Her man of honor, p.1
Her Man of Honor, page 1
Henry began unwrapping the foil on the bottle of Dom as he made his way straight to the bathroom.
He didn’t bother checking the rest of the luxurious suite for signs of life. No need. He’d known exactly where to find Everly after the wedding had gone belly-up smack in the middle of the vows.
He’d always known.
Sure enough, a box of Ritz crackers rested on its side on the slick marble floor, along with her cell phone—encased in silver glitter, because of course—and a generous pile of crumbs. He ground his teeth at the sight of the sad tableau and fought the ever-increasing urge to find Gregory and pound him into the ground. How could he do something like this to her?
Henry wondered briefly if that pathetic fool had any idea that Everly liked to hide in the bathroom when things in her life went topsy-turvy. Of course Gregory didn’t know. No doubt that was part of the problem.
The door to the suite clicked and Everly joined him. Her dress seemed to take up half the room. Henry was no fashion aficionado, but from the moment he’d first set eyes on her in that delicate, ethereal cupcake of a wedding gown, he’d had a strange pang in his chest. She looked beautiful. Always—but something about the way she looked today was...different. Special.
What the hell? This was Everly, for crying out loud. She was the closest friend he had in the world. And yet Henry’s reaction when Gregory had bailed on Everly midceremony had been one of stone-cold relief...
Dear Reader,
Thank you so much for reading Her Man of Honor! I’m especially excited about this book because it’s the start of my sparkly new series for Harlequin Special Edition, Love, Unveiled. This series follows the romantic entanglements of a group of family members and friends who make up the editorial staff of Veil, Manhattan’s premier bridal magazine. So get ready for swoony romance, fun female friendships and a dash of New York glamor!
Love, Unveiled kicks off with Her Man of Honor, the love story of Everly England and Henry Aston. Everly and Henry have been best friends for as long as they can remember—so much so that Everly asks Henry to be the “man of honor” at her glamorous Manhattan wedding. But when things don’t go as planned and Everly ends up licking her wounds in a pathetic heap of tulle on the bathroom floor of The Plaza’s honeymoon suite, the line blurs between love and friendship. What looks like the end might just be a new beginning for them both.
I hope this story is a fun escape, and if you enjoy it, please look out for the next two books in the Love, Unveiled series, coming later this year!
Happy reading,
Teri
Her Man of Honor
Teri Wilson
USA TODAY bestselling author Teri Wilson writes heartwarming romance for Harlequin Special Edition. Three of Teri’s books have been adapted into Hallmark Channel Original Movies, most notably Unleashing Mr. Darcy. She is also a recipient of the prestigious RITA® Award for excellence in romantic fiction and a recent inductee into the San Antonio Women’s Hall of Fame.
Teri has a special fondness for cute dogs and pretty dresses, and she loves following the British royal family. Visit her at www.teriwilson.net.
Books by Teri Wilson
Harlequin Special Edition
Lovestruck, Vermont
Baby Lessons
Firehouse Christmas Baby
The Trouble with Picket Fences
Furever Yours
How to Rescue a Family
A Double Dose of Happiness
Montana Mavericks: Six Brides for Six Brothers
The Maverick’s Secret Baby
Love, Unveiled
Her Man of Honor
Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com for more titles.
In loving memory of my grandmother Peggy McNamara Wilson
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Epilogue
Excerpt from Meeting His Secret Daughter by Marie Ferrarella
Chapter One
According to her sister, Everly England had been waiting her entire life to wear Marchesa.
Addison always credited Everly’s childhood Disney princess obsession for putting visions of frothy ball gowns in her head, but truthfully, her adult life had much more to do with it. As a columnist for Veil, Manhattan’s premiere bridal magazine, Everly was immersed in chiffon and sequins on an almost daily basis. So of course she had opinions about what she’d wear when her big day finally came. And yes, as Addison predicted, she chose Marchesa—a romantic masterpiece of a gown with a lace bodice and full tulle skirt covered with delicate lace flower appliqués and a pale pink satin bow tied at the waist.
Cinderella would have been proud.
There was only one problem. In all of Everly’s fantasies involving the wedding dress of her dreams, she saw herself standing beside Gregory, the love of her life. She’d envisioned the wedding so many times that the tiniest details were ingrained in her head, as if they’d already taken place—the exchanging of vows, the first kiss, the cutting of the cake.
It had all gone so smoothly in her imagination. So elegantly, like one of the stunning pictorials Veil was so famous for. Never once had Everly pictured her gorgeous designer gown billowing around her in a dejected puff as she sat cross-legged on the bathroom floor of the Plaza Hotel’s honeymoon suite. Alone.
Yet, there she was.
She tried not to think about the towering white cake from Ron Ben-Israel sitting untouched downstairs in the Terrace room as she reached for another cracker and topped it with a generous dose of squirt cheese. As if the indignity of being left at the altar wasn’t bad enough, she was eating cheese from a can. Who knew they even sold something so deliciously pathetic in the Plaza gift shop?
