Whose Bride Is She Anyway Read online

  Linda leaned over her shoulder and asked, “So what are you going to do?”

  Tara ran a hand through her hair and started putting her brain into neatly filed compartments of organization. Call mom, call work, return rental car, go to hotel, pack bags… Clothes, she didn’t have any clothes but what she’d brought with her for a couple of days. They couldn’t make her go without clothes. That settled that.

  “But I have nothing to wear. I can’t just jump on a plane for a month and have no clean underwear with me. I mean when I watched all of the other shows the jury talked about how they had weeks to plan to leave. How can I go without clean underwear…”

  “We take you shopping. You have two hours to buy what you’ll need and a budget the size of two of your paychecks. This is a new twist they added, sort of a catch-you-off-guard thing. It’s happening to the contestants too.”

  “Well, the contestants don’t need anything to wear but a Speedo! I mean all it is—is some suntan lotion and a thong. ”

  Linda laughed at her obvious anxieties. “Those are the rules and,” she looked at her watch, “you ha ve five more minutes to give me an answer. Your flight leaves tonight.”

  “But my stuff at the hotel…”

  “We’ll send someone to get it. Four minutes…”

  “And my rental car…”

  “Staff will take it back for you. Three and a half minutes.”

  “My fern…” Tara said weakly.

  “Can’t help ya there. Two minutes.”

  She grabbed Linda’s arm and covered her wrist watch in frustration. “Oh, all right! I’ll go!” Tara grabbed the pen Linda held out and signed the release, scribbling her name quickly before she freaked out. “There,” she said with a matter-of-fact tone, “now what?”

  Linda smiled. “Now you get whatever you have in this car and come with me.”

  She lost her focus on Linda for a moment as she caught the large body of that August guy weaving between cars in the parking lot. Damn, he was hot.

  Tara popped open the back door and began digging around for her spare pair of shoes. Her thoughts were jumbled and her head ached. How the hell was she going to put this all together in her head in one plane ride to Hawaii?

  Could one plan in enough time—on a flight to Hawaii—to destroy someone?

  * * *

  August Guthrie swaggered in and out of the cars in the studio parking lot and paused, trying to remember where the hell he’d left his rental twelve hours ago.

  Damn, he felt stupid. Well, his best friend Greg couldn’t say he didn’t take him up on his dare. Greg had triple-dog dared him to try out for the show when he’d found out from his cousin that Kelsey Little was on it. August couldn’t help it if the people responsible for helping him make this dare happen didn’t want to play.

  Henry Abernathy had grilled him like a piece of shrimp on the barbee. What kind of question was what makes your heart sing?

  Yes, he’d known Kelsey in high school. Lying about that would have sunk him like the Titanic because it was easily checked. Yes, he was a competitive man. No, he didn’t need the money the show offered.

  Locating his rental car, August ignored the replay of his interview with Henry in his head and took a few more weary steps toward it. Maybe he’d just go back to the hotel, sleep and drive back home. He hated to fly. He needed time to think about this newest rejection in a long list of them where Kelsey Little was concerned.

  Some guy was leaning on the trunk of his car, legs crossed, dressed perfectly and eyeballing him as August went to the driver’s side and ignored him.

  “August Guthrie?”

  August turned to stare at him. “Yep.”

  Tall, dark and Hollywood held out his hand. “I’m Darren, Mr. Abernathy’s assistant.”

  August’s face registered recognition. “Sorry, I didn’t recognize you at first. It’s all kind of hazy, ya know?” Like coming off a two-day bender.

  Darren chuckled, “Yeah, I do know. It’s a long couple of days going through all of the tests and interviews, but I think you’re going to find it’s paying off for you. ”

  August cocked his head. “Huh? ”

  Darren stuck out his hand and slapped the other across August’s back. “You’re in.”

  He was in? In as in—in the final cut in?

  Darren read his mind. “Yeah, you’re a contestant on ‘Whose Bride Is She Anyway?’.”

  August’s eyes flew open. “Wait a second. I thought they weren’t choosing anyone for weeks?”

  Darren’s dark eyes smiled. “It’s a new twist we kept close to our chests and here’s the real catch, you have to leave today.”

  “What?”

  “Watch my lips,” Darren said and pointed to his mouth, his pinky ring glistening in

  the sun. “If you want to be a contestant on the show, you have to leave today.” “Today? ” “Today. ” August began pacing the length of the small parking space, his head filling with a “to do list”. How could he friggin’ leave today? He had a business to run and a goldfish to feed. He didn’t have enough clothes with him for a month. Or a plan to win Kelsey. How could he practice winning her if he didn’t have time to do anything but get on a plane? You couldn’t win a woman without a plan—he had to get his head into the game first.

