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Acclaim for the novels of "romance writing superstar"* Jennifer Probst!
SEARCHING FOR PERFECT
"Entertaining and engaging and real. . . . [A] fantastic series."
--Bookish Bella*
"Wonderfully moving, deeply emotional, steamy, sexy, fantastic!"
--Sizzling Book Club
SEARCHING FOR SOMEDAY
"Refreshing."
--Publishers Weekly
"Delightfully romantic and fun."
--Under the Covers
And the New York Times bestselling series "destined to steal your heart" (Lori Wilde)--the Marriage to a Billionaire novels!
THE MARRIAGE MERGER THE MARRIAGE MISTAKE
THE MARRIAGE TRAP THE MARRIAGE BARGAIN
"Nonstop sexual tension crackles off the page."
--Laura Kaye, New York Times
bestselling author of One Night with a Hero "Witty, sweet, and sexy . . . very enjoyable."
--Bookish Temptations
"The world breaks everyone, and afterward, some are strong at the broken places."
--Ernest Hemingway "Since love grows within you, so beauty grows. For love is the beauty of the soul."
--Saint Augustine This book is dedicated to all my writing friends I have met along the way and are too many to name. Thanks for inspiring me with your words, making me laugh, giving me support, and reminding me I'm not clinically insane. I'm just a writer.
And for all my readers who have felt broken but keep moving forward. For all the ones who are searching for something beautiful in the world.
You already have it within.
one
SHE HAD TO get out of here.
Genevieve MacKenzie bent at the waist and tried to gulp in air. The filmy, delicate veil brushed her face like a dozen fingers bent on tickle torture. Panic clawed at her gut, and she reached up and ripped off the pearl-encrusted lace, placed her hands on her knees, and prayed for sanity.
She was getting married. Right now. In five minutes. Her family stood outside the door, excited and chattering as they waited for her to emerge in all her pristine white glory. David posed at the front of the church in his tux, with the priest and his best man flanking his side. She imagined his beautifully tousled golden hair, killer smile, and sparkling green eyes. Perfect, as usual. While she was getting dressed, a delivery had arrived at the house. Two dozen white roses with just the faintest tinge of pink in the centers. The card read: I cannot wait until you are finally mine.
Her bridal party sighed with pleasure. Her twin sister, Isabella, rolled her eyes and clutched her neck in mockery of gagging to death. She'd been quietly shushed by the others while everyone held their breath, hoping she'd remain manageable until at least after the ceremony. It had been a rocky road between the sisters, so that Izzy even bothering to don a bridesmaid dress was a miracle. Gen's best friend, Kate, hurriedly put the roses in water until they stood straight and proud in the center of the dining room table amid a group of giggling, excited women. Her sister Alexa teased her husband about not receiving a thing on her big day, which brought on a tirade of groaning from Nick and her dad whining about how reality television had given women false expectations of real romance.
Gen kept smiling, murmured the correct responses, and held the card in a death grip. Then she ran to the bathroom, trying desperately not to vomit.
Not the best reaction for a bride-to-be. Of course, she chalked it up to nerves, ignored her nausea, and got her ass into the stretch limo. She nodded and responded to her chattering bridal party. As the limousine gobbled up the miles and sped toward the church, her brain clicked over the final details, worrying if she missed anything. David hated sloppiness of any sort, and with almost three hundred guests, it was an important enough event to guarantee press and some high-society attendees. She'd wanted a wedding planner, but David insisted on keeping it private and personal. Of course she agreed; it would be nice to say they did it all themselves instead of relying on a stranger. Exhaustion beat into her bones, but Gen pushed it back. Yes, she'd done absolutely everything, triple-checking each detail for the past few days nonstop.
