The Wedding Lullaby Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  DEDICATION

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  EPILOGUE

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  OTHER BOOKS BY MELISSA MCCLONE

  THE WEDDING LULLABY

  One Night to Forever, Book Two

  by

  Melissa McClone

  The Wedding Lullaby

  Copyright © 2018 Melissa McClone

  Second Edition

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work, in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, is illegal and forbidden, without written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Characters, settings, names, and occurrences are products of the author’s imagination or used factiously and bear no resemblance to any actual person, living or dead, places or settings and/or occurrences. Any incidences of resemblance are purely coincidental.

  Cover designer: Melissa Gill Design www.melissagilldesigns.com

  Cardinal Press, LLC

  Second Digital Edition, September 2018

  ISBN-13: 9781944777074

  DEDICATION

  This was the original dedication from the 2000 edition:

  To Annelise Robey for her help, support, and encouragement and to my husband, Tom, for all that he does each and every day.

  Here’s an updated dedication for this 2018 revised edition:

  To my agents Annelise Robey and Christina Hogrebe for their help, support, and encouragement, and to my husband, Tom, for all that he does each and every day for me, our three kids, and pets.

  PROLOGUE

  “Talk about a lucky roll of the dice.” Henry Davenport’s canary-eating smile said it all. The only thing missing from his baby-blue tuxedo were yellow feathers. “I do believe I’ve outdone myself this year.”

  “You have.” Brett Matthews grinned at his best man. He stood next to him at the front of the Love Dove Wedding Nest, a cheesy hole-in-the-wall chapel in Reno, Nevada. “But no one expects any less from you.”

  Henry was the epitome of the idle rich, a billionaire trust-fund baby with nothing better to do with his time than watch his inheritance grow faster than he could spend it. The guy acted like he was still in college, not thirty-two, the same age as Brett. Every year, a group of Henry’s wealthy friends and acquaintances met for a Bacchanalian celebration on his birthday—which just happened to be April Fools’ Day—and two of the partygoers partook in an “adventure” dreamed up by their host extraordinaire.

  This year, the birthday boy wanted to throw the tackiest wedding of the century. A roll of gold dice had selected the bride and groom for the one-night marriage. Brett had rolled a pair of sixes. His intended, the same. Now all they had to say was “I do.”

  Henry had provided everything from the gaudy apparel to the ice-cube-sized garish wedding ring to the high-priced, highly qualified lawyer who had drawn up a paperweight-worthy prenuptial agreement to protect the vast fortunes of the parties involved and oversee the annulment proceedings.

  Not that Brett’s wealth came from family money, as most everyone else’s did. He managed billions with his investment firm, but his personal net worth was from fresh-from-the-mint new money. But for once, that didn’t seem to matter to anyone.

  Henry jabbed Brett. “It’s not too late to bow out.”

  A fifty-thousand-dollar penalty fee to one of Henry’s favorite charities allowed guests to say no to participating in whatever he’d conjured up for the evening. Forget taking the out. Brett couldn’t. “That wouldn’t be in the spirit of the celebration.”

  Henry’s smile widened. “You’ve come a long way, Matthews.”

  Brett had. His entire life he’d wanted to show the “old-money” kids he’d grown up with that he was more than the illegitimate son of the Davenports’ housekeeper. Thanks to Henry’s invitation this year, Brett was getting his chance. He should be past the niggling sense of insecurity, but despite everything he’d achieved in his life, he needed this acceptance the most.

  He was about to marry the society princess herself. Laurel Worthington was a fun-loving blueblood who graced the Chicago society columns and pages of Town and Country on a regular basis. Okay, marry for one night only, but this was his in. His ticket. His dream.

  He’d met Laurel for the first time this afternoon, and she was perfect, the kind of woman he would want for a wife—beautiful, refined, and connected. Maybe he could convince his bride to go out with him after they annulled the marriage. If they did date, telling people how they met would make a good story.

  The sequined-clad Elvis impersonator, who would be officiating the ceremony, tapped him on the shoulder. “Ready?”

  Brett nodded.

  Elvis played “Love Me Tender” on his guitar. Cynthia Sterling, maid of honor and friend of the bride, sauntered down the aisle in sparkly silver stilettos. The full skirt of her bubblegum-pink satin bridesmaid dress swayed, and the crinolines underneath rustled.

  “Last chance to jilt your bride,” Henry whispered.

  Brett ignored him. Ignored the pounding of his heart. Ignored the sweat dampening his collar.

  This is it.

  As his bride stepped into view, he sucked in a breath. Laurel should have looked ridiculous wearing bridal apparel even thrift stores wouldn’t accept, while carrying a bouquet of silk carnations that had seen better days.

  But she didn’t.

  He’d never seen a more beautiful bride—despite the puffy sleeves and linebacker-worthy shoulder pads. She was the type of woman he dreamed about dating, loving, marrying.

  Talk about icing on the wedding cake. Brett grinned. Fate had brought him and Laurel together, and he had zero complaints.

  She flashed him a shy smile, and his heart melted.

  Out of your league, Matthews.

  Not any longer.

