A Beaumont Christmas Wedding. Sarah M. Anderson
Jo went on, as if Phillip hadn’t spoke, “this is Matthew Beaumont, Phillip’s brother and best man.”
“Maddox?” He turned back to the woman who looked as though she’d been stepped on by a Percheron. At least they could all agree her first name was Whitney. Maybe there was a mistake? But no. There was no missing that white streak in her hair or those huge pale eyes set against her alabaster skin. “You’re Whitney Wildz. I’d recognize you anywhere.”
Her eyes closed and her head jerked to the side as if he’d slapped her.
Someone grabbed him. “Try harder,” Phillip growled in his ear. Then, louder, Phillip said, “Dinner’s ready. Whitney, is iced tea all right?”
Whitney Wildz—Matthew had no doubt that was who she was—opened her eyes. A wave of pain washed over him when she looked up at him. Then she drew herself up.
“Thank you,” she said in that breathy way of hers. Then she stepped around him.
Memories came back to him. He’d watched her show, Growing Up Wildz, all the time with his younger siblings Frances and Byron. Because Matthew was a good brother—the best—he’d watched it with them. He’d even scored VIP tickets to the Growing Up Wildz concert tour when it came through Denver and taken the twins, since their father couldn’t be bothered to remember that it was their fifteenth birthday. Matthew was a good brother just taking care of his siblings. That was what he told everyone else.
But that wasn’t, strictly, the truth.
He’d watched it for Whitney.
And now Whitney was here.
This was bad. This was quite possibly the worst thing that could have happened to this wedding—to him. It would have been easier if Phillip were screwing her. That sort of thing was easy to hush up—God knew Matthew had enough practice covering for his father’s indiscretions.
But to have Whitney Wildz herself standing up at the altar, in front of the press and the photographers—not to mention the guests?
He tried to remember the last time she’d been in the news. She’d stumbled her way up on stage and then tripped into the podium, knocking it off the dais and into a table. The debate hadn’t been about if she’d been on something, just what—drugs? Alcohol? Both?
And then tonight she’d basically fallen down the stairs and into his arms. He hadn’t minded catching a beautiful woman at the time. The force of her fall had pressed her body against his and what had happened to him was some sort of primal response that had taken control of his body before he’d realized it.
Mine, was the only coherent thought he’d managed to produce as he’d kept her on her feet. Hell, yeah, he’d responded. He was a man, after all.
But then he’d recognized her.
What was she on? And what would happen if she stumbled her way down the aisle?
This was a disaster of epic PR proportions. This woman was going to mess up all of his plans. And if he couldn’t pull off this wedding, would he ever be able to truly call himself a Beaumont?
Phillip jerked him toward the table. “For the love of everything holy,” he hissed in Matthew’s ear, “be a gentleman.”
Matthew shook him off. He had a few things he’d like to say to his brother and his future sister-in-law. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he half whispered back at Phillip. “Do you know what this means for the wedding?”
On the other side of the room, Jo was at the fridge, getting the iced tea. Whitney stood next to her, head down and arms tucked around her slender waist.
For a second, he felt bad. Horrible, actually. The woman who stood thirty feet away from where he and Phillip were didn’t look much like Whitney Wildz. Yes, she had Whitney’s delicate bone structure and sweetheart face and yes, she had the jet-black hair with the telltale white streak in it. But her hair was cut into a neat pixie—no teased perm with blue and pink streaks. Her jeans and sweater fit her well and were quite tasteful—nothing like the ripped jeans and punk-rock T-shirts she’d always worn on the show. And she certainly wasn’t acting strung out.
If it hadn’t been for her face—and those pale green eyes, like polished jade, and that hair—he might not have recognized her.
But he did. Everything about him did.
“It means,” Phillip whispered back, “that Jo’s friend is here for the wedding. Whitney Maddox—she’s a respected horse breeder. You will knock this crap off now or I’ll—”
“You’ll what? You haven’t been able to beat me up since we were eight and you know it.” Matthew tensed. He had a scant half inch on Phillip but he’d long ago learned to make the most of it.
Phillip grinned at him. It was not a kind thing on his face. “I’ll turn Jo loose on you and trust me, buddy, that’s a fate worse than death. Now knock it off and act like a decent human being.”
There was something wrong about this. For so long, Matthew had been the one who scolded Phillip to straighten up and fly right. Phillip had been the one who didn’t know how to act in polite company, who’d always found the most embarrassing thing to say and then said it. And it’d been Matthew who’d followed behind, cleaning up the messes, dealing with the headlines and soothing the ruffled feathers. That was what he did.
Briefly, Matthew wanted to be proud of his brother. He’d finally grown up.
But as wonderful as that was, it didn’t change the fact that Whitney Wildz was not only going to be sitting down for dinner with them tonight, but she was also going to be in the Beaumont wedding.
He would have to rethink his entire strategy.
“Dinner,” Jo called out. She sounded unnaturally perky about it. There was something odd about Jo being perky. It did nothing to help his mood.
“I really wish you had some beer in the house,” he muttered to Phillip.
“Tough. Welcome to sobriety.” Phillip led the way back to the table.
Matthew followed, trying to come up with a new game plan. He had a couple of options that he could see right off the bat. He could go with denial, just as Phillip and Jo seemed to be doing. This was Whitney Maddox. He had no knowledge of Whitney Wildz.
But that wasn’t a good plan and he knew it. He’d recognized her, after all. Someone else was bound to do the same and the moment that someone did, it’d be all over. Yes, the list of celebrities who were attending this wedding was long but someone as scandalous as Whitney Wildz would create a stir no matter what she did.
He could go on the offensive. Send out a press release announcing that Whitney Wildz was the maid of honor. Hit the criticism head-on. If he did it early enough, he might defuse the situation—make it a nonissue by the big day. It could work.
Or it could blow up in his face. This wedding was about showing the world that the Beaumonts were above scandal—that they were stronger than ever. How was that going to happen now? Everything Whitney Wildz did was a scandal.
He took his seat. Whitney sat to his left, Phillip to his right. Jo’s ridiculous little donkey sat on the floor in between him and Whitney. Good. Fine. At least he didn’t have to look at Whitney, he reasoned. Just at Jo.
Who was not exactly thrilled with him. Phillip was right—Matthew was in no mood to have Jo turned loose on him. So he forced his best fake smile—the one he used when he was defusing some ticking time bomb created by one of his siblings. It always worked when he was talking to reporters.
He glanced at Phillip and then at Jo. Damn. The smile wasn’t working on them.
He could feel Whitney sitting next to him. He didn’t like that. He didn’t want to be aware of her like that. He wasn’t some teenager anymore, crushing in secret. He was a grown man with real problems.