From the apricot bridesmaid dresses in silk so light the fabric shimmered, to the exquisite ribbon-wrapped orchids, the bridal party was breathtaking. The venue had been almost impossible to secure without the right contacts on just a year's notice. The castle in Tarrytown boasted stunning gardens, soaring architecture with vaulted ceilings, a banquet hall to rival Buckingham Palace, and French cuisine. Sure, she would've rather been married at Mohonk Mountain House near her parents in a more relaxed, fun atmosphere, but at least David agreed to the church ceremony. And she'd won the argument insisting Izzy stay in the wedding. David may not approve of her, but Gen stood her ground, and now her entire family was by her side.
The limo pulled in. She ducked her head against the flash of photographers, and Kate helped her with the massive pearl-encrusted train spilling onto the sidewalk. The Vera Wang gown was ridiculously pricey and reminded her of someone else, but it was the stuff princesses and brides were made of. Lace, tulle, diamonds, and pearls. Too bad she couldn't breathe.
She kept it together in the back room of the church while her mother cried, straightened her veil, and told her she'd never been more proud. Alexa beamed with joy, and her beautiful niece, Lily, looked like a fairy princess with her basket of petals and mini ballroom dress to match the bride's. Her other niece, Taylor, glowed in her junior bridal dress, a delicate pale pink exactly like the center of the roses. Gina, her sister-in-law, winked and announced the bride needed a moment alone before walking down the aisle. Gen almost sagged with relief, and finally the door shut. Blessed silence filled the room.
Everything was perfect, just like it should be.
Perfect. Like David always wanted it.
Gen panted and tried to get herself together. The murmur of voices and organ music drifted from the door. She stumbled to the gorgeously painted stained-glass window of Madonna and child and yanked on the knob. Stuck. Dizziness threatened. Crapola, she needed air, right now. Her French-manicured fingers wrapped around the old-fashioned handle and pulled frantically. Light exploded off the pristine diamond weighing down her knuckle. Finally, a few inches opened up and she bent her head toward the gap, sucking in hot air. Why, oh why did she have to wait until now to completely freak out? Maybe all the wedding stress had finally gotten to her. She'd open the door, walk down the aisle with her head held high, and say her vows. She loved David. Who wouldn't? He treated her like a queen, told her every day how much she meant to him, and pushed her to be better. Always better. They'd be the envied power couple of their time--surgeons who saved lives, attended charity functions, and changed the world. They were madly in love.
I can't wait until you are finally mine.
A shiver crept down her spine. She looked down at the flawless three-carat diamond ring that shimmered around her finger. A symbol of ownership. Once she committed herself, it would truly be forever. He'd never let her go.
Run.
The inner voice that had been squashed for so long in fear of retaliation rose up from her gut and screamed one last word. Gen clutched at the windowsill. Ridiculous. She couldn't run.
Right? People only did that in the movies. Besides, she couldn't do that to David.
Run.
The past two years with David had taught her to sift through her rioting emotions and connect with the core of rationality that hid in every person's center. Her fiance despised messiness, impulse, and decisions based on emotion. He cited death and destruction time and again, until she'd finally managed to quiet that crazy voice that had once sung in freedom, slightly off-key but always joyous. Gen figured she'd beaten it back so hard, in fear and determination, that she'd never hear from it again. But of course, with her lousy luck, it had taken this moment of all moments to reassert its independence and general brattiness.
Run before it's too late.
Her brain spun in a mad rush. Not much time left. Once her family came in, it was over. They'd calm her down, term it bridal jitters, and escort her down the aisle. She'd marry David. And she'd never be the same again.
Which would be good, right? She wanted marriage. Forever. Commitment. With David.
Gen looked behind at the closed door. The action she took in the next few seconds would set her on a course that would change the rest of her life. She didn't have time to go over the checks and balances, advantages and disadvantages, and make a neat statistical chart. Instead, she dug deep into her gut that had served her well when faced with a child bleeding on her table: life-and-death decisions that even David couldn't make her stop because it made up the center of her soul. A future surgeon. A woman. A survivor.
Run.
Gen didn't waste another moment.
