Without a Hitch by Avery Maxwell
Genres: Romance
Book Preface
Without A Hitch!
T hey say behind every good man is a great woman. They say a hospital is only as good as its nurses. They say a hotel is only as good as its employees. They say behind every good wedding is a bridesmaid who gets shit done.
Okay, so maybe that last one isn’t quite true, but as I stand here, arms spread wide, yelling at one bridesmaid to put down the ice bucket and another to drop the hairspray while I’m wearing a sherbet orange dress and my hair is teased to within an inch of its life, I’m going to say it’s true.
Why, might you ask, am I playing referee in a wedding where I don’t know a single soul? Not even the bride or groom?
Well… That’s a funny story. One I’m happy to tell, but it started a few years ago while I was working for my brother-in-law’s brother (Did you follow that?), traveling the world, and staying in some of the fanciest hotels I’d only ever dreamed about.
I was just a girl with a dream. A dream of starting my own wedding planning business (because weddings are my happy place!), writing my own blog (to keep my sanity in the insanity that’s life), and to not, under any circumstances, fall in love with my boss’s best friend (because that’s always a bad idea).
Okay, that last one came later. Much later. Much, much later, after I learned why he had that slightly British lilt to his voice. Or why he could be so charming to those he cared about but the devil incarnate to everyone else. Or why, why, why he would do the sweetest things but never admit to them.
This is my story of business, sex, and love. Buckle up, buttercup—it’s going to be a bumpy ride!
C HAPTE R 1
TILLY
Six Months Ago
“Y ou got penis whipped. Pe-nis whipped!” My childhood best friend, Delaney, gasps as our roommate, Hadley, stares on in wide-eyed horror.
Eli, my only sister in attendance, documents our reactions with photos on her cell phone as any good sister would. Her long legs are on display tonight, and the dirty blond hair she got from our father falls in loose curls that frame her face. She’s beautiful, even if she is annoying.
She holds the phone out for another photo op, and I let out a low groan. “I—I think I’m going to kill Sloane.”
Sloane! My youngest sister, an award-winning romance novelist who, since marrying her super-spy husband, has veered off into the erotica category. I don’t even want to think about how she comes up with her story ideas, but it’s probably why she’s now six months pregnant and home on bedrest while we’re at a male strip club in Myrtle Beach at her request. Research, she’d called it.
I’m vaguely aware of Hadley digging around in her purse and then coming at me with a tiny spray bottle. “Hads, I love you, but if you’re about to spray my face with hand sanitizer, I might lose my shit.”
“But germs,” Hadley whispers, glancing over her shoulder like she might offend the male stripper.
She adjusts her glasses but lowers her spray bottle.
“Please,” I say with a slow exhale. “Can we please go somewhere else? Anywhere else. I’m positive we have enough ammunition for Sloane.” My skin crawls as strangers’ eyes still laugh in my direction. I sink even deeper into my chair, wishing it would just swallow me whole already. A fire drill would be my dream come true right now.
“Who knew schlongs could even rotate like that?” Delaney whispers. Her bright pink lips remind me of cotton candy as she licks the sugared rim of whatever sickly-sweet cocktail she just sucked down.
An involuntary shiver runs down my spine. It doesn’t seem fair that my longest dry spell since I started having sex ended ten seconds ago with a ten-inch torpedo bitch-slapping not one, but both cheeks.
If it weren’t for my darker complexion, I’d have a penis-sized bruise on my right cheek. That fucker hurt. My mother’s tiny percentage of Asian-American heritage shows in my bronzed skin. All three of my sisters and I look eerily similar. Considering we all have different mothers, I suppose it’s a testament to my father’s Irish genes.
My complexion is a part of my identity I’ve always struggled with. I have my mother’s silky dark hair and tawny skin, but my features are all my father’s. My eye shape, bone structure, even the slant and size of my teeth, match my sisters, who are all spitting images of our father. I’ve never truly felt Asian or Irish. I’m just me. I blend in where my sisters and gorgeous friends are destined to stand out.
That’s why we were all shocked when it was my chair that Brawny Barry spun away from the table for the impromptu chair dance.
Eli leans in, roping her arms around my neck and dragging the other girls in close for a selfie. The extra two inches she has on me shows as she reaches around us to take the picture. “Yup. Let’s go! I’m in the mood to dance.”
