Three Brides, No Groom. Debbie Macomber

knows we’re engaged, but that didn’t stop her. I told her again and again that it was you I loved, but she wouldn’t listen. The next thing I knew she’d stuck her hands inside my clothes.”

      “In front of everyone?” Gretchen cried in disbelief.

      He hesitated, and when he spoke, his voice was barely audible. “We…we were in a closet.”

      “A closet?” Gretchen nearly choked on the word.

      “She was feeling me up, and, Sweetpea, I’m so very sorry, but I’m only human. I was…excited, and then she had her mouth on me and was saying things like she bet my uptown girl never did anything like this for me and—”

      “I don’t want to hear any more,” Gretchen said again, more forcefully this time.

      “But it’s true,” Roger whispered. “You insisted on waiting until we were married to make love, and I’ve respected your wishes. But I don’t think you appreciate what sexual frustration can do to a guy.”

      “In other words this is all my fault.”

      “No, no. If anyone’s to blame, it’s Didi. When I woke up this morning, I was sick to my stomach, knowing what I’d done. I couldn’t be sorrier. Say you’ll forgive me. I’m begging you, Sweetpea. We can’t let someone like Didi come between us. If you do something foolish, you’ll be doing exactly what she wants. The only reason she came on to me was to hurt you.”

      “And you let her.”

      He paused. “Let’s put this behind us, all right? Mom’s looking forward to you spending the next few days with her. All she can talk about is the wedding plans, and that’s exactly what you need to help take your mind off my unfortunate slip.”

      So that was how he thought of infidelity, as an unfortunate slip.

      “What do you say, Sweetpea?”

      She pressed her fingertips to her temple. “I need time to think.”

      “What’s there to think about? I told you everything. This isn’t easy for me, you know. I just bet Didi took delight in letting you know what happened. She’s just being nasty, looking to ruin both our lives. You’re not going to let her, are you?” The soft pleading quality was back, the desperation to make matters right, as if that were possible now.

      “What did you expect would happen when you went into a closet with Didi Wilson?” she demanded, whirling to face him.

      His bloodshot eyes revealed his shock at being confronted. “I…I was drunk.”

      “Not too drunk apparently.” If he expected her to sweep his indiscretion under the proverbial carpet, she couldn’t do it, wouldn’t do it. Not without giving the matter a great deal of thought.

      “The wedding’s less than a month away,” he protested.

      He didn’t need to tell her the date of her own wedding. “Are you saying it’s too late to change our plans?”

      “You wouldn’t! Baby, please, don’t do anything stupid.”

      “Like you did?”

      He let her words soak in before saying, “Two stupid acts don’t make a right.”

      It amazed Gretchen how desperately she wanted to forget what Didi had taken such pleasure in telling her. The other woman’s timing didn’t escape Gretchen’s notice, either. While she’d been escorting her parents around Seattle’s tourist attractions, her fiancé had been doing who knew what with another woman.

      As if that wasn’t bad enough, Didi had hit her with the ugly details shortly after the graduation ceremony. Instead of getting to enjoy the sense of exhilaration and accomplishment she’d felt on receiving her diploma, Gretchen had seen her world fall apart when Didi cornered her on the front steps of the sorority house shortly after her parents had left for Canada and delivered her news.

      “Mom’s waiting,” Roger pressed now, breaking into her thoughts.

      “Then she’ll just have to wait. I told you, I need time to sort everything out.” Gretchen knew that his mother was not the patient sort. Stella Lockheart was a forceful woman who generally got what she wanted. Both Roger and his father catered to her wishes rather than risk dealing with one of her explosive outbursts.

      Gretchen could tell by the way Roger’s breathing altered that he wasn’t pleased with her decision. He’d been calm and in control, at his persuasive best. Now he was impatient and frustrated. Fine, so be it. She wasn’t going to let him pressure her, nor would she be rushed because he was afraid of a confrontation with his mother. This was her life, and she was determined to take a long hard look before making a decision about the future.

      “OK, if that’s what you want,” Roger said shortly. “I’ll tell Mom to go on ahead without you.”

      She nodded.

      He lingered a moment longer, his gaze boring into hers. “There isn’t any reason to tell Mom about what happened, is there?”

      Gretchen almost felt sorry for him. “Why would I want to humiliate myself even further?” she asked.

      He was visibly relieved as he turned and hurried toward the parking lot. As Gretchen watched him go, the knot in the pit of her stomach tightened. Needing to do something, anything other than stand there on the veranda, she moved down the steps and began walking. She soon found herself by the fountain, and with a heavy heart, she lowered herself onto the concrete rim. The urge to bury her face in her hands and weep was nearly overwhelming, but she had too much pride to publicly display her pain.

      Most of the activity around the school had stopped. Graduation was over, and the majority of students had already left the campus. She was grateful for the quiet, a rarity at the university. She needed to mull over what she’d learned, to assimilate what Didi had told her, followed by Roger’s weak justifications.

      Every time she tried to make sense of the cold ugly facts of his infidelity, distance herself from them, she stumbled over the pain.

      Again and again, Roger had told her how much he loved her, how she would be the perfect wife for him. His insistence caused her to wonder if he was mouthing his mother’s sentiments, not his own. A man who truly loved her wouldn’t step into a closet with Didi Wilson. But at the same time, Roger was full of regret. Despite her own pain, she could sense his. He was genuinely sorry. She wanted, needed, to believe that.

      One thing he’d said rang true. Didi had never made a secret of how attractive she found Roger. Nor had she bothered to disguise her dislike for Gretchen. It was probably that dislike that had prompted Didi to confront her.

      Didi’s neck had been covered with hickeys so livid that no amount of makeup could fully hide them. She’d boldly walked up to Gretchen, looked her in the eyes, smiled and then casually asked her if she knew what Roger had been doing the night before. At Gretchen’s stunned silence, Didi had crudely asked Gretchen if she thought she was woman enough to satisfy Roger’s healthy sexual appetite. The question insinuated that she wasn’t and never would be.

      The roar of an engine shattered the peace. Gretchen glanced up to see Josh Morrow speed across the campus parking lot on his Harley, a plume of dark exhaust in his wake. He’d been cited by campus security a dozen times, she’d heard, for driving above the speed limit, but it hadn’t fazed him.

      Josh was a loner, a known troublemaker, a rebel. She’d spoken to him once months earlier, and Roger had been furious with her. In the weeks since, she’d avoided Josh, but that hadn’t stopped her from noticing him. He stood apart from everyone, watching, studying. The outsider, looking in. He hadn’t sought her out again, and she was grateful. She supposed it was natural to feel a certain attraction toward Josh. She suspected a lot of the women at Queen Anne did. Maybe it was the black leather and the motorcycle, the sense that the love of a good woman would tame him.

      Now her gaze must have lingered on him a second longer than was prudent,