  He stuttered, “But…”

  “It’s now or never,” Darren assured him.

  “My rental…”

  “The staff will get it.”

  “Um, clothes?”

  “Bought and paid for by the show. You don’t need much, a few bathing suits, some T-shirts, sandals.” “My goldfish, Jerry…” “He has water.” August finally laughed. “Can I call home? I’d have to make some arrangements.” “Yep, one call.” “Like jail?” Now Darren laughed, “Yeah, like jail.” Well shit. If he didn’t do it, Greg would call him a chicken-shit bastard. If he did, he could well be on his way to getting married in front of a live audience. He gulped for the first time since he began this crazy venture, his throat was tight.

  Marriage to Kelsey Little. Holy hell. And there was no backing out either. If you signed you couldn’t leave unless you were voted off by the jury. There were clauses and crap in that contract.

  August saw the value of the show catching them off guard. It made you make snap decisions you might not if you had more time to rationalize. That was what the show was all about, wasn’t it? Making a life-altering choice in a month. What was the worst that could happen? He’d lose and go home. No big deal. Losing wouldn’t be as bad as backing out on Greg’s triple-dog dare.

  “You have like five minutes, August,” Darren warned, “and then I need you to sign this contract. The one you reviewed before the final interviews.” He pulled it out of his back pocket and slapped it in the palm of his hand.

  Five flippin’ minutes? Who decided to leave town in five minutes? For a month, no less? Didn’t these people care that he had a life—a company to run? And most importantly, a goldfish to feed? Of course they didn’t. They cared about putting you on the spot and dangling the Kelsey carrot in front of your interview-weary eyes.

  August walked toward the front of the car and sighed, absently watching a woman in tight jeans, three rows ahead of him, ass end out of the trunk of her car.

  Nice ass…

  He straightened immediately. What kind of tho ught was that to have when he was pondering boarding a plane to compete in a reality show for the woman of his high school dreams? Jesus…

  August Guthrie, you are swine, even if she does have a nice ass.

  “So … we on? ”

  He turned back to Darren, determination all over his face. “Yeah, you’re on.”

  Chapter Four

  Is it hot in here, or is it just me?

  Tara wobbled her way out of the airport and into the hot noonday sun, fighting the nausea that assailed her with each step. Cloying heat and humid, oppressive air assaulted her, bathing her clammy skin in a rush of warmth. Surely, the jaws of hel
l had opened and exhaled hard. It was like a frickin’ furnace here.

  “Aloha!” a beautiful Polynesian woman greeted her with way too much going on in the perky department, perfect olive skin, and a big flower necklace. Screw her for being so damn perfect when it was so damn hot. Tara winced. She felt bitchy and whiny, and it was because she was setting out to do something so unlike her she wanted to spew. Why couldn’t she just do this and enjoy it?

  Someone chuckled from behind her, “You’ve been laid, so to speak.”

  She turned and gave the male voice a weak smile, yes laid. If only… Oh, shit! Her eyes opened wide and her stomach did the jitterbug. The guy from the water fountain loomed in all his God-like blondness was right behind her, smiling. The guy with the name of a month on the calendar. August … was August still looking for water? Was the water in Hawaii better than in California? What right did he have to be here, when she looked like this? What kind of a name was that, anyway? Who named their kid after a month? Maybe it was the new “in” Hollywood name and all the hunky guys wanted it.

  He appeared as shocked as she was. “So, we meet again. What brings you to Hawaii?” he asked, piercing her with his blue gaze, sending her heart rhythms into valve replacement inducing beats.

  Tara was fumbling for an answer when someone yelled sharply, “August! Could you please stop taking it upon yourself to just go wandering? You’re not supposed to be here!”

  He leaned in close to Tara, making her throat clog up and whispered, “I think I’m in trouble again…,” then smiled devilishly before turning and following the voice that had scolded him back into the crowd.

  Tara dropped her luggage and reached for the back of a steel chair provided for airport patrons and dug in her purse for her bottle of water. Although a cold shower might be more appropriate due to the heat and the hunk. Who was he and what was he doing in Hawaii? This was too much of a coincidence.

  A thunderbolt of brilliance hit her just then. Was he a contestant? Oh, that would so suck if he hooked up with Kelsey and she had to watch.

  One of the male jury members she recognized from the plane sidled up beside her and said cheerfully, “Hi, I’m Andy Jacobs.”

  “Nice to meet you, ” she smiled weakly, still distracted by June, er, August. “I’m Tara Douglas. I wonder where we go from here?” Jury members were gathering around with their luggage and anxiously awaiting the next step. She’d spent much of her time on the flight alone while the others chatted excitedly, nursing her guilt and her fear of the Barbie plane crashing at any moment.