I barely contain a groan. I want to go home, crawl into bed, and watch How To Lose A Guy In 10
Days until I fall asleep, but I’ll never ruin their fun. When Delaney gives a little whoop of glee, I know she’s feeling good, and I nod in agreement.
None of us know our way around, but we pile out into the street anyway. We’re on the strip and bound to find a club in either direction, so turning to the right, I lead the way. I’m thankful when, less than a block away, Pink’s “Raise Your Glass” filters out of a club. I grin, knowing we’ve found our place.
Even Hadley does a little dance that has her strawberry blond hair bouncing in her always efficient ponytail, so I step forward and offer the security guard my ID. The girls follow closely behind as I open the door and wait for each of my friends to pass.
Two steps in, Eli grabs my hand, which sets off a chain reaction. I grab onto Delaney, who takes hold of Hadley. Our single-file train pushes and slides to the dance floor of the dimly lit club. The beat of the music vibrates through my lungs like a tremor I can’t control.
Staring at my girls, I can’t help but grin. Their bodies are engulfed by the music the second we step onto the floor that’s sticky with spilled drinks. Our bodies shimmy and sway to song after song as flashing lights turn our skin all the colors of the rainbow. It doesn’t take long for our group to be encircled by random guys, and with a heavy sigh, I watch as they each pair off.
I always seem to be the odd man out. I think I give off some sort of don’t fuck with me vibe or something. I don’t know. But I have spent many hours in front of the mirror trying to figure it out. I don’t appear to have a resting bitch face. I’m generally smiling and friendly. I just seem to be…
invisible.
After years of practice, I’m used to it, so I stand and sway awkwardly because Hadley is a head counter. She could meet the love of her life on the dance floor, but the second she can’t see all our heads, she panics. So, instead of slinking off to find a table, I dance alone and let her have her fun.
Sure enough, I catch her eye a second later. She gives me a worried glance, but I give her a goofy thumbs-up and pretend I’m dancing with someone to my left. When she finally looks away, my shoulders droop. My skin is still crawling from the penis massage my face took, and now my makeup is melting under the sheer heat radiating from the dance floor.
Snaking my way to Hadley, I lean in but still shout to be heard over the hip-hop song that’s playing. “I’m running to the restroom. I’ll be right back.” She nods and kisses my cheek, then splutters, spitting her tongue out in disgust, obviously remembering where my cheek has been tonight.
It makes me chuckle as I scan the crowd. I find Eli and Delaney and give them the hand sign for the restroom. They both nod happily, and I make a beeline for the edge of the dance floor. People shift and let me through, but no one pays me much attention. Being invisible is a blessing and a curse, I guess.
Eventually, I make it to the door with a triangular-shaped woman on it and am shocked there isn’t
a line. Pushing through the swinging door, I find out why.
“Seriously, Sybil. You can’t keep doing this every time we go out.” Two women rush past me with a huff, leaving a girl leaning against the sink with mascara streaming down her face.
Why do I always make friends with the drunk girls?
Unable to help myself, I cross the black-tiled floor. “Are you okay?” My face scrunches up as I ask. Obviously, she isn’t okay, or she wouldn’t be in here crying.
“I-My-She…” A hiccup escapes before she tries again. “I think my fiancé is cheating on me.
With…with my friend.” Her glassy eyes follow the trail of the two women who just left.
Well, shit.
“Have you asked them about it?”
She nods. “He denies it. B-But I have this feeling and a text message.” Her toned body deflates like a sad balloon animal.
“Oh, honey. I’m sorry.” I grab a wad of tissues and hand them to her.
“I don’t know what to do,” she admits, and I realize she isn’t as drunk as I originally thought.
She’s hurt. Who knew the optics of those two things could be so similar?
“I don’t want to tell you what to do, but I would follow my gut. If something feels off, it usually is.
And truthfully? If he’s cheating with your friend, she isn’t your friend. You don’t owe either of them anything.”
Her shoulders straighten as she contemplates my words. “You’re right. What would you do?”