The skirt of her exquisite Marchesa was littered with cracker crumbs, and Everly couldn’t have cared less. Where was Gregory? And why had he waited until they were standing hand in hand in front of all their nearest and dearest as well as photographers from both Veil and the New York Times to decide that he didn’t want to marry her after all?
She probably should have seen it coming. Scratch that—she definitely should have known something was wrong. Everly was, after all, a bona fide expert on love and relationships. She’d been writing the Lovebirds column at Veil for nearly three years now. Every month she answered letters from nervous brides-to-be, dishing out advice about everything from what to do when the groom showed zero interest in choosing flower arrangements to how often an engaged couple should be sleeping together.
That last one was always tricky. Planning a wedding was a stressful time, and every couple was different. But somehow Everly sensed that four straight months of abstinence wasn’t the norm. If a bride had written her a letter describing the bedroom situation between Everly and Gregory leading up to the ceremony, she would have found a way to delicately suggest counseling. Or at the very least a candid heart-to-heart.
How could she have been so blind?
She topped another cracker with a generous swirl of canned cheese, and just as she was about to bite into it, her cell phone blared to life. It vibrated across the polished tile floor as her wedding march ring tone filled the air. Ugh.
She glanced at the little screen. Addison again. Everly knew she should answer it, but she just couldn’t face the Veil crew. Not now. Addison was her sister, but as deputy editor, she was also Everly’s boss. Their close friend and third member of their girl squad, Daphne, also worked at Veil as the beauty editor. Working with family and friends had always been one of Everly’s favorite parts about her job. Every Thursday night, she, Addison and Daphne got together for happy hour to dish about the office and dream about the day Addison would be promoted and the three of them would take over the magazine. They had so many plans...fabulous plans, big plans.
Unfortunately, none of those plans included Everly making a huge joke out of her column.
Or her life in general.
She banged out a quick text assuring Addison she was fine and just needed some space, then switched her phone to silent and flipped it facedown on the tile. For once, Veil was the furthest thing from her mind. What was she supposed to do now? She couldn’t hide in the honeymoon suite for the rest of her life. The Plaza had comped the room for one night, which was one of the generous perks of working for a bridal magazine. Checkout was at eleven in the morning, though, and Everly didn’t even know where her overnight bag was. She was going to have to walk-of-shame it out of the hotel onto Central Park South in her wedding gown and hail a cab home.
Lovely.
She blinked back tears as she reached, yet again, for the can of cheese. But then a knock sounded on the hotel room door and she froze, mid-squirt.
Good grief, her sister was relentless. Couldn’t she and Daphne take a hint and give her half a second to absorb the fact that everything she’d believed in for the past two years had apparently been a big, fat lie? When had Gregory stopped lo
Everly bit down hard on her bottom lip to keep from sobbing out loud. Maybe if she stayed very still and very quiet, they’d give up and go away so she could have her breakdown in private.
The pounding on the door resumed, louder this time. Privacy was a pipe dream, apparently.
Everly’s head fell back against the bathroom’s grand, opulent tub, and she groaned, “Would you please stop before someone calls security?”
She dragged herself off the floor and made her way to the door in a trail of tulle and lace, canned cheese in hand. The only thing that would make this situation even more awkward would be the addition of a starched Plaza security officer. So she took a deep breath, braced herself for the sight of Addison and Daphne in their bridesmaids’ gowns and swung the door open.
“Hey.” Henry Aston, Everly’s closest friend outside the Veil girls, arched a brow as his gaze homed in on the can in her hand. “Wow. You know all those fancy wedding hors d’oeuvres you and what’s-his-name picked out are being passed around in the ballroom, right? I could fix you a plate and bring it up. The avocado crostini is fantastic.”
What’s-his-name. Everly couldn’t help but smile through her tears. Despite the fact that Henry spent more time on airplanes than he did in his West Village apartment, he definitely knew Gregory well enough to remember his name.
“Thanks, but no.” She didn’t want any part of the wedding food, even the posh homage to her beloved avocado toast that she’d been so excited about adding to the menu.
She didn’t want any part of the wedding, period. Not even the dress. She’d be wrapped in a terry cloth Plaza bathrobe right now if she could have managed to unlace the back of her Marchesa by herself.
“Got it. It probably wouldn’t pair well with Easy Cheese anyway.” Henry shrugged a single muscular tuxedo-clad shoulder. “This might, though.”
From behind his back, he produced an unopened bottle of champagne with a pink foil label—a much coveted Dom Pérignon Rosé. Another perk of working for Veil.
“The magazine sent that over for the toast. Just one bottle.” The guests were getting a more reasonably priced label. This was bottle was special. The thick glass had even been engraved For the Lovebirds, from your Veil Family. Everly narrowed her gaze. “How did you manage to get your hands on that?”
