Keeping Secret (Secret McQueen) - By Sierra Dean Page 0,90

eligible bachelor in the city.

Reading about it in The Times hadn’t made me understand what a big deal my wedding was. Now it sort of clicked, why Kimberly was so frantic about everything being just right. This was the goddamned social event of the season.

I was struck by a sudden case of nerves.

Lucas would handle himself perfectly. High-pressure situations were his bread and butter. But unless I was killing someone or keeping from being killed myself, I didn’t handle pressure all too well. I swallowed hard, and my palms were a sweaty mess. I wanted to wipe them off, but the only thing available was my dress, and I thought Kimberly would shit bricks if I wiped my hands on my gown.

The ballroom doors closed, and everyone found their seats, polite conversations popping up in muted tones while people waited for Lucas to arrive. On the groom’s side of the platform there were no groomsmen, though I knew Dominick, Desmond and a few other high-ranking pack members were expected to stand up for him.

Whether or not Desmond would show up was another question. Duty dictated he must, otherwise it would look like an affront to the king. But he couldn’t even stand to be in the same room with me. Would he be able to stand up and watch Lucas and me get married? Would I be able to go through with it if he was there?

More sweaty palms.

I knew nerves were a normal part of weddings, but I felt ready to throw up.

“What time is it?” I whispered to Mercedes.

“I don’t know. The Nazi photographer made me take my watch off.”

I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, my five-inch heels pinching my feet uncomfortably, reminding me I should have broken the damned things in before today. I waited a few minutes, my eyes never leaving the ballroom doors. Patience was not one of my virtues. I caught the eye of a handsome A-list actor in the front row. The type known for being in high-octane action movies. I thought maybe he’d once been a wrestler. His big arms certainly suggested it.

“Hey,” I whispered, seeing the shiny gold Rolex on his wrist. “What time is it?”

He checked. “Ten fifteen.”

“Thanks.”

I fidgeted some more.

Kellen whispered, “Weddings never start on time.”

Brigit and Mercedes both nodded. So did the big guy in the front row, for that matter.

“I know.” But I didn’t sound convinced even to myself.

We waited. First five minutes, then ten. Soon the conversations among the crowd weren’t politely quiet anymore. People were annoyed at the lateness, and I couldn’t blame them. Other people were suggesting perhaps it was more than lateness.

That maybe Lucas wasn’t coming.

But that was a ridiculous notion. In the eyes of the pack, Lucas and I were already married. There was no reason for him to skip out on our human wedding. Pack law carried more weight than human law, so skipping out on our wedding wouldn’t keep us from being married—it would make him look like a douche bag.

And make me look like an idiot.

No, he cared too much about his image to do something so cruel, I was sure of it. He tended to be reclusive when it came to public appearances, so for him to make such a big deal of the wedding was proof enough it mattered to him.

And I knew I mattered to him. He loved me.

And love is a serious thing.

When you love someone, you wouldn’t leave them. Not for anything.

I felt a pang, thinking of the way Desmond had walked out. How he hadn’t been able to look at me after Lucas and I were officially mated. Was his leaving a sign he’d loved me too much or that he hadn’t loved me enough?

I blinked back tears.

A woman in the front row had pulled out her cell phone and was complaining loudly to the party on the other end that she had never in her life been forced to wait over thirty minutes for a wedding to start, and how having a wedding at ten at night was already a ridiculous request, and blah, blah, blah.

I glared at her, letting her know her conversation could be heard perfectly well.

She hung up.

I was about to ask the guy with the watch for the time again when the sweeping sound of the ballroom doors opening filled the room. My attention jerked from the guests up to the door, expecting my fiancé or someone in his wedding party to walk through