That startles a laugh from me. “Well, I’m a hopeless romantic, but I’m also detail-oriented. I’d want proof. I’d get proof, then I’d burn their world to the ground.” The admission shocks us both, but she’s nodding with wide eyes in agreement. Crossing my arms, I tell her my truth. “Marriage is important to me. It’s a promise made between two people, and if one of those people is in it for the wrong reasons, they make a mockery of something I hold dear to my heart. So, I’d probably hack their phones and then put them on blast. Then, I’d cry. A lot. But I’d eventually pick myself up because I truly believe there’s a happily ever after out there for all of us. If this guy isn’t yours, don’t waste your time crying in bathrooms. He doesn’t deserve you, and you deserve a hell of a lot better.”
The bathroom door opens, and Delaney slips inside. Turning toward her, she offers a kind smile.
This isn’t the first time she’s found me making friends in the bathroom. She says it’s so I can hide, and maybe that’s partly true, but I’ve never been able to walk away from someone in need.
“You’re right.” My new friend sways slightly. Maybe she is at least a little buzzed. “You ready for a show?”
“Uh…yes?”
She uses her fingertips to angrily wipe away the mascara marring her cheeks. “Good. I’m about to set off some fireworks in there.”
Oh, shit. “I didn’t mean right now.” Holy Hades, what did I just do?
The stranger grabs my biceps with more strength than I’d given her credit for. “This has been a long time coming. I’m either going to put two shitty people on blast, or I’m going to wake up and apologize for my drunken debauchery.” She winks, and my jaw drops. “Thank you. You’re amazing.”
She’s gone a second later, and I’m left staring at Delaney, who shakes her head at me.
“Your collection of drunken admirers is growing.”
Rolling my eyes, I head into a stall. “As one of four girls, I just know how to handle overzealous emotions.”
Hovering over an absolutely disgusting toilet I barely contain a groan. I should have stayed home tonight.
Delaney is leaning against the sink, waiting for me, when I leave the stall. “Someday, you’ll find your Prince Charming, and it’s going to be one hell of a ride.”
“I know,” I mumble. Emotions clog my throat, so I clear it as I wash my hands. My friends have always been able to see through me when they look hard enough.
“And he’ll find you were hiding in plain sight,” she continues. “I know you prefer to be on the sidelines, behind the scenes. Blend into the crowd. But you’re a bright light waiting to shine. You know that, right?”
“God, Del. How drunk are you?”
She sighs as she bumps my shoulder. “Not enough. I saw your face on the dance floor. I’m sorry you felt left out.”
“I didn’t…” She raises her brow, and I let all pretenses go. “It’s not that I felt left out. I just didn’t feel like I fit in. There’s a difference.”
“I know,” she says, hooking her arm through mine. “Ready to go home? Kate Hudson and Matthew McConaughey are waiting for us!”
I give her arm a squeeze as we exit the foul-smelling room. Remembering my drunken friend, I seek her out in the crowd and find her just in time to see her jam a phone screen in her friend’s face.
My heart splinters for the girl I don’t know. Betrayal of that magnitude rocks me to my core, and I’ve never been so thankful for the built-in friendship and loyalty that came with having three sisters and no parents to count on. I hit the jackpot with Hadley and Delaney. I’ve kept my circle small my entire life. And watching the drama unfurl in front of me, I’m thankful.
“Jesus,” Delaney whispers. “That’s going to hurt tomorrow.”
No punches are thrown. Just verbal sparring, but Delaney knows better than most that words can cut deeper than a knife.
“Come on,” I say, dragging her behind me. “Let’s make sure she has a place to go.”
I don’t make it a habit of opening my home to strangers, but if ever there were a time, this is it. If her friend is sleeping with her fiancé, there’s no way her other friend didn’t know about it.
Hadley and Eli join ranks a second later. “We heard it go down. By the look on your face, you made another friend?” Eli guesses.
I’m not in the mood for a lecture, so I ignore her. “Just help me make sure she’s okay and has a safe place to stay, all right?”
Eli, who is always on the go with a plan and a purpose, hugs me close. “This kind heart of yours is why we love you, sis. Let’s go save our damsel.”
Two hours later, I crawl into bed with Kate Hudson’s voice in the background. Turns out, my new friend was staying at her parents’ house tonight anyway, but I haven’t been able to shake the hurt I saw in her eyes. Before we left the bar, Sybil and I exchanged numbers, and I know I’ll be checking in with her often. I won’t allow the betrayal she experienced to turn her off from love.
