There’s no way the hot relative of a minor British royal is hitting on her. She’s misreading everything, right?Except there’s no mistaking that proposal.
When 50something Ranney Martini (yes, Nessa’s mom!) finds herself being courted by the very English best man in a minor royal’s wedding she’s managing, she can’t help but laugh. He’s 17 years her junior, smoking hot, and an award-winning architect. The flirting is all in her imagination.
Of course it is.
But when a strange twist of fate leaves them trapped in Las Vegas, and Tom has a sudden need for American citizenship – faster than fast – Ranney proves she’s the consummate professional.
Because when you’re a wedding protector, you do whatever it takes to make the perfect wedding.
Even marrying the very handsome best man.
Tom cleared his throat.
“I know you're on the clock, and this is a mess, but Jack's with Chunk and we have no idea what's happening next. Emergency rooms take hours, so we have some time. What would you like to do? Are you hungry? Shall we get some dinner? I’ve never seen Las Vegas before. Shall we take a look around?”
“From what I’ve seen of your work, I don’t think you’re going to like the aesthetic here very much.” Ranney had only been there once before, with Carmine, for some sort of packaging expo. She’d spent most of her time by the hotel pool and therefore avoided the stereotypical Vegas experience. The desert weather had been lovely, the hotel food was exceptional, and she never set foot in a casino or even pulled a slot machine handle.
“But it’s iconic! Come on, I can’t be here on the ground and not see it, I may never be back!”
“Tom, what about the wedding party? You’re supposed to be hanging out with them!”
“I already explained that. They’re my relatives and a bunch of future in laws of Charlie’s. I can be with them anytime. I can’t be with you anytime. And certainly not in Las Vegas, Nevada.”
And that was the moment when she realized just how much she wanted to go with him. She wanted to see Las Vegas–with him. She wanted to sit next to him in the back of an Uber and listen to him talk. Lean against him, close enough to breathe the scent of his skin. Hear everything that had ever happened to him before they met, even if he told her in that annoying British accent–which was becoming less annoying and more charming by the minute.
Dear God, was this some unanticipated perimenopausal side effect? In all the articles that she’d read on the subject, had this ever been mentioned? Intense and inappropriate lust for a virtual stranger?
Speaking of inappropriate, what exactly was his age, anyway? She needed another look at his profile and she needed it now. Because if he was anywhere near her daughter’s age–if he was young enough, say, to have attended one of Nessa’s childhood birthday parties–she was going to fake stomach flu and get on the next plane home. Claire could have this entire field all to herself, whether she was capable or not.
“Are you all right?” Tom asked. “You’re looking a bit… shaken up. I thought emergencies were your specialty?”
.jpg)
New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Julia Kent writes romantic comedy with an edge. Since 2013, she has sold more than 2 million books, with 4 New York Times bestsellers and more than 21 appearances on the USA Today bestseller list. Her books have been translated into French, German, and Italian, with more titles releasing in the future.
.png)
(Google gives me a small commission if you click on ads)
This book sounds like a fun read.
ReplyDelete