Authors: Delia Foster
State of Grace
State of Grace
by
Delia Foster
Copyri
ght © 2014 by Delia Foster
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is coincidental.
Editing Services provided by Chelsea Kuhel,
http://www.madisonseidler.com
Cover by Delia Foster
For Aunt
Sheila
- the world lost a funny, charming, and lovely soul when you left us.
Table of Contents
She was fighting a losing battle.
She cursed, panted, groaned, and twisted her body into several different positions, but it was soon clear that she wasn’t going to win.
Muttering under her breath, she gave up trying to squeeze her boobs into the sleek black bridesmaid’s dress she’d been threatened into wearing. At this point, there really wasn’t any reason to try to make it work. She’d been soundly outvoted by the other bridesmaids (and one incredibly vocal bride) during the painful yet memorable experience of dress shopping.
Unfortunately for her, majority rule hadn’t worked in her favor. She glared at her image in the mirror as she surveyed her figure in the dress.
At least there isn’t a print. Thank God there isn’t a print. I’d look like a couch from the eighties if my body was stuffed into something with a print.
“Are you sure you’re not rushing into this wedding because you’re knocked up? You could have given me more than a few months’ notice so I could have gone on a diet!” she yelled obnoxiously from the bathroom in the bridal suite.
She was met with tinkling laughter from the adjoined room. “You’re not allowed to be an idiot on my wedding day! Shut up and get out here so we can see!” Sophie shouted back.
She gingerly inched out of the bathroom, peering at the woman her brother was about to marry. Sophie sat in the middle of the room as a team of makeup artists and hair stylists worked their magic. Her natural tan glowed against the white silk of her slip, and her dark brown eyes sparkled once she caught sight of Grace.
Grace Sinclair prided herself on being part of the rare, special breed of women who did not get overly emotional. Of course she liked puppies, babies, and rainbows, but she didn’t cry during weddings, sad movies, or when she was in pain.
Except for when she was about to watch this amazing woman make her big brother the happiest man alive.
She sniffled and blinked furiously at the bride. Sophie was one of the most cheerful people she’d ever met. The woman was a veritable saint, seemed never to be one to carry grudges or stay down for long—all of which amazed Grace considering that her life had been marred with far too much responsibility at a young age. She’d pushed past the loss of her father and the dire financial situation he’d left the family in, working hard to pay off their debts and put herself through college. At twenty-five, she’d possessed a career on the fast track and a handsome fiancé to boot, and her life had never seemed better.
Until the day her fiancé had left her standing at the altar with over 500 guests sitting in the church, expecting a “platinum” wedding and reception.
Her fiancé, a dickweed by the name of Zach, hadn’t been able to go through with it, and Sophie was left to pick up the pieces. Grace could only imagine how she’d felt walking a death march down the church aisle, alone and grieving, just to announce to the room of hundreds that the wedding would not be taking place “that day.” From what Grace had gathered, she’d avoided the male gender almost entirely … until the day Lucas had bullied himself into her life.
Now, here she stood three years later with a glow that could only be described as ethereal by anyone who saw her.
“Gracie, you look hot …”Sophie grinned wickedly at her, her voice trailing off before she let out a deep whistle.
Her sniffling stopped, and she blinked a few times to clear the moisture from her eyes—eyes that she narrowed at her soon-to-be sister by marriage. “I. Do. Not. Look. Hot.”
Unfazed by the younger woman, Sophie smiled serenely. Relentless in making her displeasure known, Grace continued on, “Have you noticed it just so happens to be two or three sizes too small and your guests are in danger of getting an X-rated show tonight? You’d better hope they’re all legal.”
Sophie smirked. “Grace, just because you refuse to wear anything but extra-large t-shirts and those god-awful baggy jeans doesn’t mean that your dress is small. That dress is stunning, you look gorgeous, and the girls are probably bouncing for joy because you decided to let them out to breathe.”
“You are so unbelievably lucky you’re getting married today, otherwise, you’d be a dead woman.”
Sophie ignored her as she called for back-up. “Sam, Liz – come look!”
Face flaming, Grace stood with a stubborn smirk set on her mouth. She wasn’t the thinnest girl, and she’d been cursed with curves she tried to hide at every turn, but this was her brother (and soon-to-be-sister’s) wedding, and despite her bluster, she’d reluctantly resolved herself to do whatever it took to keep them happy on this day.
Seconds later, Sophie’s best friend appeared in the room, expecting to see her decked out in all her wedding finery but was instead faced with the groom’s younger sister.
Liz raised her eyebrows. “I don’t remember it looking like that at the bridal shop.”
“That’s because I didn’t try it on. Remember? They didn’t have my size,” she reminded them, exasperated.
Sam openly gawked. “Can I borrow some?” the petite brunette asked wryly, motioning to her own chest.