  Ryland Guyer, a member of the US Ski Team and heir to Guyer Gear, a sportswear brand, stood next to Laurel. Wearing a lavender tuxedo, he held out his arm to the bride to escort her down the aisle.

  This is it. This is really it.

  With slow steps, she followed the path worn into the carpeted aisle. Her polyester lace gown hugged her luscious curves. Her wheat-brown hair shimmered with golden-honey highlights beneath a rhinestone tiara with a ten-inch puff of tulle veil.

  When she reached the altar, a grinning Ryland waved her on. Laurel extended her arm to Brett. Her sparkling blue eyes met his.

  A rush of anticipation surged through him. He wanted to forget this was all an act.

  Swallowing the lump lodged in his throat, he took her hand in his. So delicate, so soft, so lovely. And his…for tonight.

  With a genuine smile, he faced the officiant.

  Thanks to a roll of the dice, Brett Matthews had made it. He finally belonged.

  And he would make the most of the opportunity.

  CHAPTER ONE

  She’d made it. Over two thousand miles. On her own.

  Laurel smiled, one of the few real, teeth-baring smiles that had graced her lips in almost four months. If she didn’t feel dizzy from the exhaust fumes of the Tri-met bus pulling away from the curb in downtown Portland, she would spin around and celebrate.

  Making the trip from Chicag
o and arriving in one piece was a huge accomplishment. A success she should be proud of. If only there hadn’t been so many failures…

  A mist dampened her face. Laurel hadn’t expected rain in late July, although Oregon was known for its wet weather. She quickly wiped the water away. She refused to let anyone think she’d been crying. Her days of tears and feeling sorry for herself were over. She had too much to do and too little time to wallow in self-pity.

  Raising her chin, Laurel took a step toward the building in front of her. Somewhere inside the cement-and-glass fortress was Brett Matthews.

  Brett.

  Laurel’s stomach cartwheeled and then did a flip. Not an easy feat considering the circumstances, but the sight of the building where he worked made her anxious and nauseous.

  Nickel-sized raindrops exploded from the darkening sky, splattering on the cement. So much for a light afternoon shower. A few more minutes and she’d be soaked to the skin. Time to get inside. She couldn’t afford to catch a cold or worse.

  After a quick adjustment of the tote bag on her shoulder, she rolled her suitcase along the slick sidewalk, careful to keep the luggage steady. Her two bags contained everything she owned, everything left from a life that no longer existed.

  But Laurel wouldn’t look back, only forward.

  She wanted to make a fresh start, pave a new future. All she needed was the chance.

  A chance she needed Brett Matthews to give her.

  The glass doors opened automatically. She stepped inside the high-rise, shook off the water, and glanced at the building directory. It only took a moment to spot Brett’s company, Matthews Global Investments.

  I’m here. I’m really here.

  Full of purpose and resolve, she hurried to the elevator.

  As the floors whizzed by, she combed her fingers through her wet hair. It desperately needed a cut—something she hadn’t done in months.

  No doubt she looked like something the cat dragged in. She smoothed the wrinkles from her blouse. Not much she could do about the soiled hem of her pants or her scuffed shoes.

  The only things intact were her fingernails. Her mother would be proud Laurel hadn’t bitten them to the quick. Instead, she’d spent the long bus ride filing them to perfection in between restless naps and daydreams. Not exactly a professional manicure, but her weekly visits to the salon were over. No more highlights or brow waxing or…

  Ding. The elevator doors opened at her destination—the twelfth floor. As she stepped out, she found herself in a lobby, staring at the name Matthews Global Investments displayed in platinum lettering on the wall behind a reception desk.

  “Welcome to MGI.” The smartly dressed receptionist smiled. “May I help you?”

  No time to prepare herself. Not even time for a calming breath, much less time to turn around. Laurel hesitated but only for a moment. “I’m here to see Brett—I mean, Mr. Matthews.”

  “Your name?” the receptionist asked.

  “Laurel Worthington.”

  The woman scanned her computer monitor before eyeing Laurel. “Do you have an appointment?”

  “No.”

  “May I ask what this is pertaining to?”

  Laurel swallowed. “I, uh…”

  As the receptionist waited expectantly, Laurel felt lightheaded under the scrutiny. A kernel of panic lodged in her chest. She hadn’t thought this out enough, but she had to say something to guarantee she would be allowed to see Brett. She had to see him. “I’m his wife.”

  The receptionist’s expression went from detached to stunned. “His wife?”

  Oh, no. Had Laurel really said that? Heat rushed to her cheeks. “Ex-wife, actually.”

  Adjusting her headset, the receptionist snapped her jaw closed. She pushed a button on her phone. “Danielle, Mr. Matthews’s ex-wife is here.”

  Visibly interested, the receptionist waited for what seemed an eternity before speaking again. “I’ll send her on.”

  Yes. Brett was going to see her. Excited, Laurel balled her hands. Now, to remain calm. Stick to her plan. Say what she’d come to say.

  “Go through the double doors. His assistant, Danielle, will show you to his office. You may leave your luggage here.”

  Laurel didn’t want her suitcase out of her sight, but she didn’t seem to have a choice. “Thank you.”

