Not Another Wedding. Jennifer McKenzie

of a guilt trip.

      As if he needed another reason to avoid family entanglements.

      Besides the flowers scattered across the yard, bunches of some filmy white material lay draped over everything that was stationary, including the rows of grapes surrounding the back lawn. A small wooden floor covered the pool and a band in the corner played a mixture of seventies rock and classical music. They wore matching tuxes and had a sash strung over the drum kit proclaiming congratulations to the happy couple. The whole thing was sickeningly sweet. Like Barbie’s Dream Wedding, which Emmy would probably consider a compliment.

      Though scarcely past six, the party was in full swing. Jamie told him things started early here, where people farmed for a living and rose with the sun. Beck recognized no one, but that didn’t come as much of a surprise, considering he hadn’t been back for more than ten years.

      He was working on finishing his first Laphroaig when his mother hunted him down. He should have seen her coming or heard the sound of her heels, but he’d been entertaining himself by calculating how many parquet squares were on the dance floor and wondering how long he had to stay before he could leave Jamie’s winery located on the bluff and return to the family compound by the lake.

      “Beck, darling. What are you doing over here?” Victoria Antonia Lefebvre Jackman Hastings smiled at her only child and reached up to lay a hand on his arm.

      “Having a drink.” Beck showed off his scotch, which offered the bonus effect of knocking her hand loose.

      Hurt flashed in her blue eyes, but her voice remained friendly. “I meant, why are you standing over here like a lump instead of mingling?”

      “It’s not my party.” Beck refused to feel bad. Just because she wanted to pretend they were one big happy family didn’t mean he had to play along.

      “You’re the best man.”

      “I’m here, aren’t I?” He turned from her, pretending interest in the scene before them. He spotted Jamie in a white suit, the counterpoint to his own charcoal one, just as Jamie was blond and kind and all things sugar and light, while he was dark and not so kind—all the better not to get run over in business. Beck doubted anyone ever referred to him as sweet.

      “A wedding is a big moment in a person’s life. Jamie needs you.”

      “Jamie is doing just fine.” Shouldn’t it be enough that he’d shown up a week before the main event?

      “Beck.”

      “He’s fine.” Beck double-checked to make sure. Jamie stood with his arm around Emmy, who wore a light pink dress and shoes with matching pink polka dots. He knew because she’d pointed them out to him at the start of the night. “He doesn’t need me.”

      Victoria tilted her head to meet his eyes. Beck stared back.

      “All right.” She sighed, her perfect blond bob swinging. “I’ve arranged for us to have brunch on Sunday with Emmy and her family. You’re expected at eleven.”

      “Joyous.” Beck couldn’t wait to spend even more time with his twice-divorced parents, aunt, cousin and his soon-to-be in-laws.

      “It’s Jamie’s wedding, Beck. You have duties.”

      “Yes, and I’ve already planned the bachelor party.” A tame one, with no strippers, as requested by the groom. This Wednesday, there’d be golfing followed by dinner and drinks. As far as Beck was concerned, the only other thing he had to do was show up to the wedding on time and in his tux.

      “Well, consider this brunch another duty. This is our way of welcoming Emmy into our family. Grace will be there.”

      Beck kept his face bland. Grace was Emmy’s younger sister, and for some reason his mother had decided they’d make a good match. As if he needed a blonder, sillier version of his cousin’s fiancée in his life. “I’m sure she’ll appreciate your company.”

      The hopeful light in Victoria’s eyes dimmed. “Beck.” She laid a hand on his arm again. “I expect you to arrive on time and be polite.”

      This time he waited before shrugging it off, then swallowed some of the melted ice from his glass to wash away the bitterness on his tongue. “Aren’t I always on time and polite?”

      “No.” Her hand hovered, before she let it fall to her side without touching him. “But I have faith that one day things will change.”

      Beck couldn’t return her smile. He didn’t think he could manage the pretense of the friendly, functional relationship she pretended they had.

      “Has your father mentioned the potential build he’s considering up here?”

      Beck frowned. “Since when do you and Dad talk?” They’d divorced for the second time just after Beck’s eighteenth birthday. As far as he knew, that had been the last of their contact.

      She didn’t reply immediately. He started to get a bad feeling. One that increased when a telltale blush colored her cheeks.

      “Oh, Christ.” He should have realized something was going on when she’d insisted he stay at the family property this week. Where all three of them were staying. At least he was in the guesthouse and not trapped under the same roof as them. “Are you two getting back together again?”

      He did not want to be roped into another wedding.

      Victoria maintained her silence, accepting a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and sipping. To the outside eye, she appeared cool and elegant. Simply a woman enjoying a refreshing beverage at her nephew’s engagement party.

      Beck knew better. His stomach turned at the thought of yet another parental reunion. Did they think marriage was a game? To be played like baseball where it took three strikes to be out? His skin began to itch under the expensive suit and he looked for an exit strategy. Something to say, somewhere to go so he didn’t have to hear about the latest chapter of Victoria and Harrison Lefebvre’s love story.

      “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

      “I’m not upset,” he fibbed, hoping to encourage her to move along.

      “You’re pale.” She raised a hand to his cheek.

      He brushed away her fingers. “I’m fine.” Or he would be as soon as he downed another scotch...or twelve.

      “Are you sure?”

      “Yes.” He forced a smile.

      She smiled back and smoothed her palm along his face. “Last time I saw you, you were clean shaven.” Beck had been sporting a beard for the last nine months. “How long are you planning to keep it?”

      “Until someone convinces me to shave.” It was actually more work keeping the beard neat and trimmed, but Beck liked it. Plus, he didn’t have a shadow to deal with come five o’clock.

      She studied him for another moment before nodding. “Try to enjoy yourself tonight. Don’t forget about brunch.” Like he could be so lucky. She’d probably hunt him down in an hour to reconfirm and maintain the pretense of the perfect family.

      “I’ll be there.”

      He watched her move off, crossing the lawn to join a small group at the edge of the dance floor that included his father. His dad’s face brightened the moment he became aware of her, and that awful scratching under Beck’s suit started up again. He’d bet good money wedding number three would happen before the year was out. Great.

      He supposed he should be thankful he had insisted on staying in the smaller guesthouse instead of taking his old bedroom in the large family home. The guesthouse was still big, close to twenty-five-hundred square feet, but was dwarfed by the main house. Beck didn’t care about the size. He cared that he’d have his own space, away from his parents loving it up inside.

      Deciding to skip the mingling, Beck slid over to the bar and let the party swirl around him. The sun still