studying the woman reflected back at her. Wasn’t she supposed to look beautiful? Weren’t all brides?
The gown, while not her style, was certainly eye-catching. With twinkling rhinestones sewn onto the heavy brocade, it sparkled. The lacy veil was beautiful and softened the sharp angles of Megan’s face and hid some of the severity of the dark hair she’d pulled into a tight knot to tame. But she didn’t look beautiful. She shouldn’t have expected that she would; she had never looked beautiful before. Why should her wedding day be any different?
No matter how much makeup the beautician had applied, the dark circles were still visible beneath her dark eyes. Tears brimmed in them, but she blinked them away. She wouldn’t feel sorry for herself anymore. She had done enough of that the past several months. She’d nearly drowned in self-pity and guilt.
The knob rattled as someone turned it and began to open the door to the bride’s dressing room. She hurriedly tugged the veil over her face to hide the hint of tears she couldn’t quite clear from her eyes. They kept rushing back—every time she thought of him.
She had to stop thinking about him. He was gone. But even if he wasn’t, he wouldn’t have ever come back to her, not after what she’d done. She had to stop thinking about the past and focus on the future, not that she deserved one.
Because he didn’t have one...
Marrying Richard was the right thing to do. He’d always been there for her. Even after she’d broken up with him, Richard had remained her friend. And when her heart had been broken, he’d tried to piece it back together. Eventually, he had even accepted that there was no patching a heart as shattered as hers. He’d insisted that their friendship was a stronger and safer foundation for a marriage than love.
Safe had sounded good to her. And there was no one safer than Richard. He was quiet and shy and nervous and cautious. He wouldn’t put himself or her in any danger for any reason. He would always be there for her—like he’d always been.
Not like Gage...
The door opened fully, but she didn’t turn toward it. She suspected it was her matron of honor, who was supposed to have arrived with the beautician an hour earlier. Her sister, Ellen, was always late. She also had three little girls she’d needed to get ready besides herself, though.
Megan’s heart swelled with love for her nieces. They and the kids she worked with every day made her yearn to have children of her own. She wanted to be a mom like her sister—loving and fun.
She didn’t remember her own mom. Dad had been both a father and mother to her.
Since whoever had entered was quiet—it couldn’t be her sister and nieces. It had to be her dad.
“So what do you think?” Megan asked as she focused on the mirror again. The lace distorted her vision, so she nearly saw it: the beauty of being a bride.
But then a shadow stepped behind her. It was tall and dark in a black tuxedo. The mirror showed only his long legs and his chest. He was too thin to be her father. Too tall to be Richard. She had no idea who he was until he stepped closer yet. Then she saw his head—the short golden hair, the bright green eyes, the darker blond stubble on his jaw...
Just how badly had the veil distorted her vision? Who was she mistaking for a dead man?
Her hands trembling, she fumbled with her veil, pulling it back so she could focus on the apparition. She whirled around to face him.
It couldn’t be...
Gage was dead. He had died months ago, his body lost in some foreign country. But that hadn’t stopped her from seeing him everywhere, every time she’d closed her eyes and tried to sleep.
She shouldn’t be seeing him here—not on her wedding day to another man.
“No...” she murmured. Her knees trembled and weakened, threatening to fold beneath her. “No...”
“So what do I think?” Gage repeated her question. He thought he’d been punched in the gut. The minute he’d opened the door and seen her—sparkling like a vision in white—all his breath had left his lungs. His chest burned, his ribs ached. He felt like he was getting the life pounded out of him all over again.
Her usually honey-toned skin was pale except for the dark circles beneath her enormous eyes. With her sharp cheekbones, small pointed chin and wide dark eyes, she appeared fragile—vulnerable. He knew she was tougher than she looked, though. She’d been tough on him when she’d broken up with him. Then she swayed on her feet, as if she were about to faint.
Instinctively, he reached out to catch her, closing his hands around her waist. She was thinner than she’d been when he’d seen her last. Maybe she was one of those brides who’d been starving herself to fit into her gown, to look good for her wedding photos and her groom. Maybe that was why she trembled in his grasp.
From starvation...
He preferred the sexy curves she’d had over her new svelte figure. She’d been perfect as she was.
Her breath escaped in a gasp. “You’re real...” she murmured. “You’re alive...”
As he realized what she’d thought, he chuckled. “You’re not seeing a ghost.”
“I thought—everyone thought—that you died in Afghanistan.”
“I was presumed dead,” he said, “but I was just missing.” Missing everyone back home, but most especially her. She had obviously not been missing him at all, though. She’d been dating, getting engaged.
Anger coursed through him, making him shake like she was. His hands tightened around her tiny waist. “So what do I think,” he mused again. “I think you make a beautiful bride, Megan Lynch.”
He had once planned on asking her to be his; he’d even bought the ring. But he had never gotten the chance to give it to her before she’d broken up with him, before she’d broken him.
She flinched as if he’d insulted her. But she’d never been able to accept a compliment as anything but a lie. She’d actually accused him of lying to her, of using her.
His blood heated. This was why he couldn’t protect her—because he wanted to hurt her—like she had hurt him, like her marrying another man was hurting him all over again. “So let me be the first to kiss the bride...”
He gripped her small waist and dragged her up so her feet dangled above the floor. She gasped in shock, her breath whispering across his lips as he lowered his mouth to hers. Her lips were as soft as he remembered, her taste as sweet. He had missed this so much. He’d missed her. He deepened the kiss. Pressing his lips tightly against hers, he slid his tongue into her mouth.
A moan rumbled in her throat. And her hands clasped the back of his head, her fingers sliding over his short hair. She stilled as she touched one of the scars. Those wounds hadn’t hurt, though, at least not in comparison to what she’d done to him.
Remembering the pain she’d caused him, he dragged his mouth from hers. Then he lowered her until her feet touched the floor again. When he released her, she swayed and her palm pressed against his chest.
