beautiful bride. Tristan’s going to be so proud of you.”
Tristan. Suzie swallowed. Her golden prince. Gentle, steady, reliable, responsible, charming, successful—the perfect husband-to-be. He might not be a man to inspire mindless passion, but mindless passion was dangerously misleading, blinding one to reality. She would always know where she was with Tristan. He was a man a girl could rely on, depend on, unlike…
She pushed the unwanted thought away, refusing to think of Mack Chaney on her wedding day. Or any other day, ever again. He was past history. And good riddance.
“You’re going to make a perfect couple,” Lucy said with a sigh. Tristan was so handsome, and so rich and Suzie, whom she’d known from their school days, had magically transformed herself from an unruly-haired imp into a regal, sleek-haired princess. “Just perfect.”
Yes, everything was perfect…almost too perfect. Suzie felt a momentary qualm. It all seemed unreal, like a dream. A glittering Cinderella fairy tale. She’d never expected to find the perfect man. She’d never believed that a perfect man existed. The only men she’d been close to in her life had been anything but perfect.
She was anything but perfect herself.
She moved quickly across to the window, wobbling a little on her ivory satin high heels. She couldn’t look at her mother or Lucy, afraid they might see the flare of guilty panic in her eyes, the flickering fear that she was about to be exposed as a fraud.
Tristan didn’t know her at all. Not the real Suzie—the scruffy, impulsive, slapdash Suzie. He only knew the elegant, coolly composed, immaculately groomed Suzanne, as he preferred to call her—the sedate, ladylike image she’d been trying so hard to keep up for the past three months—with her mother’s encouragement.
From the moment Suzie had caught the eye of the young leather-goods tycoon at the Australian fashion awards three months ago, her mother had been determined not to let Tristan get away. Even Tristan’s mother, the snobbish Felicia Guthrie, had come to accept her future daughter-in-law, despite Suzie’s modest upbringing and unexceptional background.
It would have helped, of course, that Suzie had recently won the Gown of the Year award. She was now somebody. A talented young designer with a bright future.
Suzie’s mouth went dry as she saw the huge crowd gathered in the garden below. As well as the rows of seats for the invited guests, which were filled already, there was a milling mob behind, with a daunting sea of cameras and giant zoom lenses, all waiting to see her latest spectacular design.
She nervously fingered the long sleeves of her elegant lace gown and the tiny pearl beads scattered over the tight-fitting bodice with its dropped waistline, then let her hand flutter down over the flared skirt.
Her natural curls were nowhere in sight, skillfully straightened into gleaming sleekness, the way she’d worn it for the past three months. On her head she wore a small pearl tiara, with a gossamer-sheer veil. Nothing must hide or detract from her wedding gown.
“Where’s Tristan?” She swung around, her voice higher than usual. “It’s the bride who’s supposed to be late, not the bridegroom.” Not having a father to give her away, she’d decided to walk into the garden arm in arm with her future husband.
“He’s not late,” her mother soothed. “He’ll be here any minute.”
Lucy ran to the door and peeked out. “He’s coming up the stairs! Are you ready, Suzie?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be.” Suzie gulped in some air. Once she saw Tristan, once he smiled at her with his golden smile, she would feel a whole lot better.
He entered the room a few seconds later, a picture of sartorial elegance in formal white, his golden hair burnished by the crystal chandelier above. Outside, in the bright afternoon sunlight, it would gleam even more.
“Suzanne…you look like a dream. A princess.”
As she felt the warmth of his golden smile and saw the loving pride beaming from his gentle gray eyes, her qualms slipped away. She was going to have a very safe, secure and tranquil life with Tristan. Peace, security and contentment were what she longed for after the fights and frustrations and wildly swinging emotions that she and her mother had had to endure with Suzie’s charming, talented but totally irresponsible father.
The kind of life Suzie would have had to endure with Mack Chaney if she’d been mad enough to give in to her foolish passion for him.
Getting tied up with Mack long-term would have been a disaster. The Mack Chaneys of this world weren’t cut out for a secure, settled, pipe-and-slippers kind of life—the kind of life she wanted. All Mack cared about was speeding around on his Harley-Davidson and playing with his computer, idly surfing the Internet and dreaming wildly impractical dreams—pie-in-the-sky pipe dreams. She shut her mind to his other vices.
“Are you ready to go down?” Tristan asked, and she jerked herself back to earth. This was the most important day of her entire life and she was thinking of—
No, she wasn’t.
She let Tristan steer her toward the door, but they never reached it. Someone burst through the doorway first.
Suzie’s eyes widened in disbelief when she saw Mack Chaney bearing down on her like an avenging angel—or devil—in a black leather jacket, tight-fitting black leather pants, and black boots. His dark eyes were glittering with purpose and his thick black hair was as wild and untamed as it had always been.
“You’re actually intending to marry this pampered fraud?” he barked, halting abruptly in front of her. “I never thought you’d go ahead with it, Suzie. I thought you’d see the light long before today.”
“How dare you burst in here and—” Suzie stopped. “What do you mean—fraud?” She glared at him.
“Get him out of here!” sputtered her mother. “Call security!” she commanded Lucy.
“Wait!” Mack held up a hand. “You can’t marry Tristan Guthrie, Suzie. Not if you want your marriage to be legal!”
Suzie felt Tristan’s body shudder against her and heard her mother’s sharp intake of breath. She glanced up at her shocked bridegroom, but he didn’t meet her look, or make any move to draw her into the comforting protection of his shoulder, not even offering her a reassuring hand. Shock seemed to have robbed him of movement—and of his voice. His stunned gaze was transfixed on Mack Chaney’s dark-eyed, ruggedly good-looking face.
Suzie’s mother stepped forward, her face contorted in fury. “You’d try anything, wouldn’t you, Mack Chaney! I always knew you were trouble!”
Mack’s darkly sensual mouth curved a trifle. “I think the fact that Tristan Guthrie is already married justifies my presence here.”
Suzie swayed, feeling faint. It was Mack whose hand shot out to steady her, not Tristan’s. Tristan was still frozen and speechless with shock.
“Is this some kind of sick joke?” she hissed at Mack as the faintness began to recede and anger took over. It wouldn’t be the first time Mack Chaney had played a practical joke on her. But never one like this. Never one so cruel.
“Why not ask your bridegroom?” Mack suggested, his tone derisive.
“I
