A Wedding in Truhart Read Free Page B

half the anchors on TV get out of the newsroom and actually visit the flyover zone . . . even Scarlett Francis.”
    It took me a horrified moment to realize that everything was quiet and my comment practically echoed off the ceiling. I looked behind me and saw that everyone was holding their drinks in the air. June Lowell tapped on her glass and beckoned everyone to turn their attention to Henry and Charlotte in the center of the room.
    I wanted to shrink into the carpet but instead smiled and raised my glass.
    â€œThank you, everyone, for coming,” Henry said. “I never thought I would meet someone who would make me as happy as Charlotte has . . .”
    As he continued, any reservations I had about Charlotte making a hasty decision disappeared.
    â€œAnd one last thank-you to my good friend Nick Conrad, for introducing me to Charlotte and being a constant source of support to both of us. Nick, thanks for everything and I am so glad you agreed to be my best man. With you nearby for moral support, nothing can go wrong.”
    Nick extended one of his rare smiles to the couple and his gaze traveled the room. Our eyes met for a moment and his turned cold. I could practically hear him say, “Getting yourself in trouble again, Bump? Just like old times.” And then his gaze rested on a point beyond my shoulder and I turned to see what was there.
    I recognized Scarlett Francis immediately. She was shorter in real life, but no less imposing than she seemed on TV. Her cropped red hair glowed in the light of the overhead chandeliers. Her severely cut green dress could have been made of silk, but on her it looked more reptilian. Her vivid green eyes narrowed on me like laser beams. Had she overheard my earlier comment? Judging by the disapproving expression on her face, I had to say the answer was a resounding yes.
    I turned back to the center of the room and raised my glass higher as everyone around me finally said, “Here, here” at the end of Henry’s toast. Then I drank the entire glass in one gulp.
    Behind me someone shouted, “Who is your maid of honor, Charlotte?”
    â€œWhy, my sister, of course!” she said without hesitating. “Annie!”
    I choked up . . . literally, when the bubbles from the champagne flew up my nose.
    While I sputtered and my eyes watered, everyone clapped politely. Then I felt a solid hand pat my back. I looked up at Nick through wet eyes.
    â€œShe is really touched, isn’t she, Charlotte?” he said loudly. Everyone laughed and went back to their conversations.
    Except me and Nick. He stared at me, that unnerving expression plastered on his face. He reached for my glass and put it on the table next to him.
    â€œCan we have some water here?” he asked a passing waiter.
    â€œI’m okay,” I assured him.
    â€œAre you?” he said, sounding like he didn’t want an answer. Before I could say anything, he put his arm around me and practically pushed me toward an oversized potted plant at the side of the room.
    â€œWhat’s wrong with you?” I asked.
    â€œI’m just saving your hide from getting ripped open, Bump.”
    â€œWhat—”
    I looked back to see Scarlett Francis waylaid by an older woman.
    â€œYou had better hope she forgets that little comment you made, or else you will be speared and roasted over an open fire.”
    â€œAre you suggesting I’m like a pig on a spit?”
    Nick frowned, looking me up and down. “No. You definitely don’t look like a pig . . .” I could have taken it for a compliment, but I knew better. “Did you even get a chance to eat something?”
    â€œYes, I did. I had a bite of the fish paste on a miniature piece of bread . . . Oh, I mean the salmon pâté.” I bent my wrist daintily for emphasis and grinned.
    â€œYou’re not that out of place and you know it.”
    â€œYou’re right. But someone forgot to tell a few of