Page 2 of One Night Stand After Another
The desire to bolt was staggering.
She locked her knees, called up her text conversation with Brittany, and typed.
Clara:I need better than bulletproof.
Immediate bubbles popped up, thank God.
Brittany:Try tequila.
Clara:The wedding reception is at Zane Brampton’s restaurant.
Brittany:That’s less than ideal, but don’t you dare run and waste that incredible blowout.
Britt knew her so well. Clara wanted to be in her hotel room, with a crochet hook in her hand and her latest project on her lap. Could she run in such high heels? She was about to find out.
Clara:I can’t do this.
Before she could hit send, silky-smooth fabric brushed her calf and a bare arm hooked hers, trapping her. “Well, well, look what the cat dragged in. I’ve been dying to see if you’d actually show up.”
Clara’s gaze slid sideways, like ice-cream melting off a cone, and landed on Lila, Jack’s gorgeous new wife. She was gesturing down a hallway that looked like it must certainly lead to the only place Clara could hide in this joint: the ladies’ room.
“Shall we?” Lila asked.
“Uh—sure?” She couldn’t say no to the bride, not when the woman had an iron grip and a slightly terrifying scowl on her face. Shoulder-to-shoulder, Lila hustled her down the hallway, the bustled skirt of her incredible gown bumping Clara’s legs with every step. What was going on?
She scrambled for something to say, and settled on, “Thank you for inviting me.”
“Funny—I didn’t know I had.”
Awkward.But also, just the reality check Clara needed. She could do this, she just needed a hot second to regroup. Old Clara would already be in an Uber. New Clara had a spine.I am not running from my problems ever again.Not even a Bridezilla ambush.
“You first,” Clara said, bending to gather the train of the bridal gown and ease Lila through the doorway so that she wouldn’t lose a single sequin or bead.
The door shut behind them. Blessedly, they were alone. Clara sank down onto the fainting couch—appropriate, that.
Lila hiked her hip onto the counter until she was half-sitting and half-leaning, opalescent fabric shimmering.
Clara knew she was staring, but she’d been hiding in the very back corner of the church at the wedding, and she’d barely caught a glimpse of the bride. Lila’s wavy strawberry-blond hair was swept up into a gloriously simple twist. Her dress was so beautiful it hurt. Her makeup was flawless, emphasizing her bright-blue, very curious eyes.
“You didn’t know I was coming?” Clara asked, grimacing.
Lila crossed her arms and shook her head. “I knew you were coming because I got your RSVP, but I didn’t invite you.” She leveled a look at Clara that made her feel seen down to the California raspberry polish on her toes. “Would you like to tell me whythe hellmy husband secretly invited his ex-girlfriend to our wedding and then took off like a shot the second she walked through the door?”
…
“You owe me,” Jack said.
“Get out of my kitchen.” Zane didn’t look up from the caviar he was dolloping precisely on the top of each smoked salmon taco. The chaos of a kitchen in full swing surrounded him, but he’d carved out a space to have some fun. “Go be the groom—the groom who actually owes me quite a bit of money for closing my restaurant to the public for his wedding reception.”
Jack ignored him and picked up a spoon, turning his skill to plating the next platter of hors d’oeuvres, probably trying to make them look better than Zane’s—and succeeding. They’d put the past behind them and kindled a cautious friendship after Jack opened Inferno last year, but it always irritated Zane that everything was so damn easy for Jack.
“Dude, seriously. Get out.” Zane shot him an exasperated look. “You’re supposed to be enjoying your big day.”
At that, Jack laughed. “Oh, I am. But I’ll be enjoying it even more when you join the party, trust me. Clara Duke just walked in, and you are in serious trouble. If you thought she looked good enough to steal ten years ago…”
“What?” He fumbled the spoon, slinging a mess of caviar onto the plate.
“It was your idea to invite her,” Jack added.