Breathing hard, heart pounding, she shoved the crank around and around until it wouldn't budge another inch. The window gaped halfway open. The judging eyes of baby Jesus beamed down at her. She could do this. For the first time it paid to be Hobbit size. Gen stuck her upper body through the window, leaned forward, and wriggled her way to freedom.
two
WOLFE LIT UP the cigarette and looked around guiltily. Damn, this one vice killed him every time. Sawyer would get pissed, and Julietta would do that disappointed stare thing she nailed so well. But they were still in Italy, miles away, and would never know. They might not be his legal stepparents, but they'd saved him, given him a new life, and he loved them like they were his own blood. Just one cigarette and he'd throw away the rest of the pack.
The smoke hit his lungs and immediately calmed his nerves. No one would catch him anyway; the ceremony was about to start. He should be up front and center with the rest of Gen's family, with a big grin on his face as he watched his best friend commit herself to an asshole. And he would. In a few minutes. Right now, he wanted a beat of silence and a smoke before he had to fake his way through the rest of the evening and pretend he was ecstatic.
Guilt nipped at him. He was such a jerk. After all, David Riscetti was perfect for Gen, and just about worthy enough to marry her. Wasn't the guy's fault Wolfe couldn't get rid of that nagging instinct something was off. Wolfe used to catch him looking at Gen with such possessive pride, like he was appraising a racehorse rather than a capable, independent woman. And the way he ordered her around pissed him off, too. But Gen never said she didn't like it, and only had nice things to say about him. Hell, she loved him enough to get hitched, so who was he to judge? Wolfe knew nothing about relationships.
If he delved deep and played therapist, he was probably irritated Gen had replaced him. For almost five years, they'd hung out together at bars, watched movies, and did general best-friend stuff. There wasn't a woman in the world who didn't want money, favors, or sex from him. Except Gen. Hell, the moment they'd met something clicked between them. She was as genuine and real as Julietta and the rest of the women in his adopted family. They had just liked each other from the get-go, and when the hell does that ever happen?
Of course, David frowned upon their relationship from day one, and over the past year, Gen made more excuses not to see him in order to soothe her fiance.
Whatever. He needed to get over it.
Wolfe held back a whiny sigh. The church bells rang once. Twice. The limos were parked at the curb, and a few reporters lingered on the steps. Guess the surgeon was a big shot in the news, because no one else pulled in such a crowd. He moved backward a few feet, not in the mood to meet and greet any latecomers. The crooked pavement and shaded archways shielded him from any prying observers. He enjoyed the last of his cigarette, pulled at the confines of his tuxedo, and tried not to scrape the polished sole of his dress shoes. Even after working in the corporate and modeling worlds, he always craved his workout clothes and still felt like he was an intruder in his own body in suits. Or designer underwear that cost more than someone's yearly salary. Who would've thought? Scrambling for food and shelter one day. At the top of Fortune's up-and-coming millionaires the next, all at twenty-fucking-six years old.
He beat back the nasty thoughts that threatened to swamp him and got his head back in the game. It was Gen's wedding day and he needed to be there for her. Not smoking like a chump and playing self-pity games. Wolfe crushed the butt under his heel, adjusted his cuffs, and turned.
"Holy shit."
He stared in shock at the sight before him.
The bride lay in a tangle of limbs, sprawled out on the pavement. The white cloud of lace and dozens of pearly jewels floated around her in a swarm of glory. His heart stopped, stuttered, and kicked back into gear. Jesus, she was gorgeous. Gen had always been an attractive female by all standards, but now she looked as delicate as a doll perched on a wedding cake. She must've ripped off her veil because her elaborate twist hairdo lay drunkenly to the side with pins sticking out. The humidity kicked her curls into gear, and already they were springing wild, refusing to be tamed. Snapping blue eyes glared at him, framed in black liner and some sparkly shadow. She never wore makeup. But today, those stunning navy eyes dominated her heart-shaped face with a sultry, sexy air he rarely spotted in her. Four-inch diamond-encrusted stiletto heels stuck out from her balloon hoop gown. Wolfe caught the flash of white lace garters and curved, muscled legs before she flipped the skirt back down and huffed out a breath. "Are you smoking on my damn wedding day? You told me you quit. Julietta's going to kill you."
