His Bride by Design. Teresa Hill

incredibly long legs around his waist and held on tight, her long, pale pink fingernails clawing at his face, supposedly drawing blood.

      Bryce swung around trying to dislodge her, as her long train and veil floated around them in an odd mélange of satin, lace and bridal horror that will not soon be forgotten.

      So far the only video clips of the scene have been particularly unsatisfying. (A free bridal bouquet to the first person who sends a good video of the bridal brawl to this blog.)

      Meanwhile, traumatized brides, especially the ones closest to their big day, have been writing to the Bride Blog like mad to say they’re keeping a close eye on those groomsmen and any close friends of their grooms.

      It seems that old nightmare of standing at the altar, surrounded by friends and family, and finding out at the last minute that the groom had a little fling with one of the bridesmaids has been replaced with the modern-day equivalent.

      The groom doing another man!

      Chloe woke from her post-apocalyptic haze the day after the show, praying it had all been a horrible nightmare and that she could do it all over again. Even for her—a woman who liked to think of herself as highly creative—the previous day had been outlandishly bad.

      She looked up and there was Addie, whom Chloe claimed as a half sister, although no one had ever done the paternity tests to be sure. Chloe’s father had slept with Addie’s mother at about the right time, and that was enough for the two of them, who found each other much more reliable than their father.

      “Tell me it didn’t really happen,” Chloe begged.

      “Oh, honey. I wish I could.” Addie sat down on the bed, her back against the headboard, offering Chloe a shoulder if she needed it.

      Chloe leaned her head on Addie’s shoulder and thought this had to be the absolute worst day of her life. Yesterday had been horrible, but her family had closed in around her, gotten her out of the tent and then poured drinks down her throat until everything became a blur.

      Today, she didn’t have the luxury of alcohol or denial. “I thought he was the one,” she cried.

      “I know, sweetie.”

      Addie, kindly, did not point out that Chloe always believed every new man in her life was the one. She wasn’t stupid, just ever hopeful. At least that’s what Chloe tried to tell herself. Although after being engaged three times and never making it to the altar, it was getting harder and harder to believe.

      Her family loved weddings. They married over and over again. And the wedding was always the high point. All their relationships went downhill from there. Chloe thought she was breaking the pattern thus far by not marrying, but even that hadn’t protected her from her own unique wedding curse.

      There was Fiancé No. 1, her high school sweetheart. Chloe liked to think they’d merely been too young to know what they wanted, no giant failure there or any kind of sign.

      Bryce, No. 3, was sexy, fun, confident and in the business, someone who understood exactly what it took to be a success. He had come along at the perfect time.

      When Chloe was just getting over No. 2.

      Addie said that timing was the only reason Chloe ever gave Bryce the time of day, but Chloe truly didn’t think so. She wouldn’t fall for one man to the point of becoming engaged to him—all just to get over another man, would she?

      No. 2—although he would absolutely hate being thought of as second in anything—was James Elliott IV, one of the most eligible bachelors in New York, according to several magazine lists. Chloe didn’t talk about No. 2.

      “Wait a minute,” Addie said, pouncing on her. “You’re not even thinking about Bryce. You’re thinking about … the other one!”

      “Am not,” Chloe claimed.

      “You are so!”

      “Well, now I am! Why did you have to say that?”

      “Because you got that look. That look you only get when you’re thinking about him! About—”

      “Don’t say it! Don’t you dare say his name!”

      “About good old No. 2,” Addie said, looking quite smug about it.

      “Haven’t I been through enough humiliation already?” Chloe asked. “Without going into my long list of failures with men?”

      “True,” Addie agreed. “Sorry.”

      Chloe frowned. She hadn’t even gotten out of bed yet, and already the day looked bleak. While her personal life might be truly disastrous, she’d always been so much better at managing her professional life. The fact that the two had now become entwined, her personal life mess spilling over into a huge career mess, was more than a little unsettling.

      “Okay, how bad is it this morning?” Chloe asked. “Everyone saw … everything yesterday?”

      “And got pictures, I’m afraid,” Addie admitted.

      Chloe groaned, seeing the explosion of camera flashes in her face once again.

      “There are people who claim all publicity is good publicity,” Addie tried.

      “You’ve never been one of those people,” Chloe reminded her.

      “I could have been wrong about that all this time.”

      Not likely, but Chloe loved her for saying so.

      “Okay, here it is.” Addie spilled the ugly truth: “You’re front-page news in all the tabloids today.”

      Chloe winced.

      “A feat normally achieved only by celebrities and politicians in the midst of major sex scandals,” she added.

      “And here I never set that as one of my career goals.”

      “On the bright side, your name is out there once again.”

      “Except now I’ve designed a dress for a wedding nightmare—”

      Addie looked horrified. “Don’t say that! Don’t you ever say that! Women get a little crazy about their weddings. A little … weird and controlling and fanatical and superstitious. You know that! They’re all worried some disaster will strike.”

      “Exactly. And when they think of getting married in a Chloe original, they’ll think disaster, guaranteed!”

      “Chloe, I swear, never, ever say that again. Do you hear me? It’s like tempting the Wedding Gremlins to attack.”

      “They already attacked! I mean, my fiancé was doing the groom. What else could possibly happen?”

      “Oh, my God!” Addie crossed herself in horror. “Never, ever, ever, ever say that! The moment women start to believe your dresses are bad luck, you’re dead as a wedding dress designer. We are happy people who sell wedding dreams. We believe in love, fairy tales, happily-ever-afters and all that crap.”

      “Okay!” Chloe said obediently. She could always count on Addie for a pep talk. “Sorry. I just had a bad moment, but I’m done now.”

      “Fine, but it can’t go out of this room.”

      “Of course not,” Chloe said, then had a flash of her sobbing, drinking and talking to someone. She had that same really icky feeling she’d had before the runway show, when she just knew something would go wrong.

      Had she done something last night? Other than have a little too much to drink and cry a bit? She didn’t think so, but she really couldn’t remember.

      Must have been a bad dream, she decided.

      After all, her fiancé was sleeping with the groom.

      What could possibly top that?

      Addie left, and Chloe lay there in her bed a moment longer, working up the courage to face the day.