I only fall asleep after convincing myself that everything happens for a reason, and her Prince Charming is still out there searching for her.
C HAPTE R 2
LOCHLAN BRYER-BLAINE
Four Months Ago
B itter cold assaults my eyeballs the second I peel myself away from the plush leather seat of the hunter-green Range Rover I’ve rented. It’s colder than a witch’s tit, and the wind is pure evil. Point Judith, Rhode Island, holds a fondness for me, but there’s a reason I don’t visit this part of the country in winter.
It’s fucking bloody cold.
Fortunately, I’m propelled forward by revenge.
In the summer months, nearby Wickford holds an annual art festival that my stepsister, Nova, has loved for as long as I can remember, so I make the trip north each season. There isn’t much I wouldn’t do for my annoyingly perfect little sister. But summer is when everything is green. Lovely. Alive.
Today, I realize they call it the dead of winter for a reason. Everywhere you look is gray. Cold. Dead.
Fitting, I suppose, since it’s rage that has me here in the first place. It’s been months of preparation. Years, really, but I won’t dwell on that. I’m here to meet my old friend, the one person who will understand my need for vengeance.
Blake Kingston is the only man I know who understands loss in quite the same way. His grief has turned him into a recluse, but he won’t turn me away. Not when I’m coming to him for help. That’s the thing about true friends—even in our darkest times, we’re there for each other.
I’d like to say I’m an asshole—dead inside without feelings or remorse. And most people in my life would say that’s the God’s honest truth. Now. They didn’t always see me this way though. At one point I believed in happily ever after. I believed in the love my parents still had for one another after their divorce, even if I didn’t understand it. Those beliefs were shattered with one wedding that nearly ruined me. I used to allow people to see the vulnerable man behind an empire. I used to allow them to see me. But now I keep the world at bay with my carefully curated dickhead persona.
I need revenge, but the tiny piece of my heart that wasn’t broken by betrayal won’t allow me to proceed with my plan if innocent people are harmed. Even financially. So, I need Blake to come through for me. I’ll even appeal to his grief to get him on board if I have to. He can protect the thousands while I destroy the two.
Pulling my wool pea coat tighter, I join the queue for the ferry that will take me the short distance to Block Island. Blake doesn’t make it easy to see him these days, but that’s fine by me.
Icy rain pelts my head, and I curse myself for not being better prepared. Each time the frozen rain licks my face, silent rage fills my lungs.
“Ticket?” an older woman asks with a thick New England accent.
I flash my phone, and she smiles as if she isn’t freezing.
Liar, my head screams, but of course, I rein it in.
“Have a nice trip. We’ll be taking off in a few. Just waiting on three more tickets.” She babbles at me like we’re friends, and I barely manage a growl. Niceties are saved for my family and a few select friends these days. The more bastardly I behave, the less likely I am to get roped into any more lies.
“Three tickets?” I finally mutter because I’m also holding the other three tickets.
“Yes, sir. There will be eight of you tonight. Busy night for a winter ride to The Block.”
Removing my phone from my pocket again, I hold it out for her. “I have the other three tickets.”
“You waitin’ on friends?”
“No.”
“Family?”
“No one is coming. I merely bought the tickets.”
“You bought three extras?”
“Yes.” She stares at me like she’s owed an explanation, and I blame the cold for why I give one.
“Your bloody system would only give odd-numbered tickets. I had to buy four before I got an even one.”
She blinks slowly. I can’t tell if she’s processing what I’ve said or if the sleet has frozen her eyelashes in place. “You bought four tickets for one trip so you could have an even-numbered ticket?”
“Yes,” I say through a locked jaw.
She studies me for an uncomfortably long time before finally shrugging. “I gave up trying to figure people out a long time ago, handsome. Whatever floats your boat.” She chuckles at her inane joke and ushers me aboard.
Relieved to be able to move away from her, I stalk onto the small vessel like a villain in a Bond movie. I choose the bench that’s second from the back and ease onto the hard surface. Bench number two. Even. I wish I could say the same for the ship.
The ferry ride to Block Island’s shore is choppy at best. Motion sickness is a nasty bitch and three people hurl around me as the ship sways. My growing frustration comes to a boiling point when the small vessel shifts, sending us all sprawling to one side.
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