“Opening this sucker suddenly seemed more crucial than ever. I have my ways. Isn’t that why I’m here?” He reached to give the pink ribbon at her waist an affectionate tug as if the delicate sash were a string she’d tied around her finger to remind herself why she’d scheduled the ceremony around his ridiculously busy travel schedule.
He’s your friend.
Your best friend.
And right now, he was proving himself to be one heck of a man of honor.
“You can bring that bottle inside under one condition—no wedding talk. None whatsoever.” If she wanted to rehash everything that had transpired in the past hour, she’d have answered one of Addison’s many calls. Her sister would have been more than happy to talk the nonwedding to death.
Everly didn’t want to talk. She just wanted someone to sit quietly beside her and not say a word...to just be there. Henry had always been good at that, even back in college. Eight years ago, on what was undoubtedly the worst night of her life—even worse than this one—he’d parked himself on the floor of her dorm bathroom and held her hand for hours until she finally cried herself to sleep with her head on his shoulder. It had been exactly what she needed.
She looked up at him now, and his gaze softened just enough for her to know he was thinking about that night, too. It was just as raw and real to him as it was to her. Of course it was.
Then he blinked, and she was no longer looking into the eyes of the boy who’d lived across the hall at Columbia. These eyes belonged to someone older. Wiser. All grown up.
“As you wish.” He plucked the boutonniere from the lapel of his tuxedo jacket—blue thistle, eucalyptus and soft pink blooms that had already begun to wilt. Then he tossed it over her shoulder, where it landed in the suite’s gilded trash can with a whispered thud. “No wedding talk.”
* * *
Henry began unwrapping the foil on the bottle of Dom as he made his way straight to the bathroom. He didn’t bother checking the rest of the luxurious suite for signs of life. No need. He’d known exactly where to find Everly after the wedding had gone bottoms up smack in the middle of the vows.
He’d always known.
Sure enough, a box of Ritz Crackers rested on its side on the slick marble floor, along with her cell phone—encased in silver glitter, because of course—and a generous pile of crumbs. He ground his teeth at the sight of the sad tableau and fought the ever-increasing urge to find Gregory and pound him into the ground. How could he do something like this to her? How could anyone?
Henry wondered briefly if that pathetic jackass had any idea that Everly liked to hide in bathroom when things in her life went topsy-turvy. He peeled the remaining foil away from the bottle and shook his head. Of course Gregory didn’t know. No doubt that was part of the problem.
In the jackass’s defense, however, Henry had a feeling Addison wouldn’t know where to find her, either. The bathroom thing wasn’t something Everly did often—only during the serious storms of her life, like that long ago night at Columbia.
Like now.
The door to the suite clicked shut, and Everly joined him at the his-and-her vanity. Her dress seemed to take up half the room. Henry was no fashion aficionado, but from the moment he’d first set eyes on her in that delicate, ethereal cupcake of a wedding gown, he’d had a strange pang in his chest. She looked beautiful. Everly had always been beautiful, but something about the way she looked today was...different. Special.
Then the strangest thing had happened. Henry had watched her walk down the aisle toward the jackass, and the pang in his chest had blossomed into a full-on ache.
What. The. Hell?
This was Everly, for crying out loud. She was his friend. Not just any friend, but the closest friend he had in the world. He shouldn’t be aching around her. Nor should he feel oddly hollow at the thought of her marrying another man, and yet...
He had.
And although he’d never admit as much in a million years, Henry’s initial reaction when Gregory had bailed on Everly mid-ceremony had been one of stone-cold relief.
What in God’s name was wrong with him?
You’re the man of honor, remember?
Merriam-Webster invaded his thoughts. Honor: a keen sense of ethical conduct. See also—integrity.
He blinked. Hard. Then he caught Everly’s gaze in the reflection of the huge mirror above the vanity. Her eyes were glassy. Her irises bright violet—even brighter than usual. She’d been crying.
Somehow, someway, Henry would fix this mess. He had to. That’s why he was here. Friendship aside, he’d been somewhat surprised when Everly had called and asked him to be her man of honor. He didn’t know the first thing about planning a bridal shower or throwing a bachelorette party or whatever else a proper maid of honor like Addison or Daphne would surely do. For the majority of the engagement, work had prevented him from being anywhere near Manhattan.
But he was here now, and no way was he going to let her down. Whatever weirdness he’d felt earlier had passed. His best friend was falling apart. She needed him.
With a twist of his wrist, the cork popped out of the rose-gold bottle of champagne. Everly didn’t even flinch. She just stared blankly ahead, and Henry hated Gregory even more for what he’d put her through in front of her family, friends and coworkers. Hell, half of Manhattan had been there to witness it.
“I’ll go get some glasses.” He turned to head for the suite’s minibar, but before he could navigate his way past the dress, Everly took the Dom from his hands.
“No need.” She took a swig straight from the bottle.
He arched a brow. “Are you going to share, or shall I order another from room service?”
Somehow, that seemed like a bad idea. Monumentally bad.