He fought past his lack of speech and wondered if this was a hallucination. "Not if you don't tell her."
She sniffed. "You wish. I don't want you to die of lung cancer. Don't just stand there gaping. Help me up, I can barely move in this thing."
And then she was just Gen again. His best friend, a general pain in the ass, and the most precious person in the world to him.
Wolfe moved fast and pulled her up. "Are you okay? Did you fall out the window?"
She rebalanced herself on those ridiculous heels and waved her hand in the air. "Yeah, I'm fine. My hips got stuck but I managed."
She dusted off her pristine white dress as if jumping out of church windows were a normal occurrence. Damn, she was a hell of a woman. "Umm, babe? Are you pulling a runaway-bride thing? Or did you just want to confirm the fire exit worked?"
Her ballsy humor faded from her face. She tilted her chin up, and her lower lip trembled. "I'm in trouble. Will you help me?"
He kept his face calm even though his palms sweat. Something bad had happened, but right now she needed his head in the game. "We ditching the groom?"
"Yeah."
Wolfe decided to play it like a big adventure. "Cool. I got you covered. Lose the shoes."
She kicked off the killer stilettos. "Are there reporters out there?"
"No worries, this is a piece of cake. But we gotta move now. Take my hand."
She placed her small hand in his and squeezed. Wolfe swore that even if he had to fight the whole Taliban, he was getting her out of here and to someplace safe. Discussion was for later. "My car is parked down the street, so we're good. Follow me."
He led her down the back steps, behind the rectory, and maneuvered through a perfectly formed line of flowering bushes. She paused in flight, wincing at the chips of mulch and gravel. "Ouch."
"You're such a girl. Here, you're going too slow." Wolfe heaved her up into his arms in
a tumble of satin and lace and cut through some weeping willow trees.
"I can't believe you parked so far away. That means you were late. Some best friend you are."
"Be glad I was late. I'm saving your ass now."
She gave a humph. He walked faster, sensing chaos and a complete breakdown not too far behind. If he didn't get her out in time and anyone caught them leaving, it would be a virtual shitstorm. He ducked under a low-hanging branch, tracked through the backyard of a Cape Cod behind the church, and took a hard right. She stayed silent, and Wolfe bet he had two minutes before her crazy impulsive decision hit her and she said she'd go back.
But if something made her run, it was too important to ignore. The hell he'd take her back.
Finally, he spotted his black Mercedes convertible. He fished the keys out of his pocket, hit the alarm, and opened the door. "In."
Another lower lip tremble. "Wolfe, maybe I'm wrong. Maybe I should go back."
"Do you want to marry him, Gen? Deep down, in your gut, where it counts?"
Her teeth sank into her lower lip. Shame and fear and humiliation etched out the lines of her face. Her voice broke on the word "No."
He nodded and calmly pushed her in the seat. "Then you're doing the right thing and we'll work it out. I promise."
She swallowed. Returned his nod. And slid into the car.
Wolfe wasted no time. He revved the engine and did a three-point turn, going out the back way and speeding away from the church like it was a devil's sanctuary and their souls were at risk.
When they hit the open road and no one seemed to be following, he glanced over. She slumped in the seat, her hair hanging halfway down her neck, her graceful profile carved in stone. She stared out the window as if she was watching her life dissipate behind her. And in a way, it was.
Knowing what she needed the most right now, Wolfe hit the speaker system and Guns N' Roses blasted out, hard and loud and raw. He didn't speak.
Just drove.
three
WOLFE PULLED THE car into the Walmart parking lot and cut the engine. The probe of his gaze touched her face, but she was too weary to smile. After all, she never had to hide her real feelings with him. And right now she was about to go full-fledged mental if she didn't get out of her wedding gown.