”
When Stefanie opened the door Margaret cupped her mouth with her hands, the older woman’s eyes welling with tears.
“Oh, you’re a vision!”
“Thank you.” Stef turned to admire her dress in the full-length mirror standing in the corner of the room. The sheath dress featured a lacy pattern over the bodice and slim skirt. The halter neckline was supported by thin spaghetti straps that ran over her shoulder blades, fastening at the middle of her back. There was a cutout showing a slice of her lower back. It was sexy but simple—exactly her taste.
“I brought you this, but you don’t have to wear it if you don’t want to.” From behind her back, Margaret produced a hair clip studded with white baby’s breath, green leaves and poinsettia petals. “Is it too much?”
“Not at all.” Stefanie stroked the petals of the delicate live bouquet. “It’s beautiful.”
“I made it.” Margaret pointed at the greenery. “That’s mistletoe. We had extra.”
Stef chuckled. To new Christmas memories indeed.
She turned around and Margaret fastened the flowers in place at the back of Stefanie’s updo.
“I have your bouquet downstairs waiting for you. My, does your man look handsome.”
“Yes, he has that way about him. Does he also look nervous?”
“My son poured him a few inches of bourbon and joined him in a prewedding toast. Lyle says that it’s common practice whenever he officiates a ceremony. But to answer your question, no. Emmett doesn’t seem nervous. More...excited. Like he’s anticipating seeing you. You’re going to knock him out cold.”
“Maybe I overshot it.” Stefanie swept her hands down her sleek skirt. “My goal was simply to keep him at the ceremony until the end.”
“Don’t worry about that. I’ll lock the front door.” Margaret elbowed Stef’s arm playfully. “Want me to walk down with you? I’ll situate the train of your dress and then run downstairs and out of the way.”
At the staircase, Margaret took up a length of the dress’s skirt and spread it behind her. Stef rested her hand on the railing to keep from tumbling face-first into her own wedding. Her heart pounded mercilessly with each step she took, her mind on her family and how they were going to absolutely freak out when they learned she’d done this without them.
“Miles!” Margaret called from the top of the stairs. “Your photographer,” she whispered to Stefanie. “I’ll step out of your shot.”
Margaret fluffed Stefanie’s dress once more before a thin man with a thick dark mustache stepped around the corner. He lifted his camera, and Stef did her best to hide her thoughts about her family and focus on the present. She smiled as she had for years of family portraits and interviews and a zillion Ferguson Oil events. She was schooled in how to smile with her eyes and position her face for the most flattering angle. As a flash lit the room, she carefully walked down the stairs as classic Christmas carols played in the living room.
Five steps from the bottom, though, her smile faltered, the photographer and guests and background music forgotten. Emmett had been en route to the living room but didn’t make it all the way in. He stopped, frozen solid, his mouth dropped open in a gentle gape. Blue-gray eyes scanned her from head to toe, heating when they returned to meet hers.
Margaret tutted and took his arm, practically dragging him into the living room, but not before Emmett’s lips curved and he threw Stefanie a sexy, devil-may-care wink over his shoulder.
From his position next to the minister, Emmett swallowed past a dry throat and rubbed together sweaty palms. He’d fooled himself into believing that standing in as a groom would be the same as serving as a groomsman...not that he’d done that before, either. But he’d attended weddings before, so he knew the routine.
Watching Stefanie walk toward him in a long white dress was nothing like watching another bride make her way to her groom—mostly because this time, the groom was him.