Almost a Wedding Read online

  Almost a Wedding

  A Left at the Altar Novella

  RUTH CARDELLO

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  website: RuthCardello.com

  email: [email protected]

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  Twitter: RuthieCardello

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  Copyright

  Google Play Edition

  An original work of Ruth Cardello, 2018.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, places, events, business establishments or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Dedication

  To my friends who actually did laugh with me when I called them right after I broke my ankle. The journey back to walking has been a long one, but so much better because you were by my side.

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Author Contact

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Blurb

  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

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Author Contact

  Barrett

  When Paul asked me to be his best man, I didn’t think we’d make it this far. He’s zero for three as far as engagements go, but he says he’s serious this time. I didn’t bring a date to the private island ceremony because—it’s a wedding. I want to keep my options open.

  The moment I meet Audrey, the maid of honor, I’m conflicted. She’s recovering from an injury. She needs my help, but what I’d like to do is help her into my bed. Whatever we have, it’s wild and hot as hell—but that doesn’t mean I’m looking for it to continue past this trip. I’ve worked too hard to get to where I am to let anyone drag me down—but she has me turned around, and chasing after what I swore I’d never want—a chance at forever.

  Audrey

  I’m still recovering from ankle surgery after a severe break, but I’m the maid of honor and I refuse to let pain stop me from being part my best friend’s wedding. When I overdo it, I retreat to recover and regroup.

  That’s how I meet Barrett. He’s brooding and blunt, but when he picks me up and carries me as if I’m nothing then brings me ice and takes care of me—I’m ready for my first wedding hookup. He is exactly what I need to get my mojo back.

  Being bad never felt so good.

  He says he’s not ready for a relationship and I believe him—after all, his friend just left mine at the altar.

  Where can we possibly go from here?

  CHAPTER ONE

  Barrett

  “It’s perfectly normal to have last minute jitters, right? Closing the door to my single life is a big deal,” Paul Frideman appeals to all of us who put our lives on hold to fly to this private island in the middle of the Caribbean for a week because he swears he’s really doing it—tying the knot, making the leap. Thirty-one years old, three failed engagements. None of us thought he’d make it this far.

  It’s not a good sign that his speech is slurred, and he just ordered another drink. Even though I agreed to be his best man, I did not sign on as his babysitter. “With the right prenup, nothing has to be forever.” No one would call me a romantic, but Paul is floundering. Zeke is married and Gage is engaged. I’m the balancing voice of reason.

  “Real nice. I warned you living in Bachelor Tower would only cultivate the ass in you, Barrett, but you said you could handle it,” Gage joked. “You’ll meet someone someday. The fun will be tossing your own advice back at you.”

  “I hope to hell you do. First of all, living in Bachelor Tower has been good for business. I couldn’t care less about the premise of it. You have no idea how loose some of those guys are with information after a few drinks. Second, by raise of hands, how many of you have a rock solid prenup?”

  Not one hand goes up. I shake my head and down a shot of tequila. “I’m not one for sentimentality, but what do you say we all meet back here in five years? Half of you will be single again, and I believe by then I’ll be the richest man at this table.”

  Paul’s face reddens and he pulls at his tie like it’s choking him. “Isa said she didn’t want one.”

  Holy shit, love does not look good on the man. I want to tell him right then and there to call the wedding off, but I flip my shot glass over and remind myself we all choose our own paths. “Then your only choice is to keep your dick in your pants and your mouth shut.”

  “That’s rather harsh, don’t you think, Barrett?” Zeke says. “If you’d said that to me when I married I probably would have bashed your teeth in.”

  I shrug. I’ve known Zeke almost as long as I’ve known Paul. We’re tight. At least when we see each other, which isn’t often. Life and business have a way of doing that to even the best of friendships. Still, there’s not much we hold back when we’re together. “That’s because you weren’t drunk as all hell lamenting the loss of all that was good in your life.”

  “True enough.” Zeke laughs, tossing a swig of his drink back.

  I shouldn’t give Paul so much shit. He actually looks sad now. Paul is a good guy, but a lifetime of having everything handed to him has made him soft. For him, cash actually does grow on trees—or the rich man’s equivalent—a huge trust fund hidden in Switzerland. Oh . . . and his family’s gold mine in Africa.

  Paul says life is a journey toward learning to love oneself.

  Bullshit.

  Only those born with everything have the luxury of that kind of introspection. For the rest of us, life is an ugly battle for survival. You do what you have to, and you bury how you feel about it in a box in your gut. The only time you open that box is when you need to stuff more shit down in it. Then you move on, grateful for the opportunities presented to you without the weight of how you feel about what you had to do to make them happen.

  Anyone who disagrees has never felt the sting of poverty. I remember the shame of washing in bathrooms of fast-food restaurants because my mother drank the rent money, leaving us, once again, living in our car. She was always kind to me. Always sorry. But that didn’t feed me. I stole what I needed to. I lied to survive. I swore to myself back then I would rise above all that. Whatever it took, I would get to a place where the truth would no longer have any power over me.

  And I have.

  I was eighteen when my mother died. I could have let that loss crush me, but I didn’t. I got into Harvard on fabricated paperwork and financial aid, and I don’t care if that story ever breaks. I’ve taken every opportunity that came my way and built a financial empire with it. I have a hand in everything from media to manufacturing because I will never go back to living in a car. My friends don’t know the details of where I came from, but they know I was rough around the edges when I started at Harvard. I’m a survivor. They could have judged me for it, but they didn’t, and that’s why I’m here. I care about these men.