  As she reached the doors, she tried to regain her composure. The doorknob felt cold beneath her palm. Holding on to it a moment longer than necessary, she let the coolness chase away the heat of her embarrassment.

  Ready or not. Laurel opened the door.

  “Hi.” A perky blonde wearing a navy dress with matching pumps greeted her. With her fashionable necklace and stylish earrings, she was dressed for success. “I’m Danielle Taylor, Brett’s assistant. I don’t mean to be personal, but are you really his ex-wife?”

  “Uh, yes.” Laurel caught a whiff of Danielle’s jasmine-scented perfume, wondering how personal Brett was with his charming assistant. Not that it was any of her business. “I’m Laurel Worthington.”

  “Nice to meet you.” Danielle smiled. “He never told us he’d been married.”

  Laurel wasn’t surprised. Men had a way of forgetting her. Her ex-fiancé, Charles Kingsley, had. “Our marriage was”—a joke, an adventure—“brief.”

  Danielle led her down a hallway past several doors and conference rooms. The stunning decor was what Laurel expected of Brett and his company. From the thick sapphire-blue carpet to the gleaming cherry desks, the subdued elegance and rich atmosphere left no doubt about the success of the business. She envied the way Brett had built MGI on his own.

  Danielle stopped in front of an office with Brett’s name on the mahogany door.

  Laurel inhaled sharply. She wanted to touch the letters. Imagined her own name engraved there.

  “Please make yourself comfortable. Brett is in a meeting and will be with you shortly,” Danielle explained, showing her in. “Would you like a cup of coffee, water, or a soda?”

  “No, but thank you.”

  “If there’s anything you need, please let me know.” Danielle closed the door.

  I need my life back. I need my head examined. I need Brett.

  Laurel swallowed a sigh, sat on a leather wingback chair, and tapped her toes. Wanting to get this over with, she stared at the door, willing it to open.

  How long would his meeting last? Moving her gaze around the room, she did a double take at his desk.

  Brett’s office surprised her. Not the decor but the order. Everything on his desk was in its perfect place, from the files and laptop to his pencils and pens. Not one piece of paper was out of alignment. No yellow sticky notes anywhere.

  She hadn’t expected Brett to be so neat and tidy. Not when he’d left a trail of his clothes strewn on the floor as he’d made his way to her in the honeymoon suite they’d shared on their wedding night. Not when he’d skillfully removed her wedding gown and not so gracefully chucked it across the room. Not when the bathroom had appeared as if a tornado had ripped through after a Jacuzzi for two.

  But their marriage had only been for one night.

  One short, but oh-so-glorious night.

  If only the feelings had been real…

  Upon waking the next morning, she’d realized she’d mistaken the warmth and security of his arms for something more than a stolen moment. Given her situation, being swept away by him had been easy to do when she’d been wanting an escape from her problems, but that didn’t change the facts. Exchanging vows and wearing a gold band didn’t mean he wanted her for more than a night.

  So what if he’d been tender, generous, and giving? So what if he’d made her feel safe, cherished, and loved? So what if she still saw his smile when she closed her eyes at night?

  Those things meant nothing in the light of day. What she and Brett had shared had been nothing more than a fantasy. No matter how much she wanted to believe in love at first sight and finding a romance to last a lifetime, love couldn’t exist
between two people whose only common bond was a few hours spent in bed together.

  Even if those hours had been the most incredible of her life.

  What she was here to accomplish had nothing to do with a make-believe marriage or the magical night spent with Brett. It had to do with the future.

  Her future.

  Brett Matthews might be a stranger, but he was the only one who could help her.

  Seconds passed like hours. She touched her stomach, wishing she’d brought something to eat and could nap. But this wasn’t the time to be hungry or tired. She had to be strong.

  The door opened. “Laurel?”

  Brett’s voice sent a shiver of pleasure down her spine. Although they had only known one another briefly, a familiar—comforting—feeling washed over her as he stepped inside his office and closed the door.

  The sight of him made her head spin, and her mouth go dry. She was reacting like a teenager, not a twenty-five-year-old woman, yet she couldn’t help herself. The ends of his deep brown hair curled slightly and brushed his collar, making her want to twirl her fingers through his hair one more time. He’d been clean-shaven in Reno, but now he had a neatly trimmed beard. The look suited him.

  He wore navy slacks, a long-sleeved white dress shirt, and a tie covered with endangered animals. She’d seen him in a tuxedo, and she’d seen him naked. Laurel struggled to put this new image of Brett Matthews, successful financial advisor and author, into perspective.

  He was more attractive than she remembered. Maybe not movie-star gorgeous, but he was handsome and one-hundred-percent male.

  She wanted to throw her arms around Brett and ask him to make everything okay, but she knew better. Laurel needed his help, but she could only rely on herself.

  “Hi.” It was all she could manage to say.

  He frowned. “Did you have to tell them you were my ex-wife?”

  No “hello,” no “how have you been,” no “I’ve been thinking about you.” Not even a smile or a hint of a grin. “It slipped out. I was afraid they wouldn’t let me see you.”