Million Dollar Christmas Bride - Holly Rayner Page 0,52
the block. On the road, the snow had been carved into white stripes by the car tires that plowed through it.
The limo driver glanced into the rearview mirror. “This must be traffic heading to Saint Mary’s for mass. Everyone’s going slow because of the snow. Can you believe it? This is the first time it’s snowed in Memphis in twenty years!”
“A white Christmas,” Jackson said.
“Sure thing,” the driver responded. “The church traffic should clear up as soon as we reach Twelfth Street. If it doesn’t, I’ll pull off onto Fredrick to avoid downtown.”
“That’s fine,” Jackson said.
Bianca glanced over at him and watched him tug at his necktie, loosening it just slightly. It was painful to see how gorgeous he looked in his black tux, white shirt, and robin-egg-blue bowtie. The crisp white of his shirt contrasted with his tanned skin. The blue tint of his tie complemented the blue of his eyes. He looked like a model. A celebrity. A guy who belonged in front of cameras or on a stage.
She looked away, back out to the traffic. As the driver predicted, it began to move faster as soon as the sign for Twelfth Street came into view. Wet, dirty slush spewed out from beneath passing cars.
Bianca closed her eyes. She wished that Jackson would say something—anything—about how things stood between them. Instead, he seemed to be completely withdrawn.
Finally, unable to stand the tension any more, she opened her eyes and looked over at him. “It’s too bad Peaches and Rufus aren’t allowed in the hotel, isn’t it?” she said.
Jackson met her eyes. He hesitated, as though trying to gather his thoughts. For a brief instant, Bianca thought maybe he was going to address the real issue that hung in the air between them. Words seemed to be on the tip of his tongue. But instead of saying something from the heart, he said, “Yeah, poor Rufus. I haven’t spent a Christmas apart from him in years. Ever, really.”
“Same with me and Peaches,” Bianca said.
“It doesn’t feel right,” Jackson said.
Bianca couldn’t agree more. Nothing about the day felt right so far. She’d barely slept the night before.
“Jackson, I’m—” she began. She was about to say “sorry,” but at that moment, the limo veered off to the right, and Bianca realized they’d arrived at the hotel.
Jackson waited for her to go on.
She wanted so badly to put her feelings into words. But how could she?
This is a mistake, she wanted to say. You’re amazing, and you deserve better than this.
I deserve better than this, too.
It’s too late, she thought, as she looked over her shoulder and out the window.
She caught sight of Jackson’s mother, standing next to Danielle and two other women that Bianca didn’t recognize. Danielle wore a knee-length chocolate brown dress. Mary Wylde was dressed in a royal-purple blazer and matching skirt. Just past the group of four women, Bianca saw her own mom, Helen, with a nurse on her arm.
Bianca turned back to Jackson. “Never mind,” she said.
The limo driver had already hopped out and walked around the vehicle. As he opened Bianca’s door, she felt cold air rush over her bare skin. She wished that she’d thought to buy a shawl of some kind to wrap around her shoulders. The dress was sleeveless.
What was I thinking? she wondered. This is all so rushed. This feels so wrong.
Her gut wrenched as she got up out of the limo. She could feel that everyone’s attention was on her.
Danielle walked over. “Good, you made it! We were starting to get nervous because traffic is so screwy. Can you believe all this snow? I heard we got an inch.” She opened her arms and approached Jackson.
Jackson hugged her. “Merry Christmas, Danielle,” he said.
Danielle squeezed him tight. As she released him, she said, “My little brother, all dressed up to go to the altar.” She stepped toward Bianca. “You look cold,” she said. “Come on, the photographer’s already inside. She keeps coming out here to ask when you’re due to arrive.” She led the way toward the hotel.
On the way toward the establishment’s elaborate entryway, Bianca greeted Mary Wylde, along with the two other ladies at Mary’s side. Then, she hugged her own mother.
“Are you sure about this?” Helen whispered in Bianca’s ear as the two embraced.
“No,” Bianca whispered back. “But it’s a little late to back out, don’t you think?”
Helen squeezed her tightly. “I love you, honey,” she said. “If it feels wrong, don’t go through with it, okay? We’ll make