“Shut up.” She rolled her eyes at them both. “You two got me into this mess. I’m going to end up flashing everyone. If we’d gone with my choice – ”
Sam interrupted her, eyes laughing at her. “If we’d gone with your choice, we’d all look like escapees from Warren Jeff’s compound.”
“My pick was pretty!” she protested.
Liz smirked. “Pretty for my grandmother—my
great
-grandmother …”
Grace blinked. “I should not be wearing this.” She motioned downward in a sweeping motion, framing her shape.
Sophie bit her lip. “Hon, I think you look beautiful, but if you feel uncomfortable, we can try to find something else,” she offered with a slight grimace. “It’s really short notice, but …”
“No!” she interrupted loudly, pasting a fake smile on her face. Her heart swelled with affection for the woman about to marry into her family. Sophie was so perfect. Once again, she sent a quick prayer of thanks heavenwards before uttering something between a protest and apology. “No Soph, I’m OK. I’m just not used to, ahh, well, you know.”
Sophie smiled at her encouragingly as her makeup artists resumed.
She was caught by surprise as a small hand grasped her arm, pulling her back into the corner and turning her around to face a large floor length mirror.
“You look stunning, and you need to get over whatever hang-up you’ve got,” Sam said bluntly. “This is their day, and we’re just on the sidelines.”
Shame stained her cheeks although she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the reflection in the mirror. “I know,” she said quietly, fixated on the woman who looked so familiar, yet completely foreign at the same time.
Sam set her mouth in a no-nonsense line, but her eyes were momentarily sympathetic. “I know you’re uncomfortable right now, now isn’t the time for us to work on your self-esteem. Now, let’s go. Time for your rich bastard of a brother to turn my girl into an honest woman and for me to find a hot single guy.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sean straightened his best friend’s tie, stepped back, and grinned. Even the hangover reminiscent from the previous night’s escapades couldn’t dim this day. Lucas was a lucky bastard, and he knew it. The shit-eating grin on his face hadn’t faded since yesterday.
“Ready?” he asked.
Lucas gave a slight nod of his head, eyes decisive, but paused as he remembered something. He grabbed Sean’s arm.
“Behave and be nice to Grace,” he commanded.
Sean scowled. “Meaning? I’m always nice to Gracie. Not my fault she walks around with a stick up her ass. She’s the one who needs to be nice … no ‘behave’,” he exaggerated the word with air quotes, “around me.”
He’d been best friends with the groom since they were ten, but the intense mutual dislike between him and his buddy’s younger sister wasn’t exactly a secret. Twenty years had passed, and he couldn’t really remember what it was he’d said to set her off when they first met, but he was still pretty sure it was something funny.
She’d stared at him, a wide-eyed five-year old, like he was something on the bottom of her shoe, before muttering a response under her breath that he could barely hear. All he’d caught was the word “idiot.”
And that had been the beginning of a war two decades long and still going strong.
He knew he antagonized her mercilessly, but he wasn’t often remorseful. If he thought for one minute that he’d put a dent in her armor of frump and sarcasm, he would have stopped. As it was, the woman had the abrasive countenance of sandpaper, and if anyone needed protecting, it was he from her tongue.
At Sean’s reminder, Lucas winced, but it was so slight, it was barely perceptible. “Look, I know you two don’t get along, but this is my wedding. The only one I’m ever gonna have. I need you both on your best behavior. I already talked to her, and now I’m talking to you. Let it go, let it rest, get over it, and be civil for fuck’s sake … and anyway, you guys need to find a way to kill this because you know Sophie isn’t going to let you both continue on like this for much longer.”
And he was right. His well-intentioned fiancée had even gone so far as to seat them both next to each other at the rehearsal dinner, something he suspected very few had the balls to do.
“So?” Sean asked belligerently. “I just need to see her for the wedding, and then we can ignore each other until the holidays … if I’m even around for the holidays.”
The man whom he considered a brother gave him a piercing look that made him want to squirm, and when he opened his mouth again, Sean knew Lucas had lost his patience.
“Just be nice to her and don’t fuck with her,” his friend finished bluntly.
Lucas’s use of the profane word evoked all sorts of erotic images in his mind.
Images of him and a prickly redhead.
Images he’d desperately tried to erase over the years, since the summer after he’d finished his first year of college when he’d encountered a Grace who looked nothing like a little girl, laid across a beach towel in the sand.
The most unlikely source had helped him get his urges under control. Grace not only refused to wear anything but baggy clothing, helping him keep his visuals in check and increasingly infrequent encounters kept her out of sight out of mind.
He frowned when he recalled the last one, over a year ago which had ended in his dinner date demanding to see a clean bill of health from him while simultaneously making an appointment on her cellphone to get an STD screening.
Plenty fuel for rage, not desire, he reminded himself.
Lucas looked like he was about to say something else, but Sophie’s cousin, Nick, sauntered into the room. “She’s ready, man. Time to go get shackled to the old ball and chain,” he said with a smirk.
