The Substitute Bride (The Great Wedding Giveaway Series Book 7) by Kathleen O`Brien Page A
Authors: Kathleen O`Brien
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pretty redhead looked happy, peppy and full of fun. Maybe Robin would make it all up to him, and they could give their own children innocent names, immune to childhood torture.
Griffin Hyatt and Celia Sheridan.
Here Marly’s antennae quivered just a little. Wasn’t there a Sheridan on the Chamber of Commerce staff? Any relation? Surely insiders and their families weren’t allowed to enter.
But maybe contests weren’t quite that strict in a small town like Marietta. She shook off her knee-jerk cynicism, realizing that she was halfway hoping for a scandal. It couldn’t be helped—scandals were simply more interesting than puff pieces.
And...she might as well be honest. Scandal coverage was far more likely to attract a lovely new job for Marly herself.
The other three couples weren’t from Montana. She knew the contest had received national exposure, so she was glad the judges had given at least a few outsiders a chance.
Joan Arrington and Marcus Abernathy, from Illinois.
Melissa Chen and Ralph Ho, from Maine.
Darlene Evers and Buckingham Smith, from Texas.
Marly flicked from one picture to the next, trying to see if the judges had a preferred ‘type’. But from the applications alone it was impossible to tell what had set these eight couples apart from the other nine-hundred-and-ninety-two applications Jane Weiss had reported receiving.
Maybe the videos would provide more fodder. Marly had earphones with her, so she decided to give just one of the videos a quick glance. As she looked at these couples, it was inevitable, of course, that she’d compared their engagements to hers. Weddings cost a fortune, and she had to admit it: if she’d seen a chance to have the expenses footed by someone else, she might have been tempted.
But what would she have said in her video? Could she have told the truth about why she and Evan were getting married? “I like him a lot, really. But we’re only getting married because we placed too much faith in an old condom. Frankly, we’re making the best of a bad situation.”
She suspected she wouldn’t have made the shortlist with that unromantic story. What did normal people say...people who really were in love? Curious, she was about to open the first video attachment when a shadow fell over her computer.
Uh-oh . Had she lingered so long Lacey had returned to check up on her? Instinctively, she flicked the iPad off, hoping her reflexes were fast enough. Then she glanced over her shoulder, smiling to assure Lacey everything was fine.
“Sorry—I didn’t mean to camp out—”
But it wasn’t Lacey. It was Drake. He leaned against the marble pillar behind her. He looked as gorgeous as ever, in his gold-white-brown plaid flannel shirt, his faded, muscle-hugging blue jeans, and his familiar sheepskin jacket folded over his arm.
“Hey,” he said, smiling deeply enough that both dimples came out to help. “Your mother told me I might find you here.”
“She did?” She tried to hide her surprise—that he’d be looking for her, and that her mother would have helped him. Her mother had never approved of the Everetts, even before the infamous date-that-didn’t-happen.
Like a light bulb suddenly glowing, Marly realized her mother must always have known Mr. Everett had a drinking problem. She wouldn’t have shared that unsavory gossip with Marly. She wouldn’t have felt the need to—she’d expected her daughter to accept her edicts without question.
And for the most part, Marly had. The date with Drake had been her first real act of defiance.
“I was hoping you could join me for a quick lunch,” he said. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet, as long as you’re going to be profiling interesting characters around town.”
She narrowed her eyes. “I am?”
She had written her piece about Erica Applebaum sometime during her sleepless night, and she’d emailed it to her mother,
Griffin Hyatt and Celia Sheridan.
Here Marly’s antennae quivered just a little. Wasn’t there a Sheridan on the Chamber of Commerce staff? Any relation? Surely insiders and their families weren’t allowed to enter.
But maybe contests weren’t quite that strict in a small town like Marietta. She shook off her knee-jerk cynicism, realizing that she was halfway hoping for a scandal. It couldn’t be helped—scandals were simply more interesting than puff pieces.
And...she might as well be honest. Scandal coverage was far more likely to attract a lovely new job for Marly herself.
The other three couples weren’t from Montana. She knew the contest had received national exposure, so she was glad the judges had given at least a few outsiders a chance.
Joan Arrington and Marcus Abernathy, from Illinois.
Melissa Chen and Ralph Ho, from Maine.
Darlene Evers and Buckingham Smith, from Texas.
Marly flicked from one picture to the next, trying to see if the judges had a preferred ‘type’. But from the applications alone it was impossible to tell what had set these eight couples apart from the other nine-hundred-and-ninety-two applications Jane Weiss had reported receiving.
Maybe the videos would provide more fodder. Marly had earphones with her, so she decided to give just one of the videos a quick glance. As she looked at these couples, it was inevitable, of course, that she’d compared their engagements to hers. Weddings cost a fortune, and she had to admit it: if she’d seen a chance to have the expenses footed by someone else, she might have been tempted.
But what would she have said in her video? Could she have told the truth about why she and Evan were getting married? “I like him a lot, really. But we’re only getting married because we placed too much faith in an old condom. Frankly, we’re making the best of a bad situation.”
She suspected she wouldn’t have made the shortlist with that unromantic story. What did normal people say...people who really were in love? Curious, she was about to open the first video attachment when a shadow fell over her computer.
Uh-oh . Had she lingered so long Lacey had returned to check up on her? Instinctively, she flicked the iPad off, hoping her reflexes were fast enough. Then she glanced over her shoulder, smiling to assure Lacey everything was fine.
“Sorry—I didn’t mean to camp out—”
But it wasn’t Lacey. It was Drake. He leaned against the marble pillar behind her. He looked as gorgeous as ever, in his gold-white-brown plaid flannel shirt, his faded, muscle-hugging blue jeans, and his familiar sheepskin jacket folded over his arm.
“Hey,” he said, smiling deeply enough that both dimples came out to help. “Your mother told me I might find you here.”
“She did?” She tried to hide her surprise—that he’d be looking for her, and that her mother would have helped him. Her mother had never approved of the Everetts, even before the infamous date-that-didn’t-happen.
Like a light bulb suddenly glowing, Marly realized her mother must always have known Mr. Everett had a drinking problem. She wouldn’t have shared that unsavory gossip with Marly. She wouldn’t have felt the need to—she’d expected her daughter to accept her edicts without question.
And for the most part, Marly had. The date with Drake had been her first real act of defiance.
“I was hoping you could join me for a quick lunch,” he said. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet, as long as you’re going to be profiling interesting characters around town.”
She narrowed her eyes. “I am?”
She had written her piece about Erica Applebaum sometime during her sleepless night, and she’d emailed it to her mother,
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