Chapter One
Alfie
Ashburton, England
How did I end up in this bloody wedding?
The small church was alive with chatter. Wedding guests were arriving steadily now as the clock ticked down to when it would start. I’d never been a fan of weddings, but Harry Peterson had asked me to be the best man. I couldn’t tell one of my best mates no—even if it had been over two years since the last time I saw him.
We kept in touch over the years. Harry had traveled to America a few times, even living there for a few years, before coming back to England with Molly Anderson in tow. The two had seemed so sickeningly in love at the time.
And it made all of this shit that much worse.
The door to the small changing room that overlooked the green acres the small church sat upon opened. Loud chatter swept through the room followed by Harry Peterson half dressed with his black coat draped over an arm. His blond hair was slicked back, but it didn’t hide the fact that his eyes were bloodshot and his skin pale. He was still drunk and in a foul mood despite what had happened last night.
“I’m here barely on time no bloody thanks to you,” Harry said, surly. “You’re supposed to be my best mate. That means you get my drunk ass up in time for my own wedding.”
“I told you that I was leaving the pub,” I said and turned back to face the mirror to loop my tie properly. “I left word with your other groomsmen to get you up on time.”
Harry laughed. “Right. Those blokes can barely make it to work on time. I’m damn lucky that my phone went off before the battery died.” He smoothed a hand through his hair. “I’d still be sleeping in that back room at the pub.”
What had happened to my best mate? I scanned his haggard face while he readied himself by fastening his cuff links. Something had changed him after university years ago. He had never been the type of man to party, drink excessively, or cheat on the woman he loves. I had been that type of man then. It was as though our lives had swapped over the years. Harry had left for America, and I stayed in Devon to work on building up my business. Something had shifted.
Loved. I added the mental correction as a fresh wave of anger crashed over me. The damn idiot was going to make a mockery not only out of himself, but the entire wedding if anyone ever found out what had happened the night before.
“You’d still be sleeping with that little love of yours,” I said, succinctly. “Who happens to be, in case you failed to remember, not the woman you are marrying today.”
No trace of remorse or regret filled Harry’s face. He fastened his last cuff link with a shrug of his shoulders.
“I’m aware of that,” he said. “It was a bachelor party. Things like that happen all the time.”
“Not usually,” I said, shaking my head at him. “I don’t understand what the hell you were thinking, but your soon-to-be-wife doesn’t deserve that type of man.”
I kept my face neutral as possible when it came to talking about Molly Anderson. I had only met her once in New York when I had flown in for business two years ago. Her job was in marketing, and she was damn good at it according to Harry. I still couldn’t shake the image I had of her two years ago with her jet black hair tied back in a loose braid, freckles on her tanned skin, and those olive green eyes flashing at him. She had been wearing a pair of high waisted cut-off denim shorts that had showed off those shapely legs and a simple white tank with sunglasses hanging off the front.
You’re a fucking idiot, Harry.
“It’s not really love,” Harry said and dusted off lint from his jacket. “I’m marrying Molly for other reasons besides pleasing Mum and Dad.”
Curiosity got the better of me. “Such as?”
“Molly recently started her own marketing business. It’s damn expensive to run your own business in America, but also internationally. My business is booming.” Harry sighed tiredly as he rubbed at his undoubtedly aching head. “My head is on fire. We both are benefiting from tax deductions here.”