The Best Man's Plan. Gina Wilkins

at the moment.

      She must be more tired than she had thought.

      She pushed her heavy eyelids upward as Bryan slowly drew his lips away from hers. His gleaming midnight-blue eyes were very close to hers, their expression intense but impossible to interpret. Blinking to clear her vision, she glanced around the hallway to find that it was empty now, her neighbors having discreetly entered their own apartment.

      Bryan’s arms were still around her. She took a half-step backward, bumping against her apartment door. “Well…” she murmured, irked when her voice came out a croak. She cleared it quickly. “I guess that capped the performance for today.”

      Just a hint of a smile touched his lips. He dipped his head toward hers again. “How about an encore?”

      Groping behind her with one hand, she quickly turned the doorknob, pushed the door open and moved another step backward. “Sorry. Final curtain.”

      With a good-natured smile, he straightened. “Good night, Grace.”

      She let herself into her apartment and closed the door behind her. And then she sagged against it, listening until Bryan’s footsteps had faded away and the rumble of the elevator indicated he was gone.

      “Elvis has left the building,” she muttered, trying to find humor in a situation that had grown entirely too disconcerting.

      Her lips were still tingling from his kiss, her stomach still fluttering like crazy. It had been a long time since she’d been involved with anyone—not since her engagement had ended a year ago, actually. Maybe, when this was all over, she should consider getting out more.

      “Stand still, Grace. You’re making it very difficult for Mrs. O’Neill to fit you.”

      “There’s a straight pin sticking into my butt,” Grace complained, squirming again.

      The exasperated-looking, gray-haired woman kneeling beside her made a hasty adjustment. “Is that better?”

      “Some.”

      “Then why are you still wiggling?”

      Grace made an effort to be still, even though she felt very much like a voodoo fashion doll being poked and prodded and peered at.

      “You still haven’t told me if you like the dress,” Chloe reminded her from a few feet away in the fitting room of Ballew’s Bridal Shoppe.

      Glancing at the full-length mirror, Grace shrugged, dislodging a tiny waterfall of silver pins. Mrs. O’Neill grumbled something beneath her breath and gathered them up again. “The dress is fine. It’s pretty.”

      And it was—a tasteful column of lavender silk accented with a diagonal sweep of rhinestones across the bodice. Pretty—but not a dress Grace would have chosen for herself. But it was Chloe’s wedding, not hers, and the decisions were all Chloe’s to make. Grace had no intention of arguing with any of them.

      Which didn’t mean she couldn’t complain about a few other things. “Ouch!” she said as another sharp tip pricked her skin, this time at her waist.

      Mrs. O’Neill finally scowled, the first time she had let her determinedly polite smile fade. “I never stick any of my clients with pins. But I rarely deal with anyone as wiggly and fidgety as you, either.”

      “Grace, please be still.”

      Grace exhaled gustily, then made a quick grab for the slipping strapless bodice of the still-unfitted gown. “Doesn’t anyone wear sleeves anymore?”

      With a show of severely strained patience, Mrs. O’Neill stuck another pin in the bodice to hold it in place. Grace had the feeling she’d just barely missed being stuck again—this time on purpose.

      “I’m still, okay?” She struck a pose, facing the mirror. “I won’t move another muscle.”

      Though she looked doubtful, Mrs. O’Neill went back to work quickly, perhaps trying to get as much accomplished as possible before Grace changed her mind.

      Staying as motionless as she could, Grace studied the reflection of the slender woman in the sophisticated lavender dress. To keep it out of the way, she had twisted her hair up in the back, making her neck look longer and emphasizing her bare shoulders.

      The woman in the mirror didn’t look like Grace. She looked like Chloe.

      “Are you almost finished?” she asked the seamstress. Her voice was strained with the effort of being still when what she really wanted to do was rip the lovely dress off and run naked for refuge.

      “Yes.” Mrs. O’Neill sounded almost as relieved as Grace felt. “You can change into your own clothes now. I’ll leave your sister to help you. I—uh—have things to do in the other room.”

      Chloe stepped behind her twin to ease down the zipper hidden at the back of the dress. “I think you tried sweet Mrs. O’Neill’s patience.”

      “She certainly tried mine. Those damned pins— I’m probably going to spring leaks next time I drink a glass of water.”

      “Oh, stop complaining. It’s over now. And you looked gorgeous in the dress, by the way.”

      Grace tugged on the T-shirt and jeans she’d worn to the fitting and then pulled the clip from her hair. She had to glance toward the mirror one more time just to make sure she was back to normal.

      Chloe turned to hang the dress on a hook, close to the lacy white dress that hung nearby. Chloe had been fitted into that dress just prior to Grace’s fitting. It was the dress their mother had worn in her wedding thirty-two years earlier. At five-six, Chloe and Grace were a couple of inches taller than their mother, which had necessitated the addition of a row of lace at the hem of the dress, taken from the mantilla-style veil their mother had worn. Other than that, Chloe wanted no changes made to the pretty, but very simple, gown.

      It was going to be a sweet, unpretentious, lovely wedding, Grace mused. It suited Chloe perfectly.

      Chloe sat on a tiny, padded chair to put on her shoes. Grace sat on the floor to fasten the straps of the heavy sandals she had worn. “So, how’s it going with Bryan?” Chloe asked, keeping her voice very casual.

      With a quick glance toward the closed door, Grace shrugged. “He’s playing his part to the hilt,” she murmured, mentally reliving that mind-scrambling good-night kiss.

      “I’m still not entirely convinced this is necessary. It seems like you and Bryan are being terribly inconvenienced by…well, you know.”

      “It’s no big deal,” Grace bluffed. “Bryan seems to be getting a kick out of it all.”

      “He does have a rather odd sense of humor.”

      “No kidding. Anyway—it’s been days since I’ve heard speculation that Donovan heartlessly stole you away from his best friend.”

      Chloe nodded to concede the point. “It has helped. Even the ones who are suspicious about what really happened between Bryan and me are hesitant to openly talk about it now because they look foolish when we continue to deny it and refuse to be drawn into further discussion about it. And the society articles about your trip to New York referred to you repeatedly as Bryan’s ‘frequent companion,’ which makes it sound like you’ve been seen together often.”

      “I can handle being wined and dined for another few weeks. After that, life can get back to normal—for me, anyway.” Even as she made the airy assertion, Grace knew life wouldn’t be the same for either of them, really. Chloe would be married to a man whose career involved a lot of travel and perfunctory social obligations, though not as much of either as she would have faced had she married Bryan. Grace expected to find herself dealing with much more responsibility at the shop. She would be the one with no other obligations to interfere with the job.

      Tugging at the neckline of her T-shirt, she asked, “Is it hot in here to you? I can hardly breathe.”

      “I’m