  “I think over there.” Andy pointed in the direction of the rows of vans. “C’mon, you don’t look so good. I’ll help you. ” He put his hand under her elbow, dragging some of her luggage behind him and guided her toward a van where a chubby island man, dressed in a typical Hawaiian shirt and khaki shorts stood with a sign that said, “Whose Bride Is She Anyway? ” on it. She followed Andy, dragging the rest of her month’s worth of luggage. Her silk shirt clung to her damp skin and her mouth was dry.

  Beads of perspiration gathered on her upper lip. Lord, it was hot here.

  “Welcome to ‘Whose Bride Is She Anyway?’! I’m Konani, and I’ll be taking you to the island.” He bowed majestically before them. His thick black hair gleamed in the sun, casting an almost blue tint to it. His accent might have been charming if she wasn’t ready to hurl.

  After checking their IDs and marking them off as “arrived,” they all piled into the cool interior of the van and sped off to destinations unknown.

  Ko-whatshisface chattered excitedly about the sights they passed, keeping his banter friendly and light.

  Much vegetation, lush surroundings, bright sun, was the most she could gather from his rambling. Yada, yada, yada.

  Yay Hawaii! Tara made a face. Thanks, Julie the Cruise Director. Now could we get to where we’re going so I can sit in one place without moving? she wanted to scream at him. Her stomach lurched violently as the van took a sharp turn. “Will we be there soon? ” she squeaked, gulping to fend off nausea.

  Andy leaned forward from the seat behind her and whispered reassuringly, “We’ll be there soon. ”

  She really wanted to enjoy the scenery but she couldn’t stop the roller coaster ride her stomach was on.

  Konani looked in the rear view mirror, his brow wrinkled in concern as he glanced at Tara. “Whatsamatter with the pretty lady? ”

  She clenched the seat in front of her in the grip of death with one ha nd, and motioned for Andy to do the talking with the other.

  “She’s not feeling so good,” Andy said. “I think it was the flight. She’ll be just fine now that we’re on land.”

  “We not done yet, lady. ” Konani’s tone was cheerful.

  “Done what?” Tara croaked through parched lips.

  “Done flying…” He trailed off as they approached yet another landing field.

  Groaning, she wondered where the hell this damn place was. Remote was remote, but c’mon already, even Gilligan’s island wasn’t this secluded. They’d only lost him for a couple of prime-time seasons.

  Andy thumped her on the back. “Don’t worry, you can hold my hand.”

  * * *

  Tara bit her lip and tried to focus on what Henry Abernathy was saying, but she couldn’t stop the room from spinning. Man, they weren’t kidding when they said a remote island. Another van had picked them up and deposited the group at the first of many rows of large huts, where they all joined in an informal gathering room. Tara was still recuperating from her flight on the aircraft that Lego built when Henry Abernathy and crew showed up to give them each details for their stay on the island. God, she hated to fly.

  Some of the people from the plane traipsed in. An elderly woman with a knitting bag plopped down in a chair a few feet away. She looked tired and grumpy. Three more people filed in, each wearing the same weary look as the next. She vaguely heard Henry introduce her as jury foreman and she obliged him by absently waving to everyone while she fought the need to blow her cookies.

  Henry’s voice droned on and on about the shows rules… No contact with the outside world until the show was over, unless it was a monitored phone call or an extreme emergency. Like death. Never tell a soul anything other than you were going to be on the show “Whose Bride Is She Anyway? ”, because of course, that was good promo. If you’d signed the contract it meant you were in it for the long haul. No backing out, no quitting from this point on, or lawsuits up the wazoo would make you miserable for the next lifetime.

  No this, no that… Yada, yada, yada. She’d signed away nearly everything but her internal organs to get on this show.

  When Henry paused to address some technical issues the crew was having, Tara breathed a sigh of relief.

  She was disoriented, tired and overwhelmed. Long past panicked, she was working with full on freaked out. Yeah, she was on sensory overload, yet found herself ever compulsive, mentally ticking off a list of things she’d accomplished in the few hours since she’d made it on the show.

  Called Mom, asked her to water her fern. Calmed Mom down and told her it was all going to be fine. No, she’d assured her mother, she wasn’t getting married. Someone else was…

  Check.

  Called work, threatened to quit if they didn’t let her have the vacation she’d stockpiled for five freakin’ years. It was perfume, not the cure for cancer.

  Check.

  Breathe.

  Check.

  Tara closed her eyes and leaned her head back on the cushioned chair.

  “Excuse me…” A male voice interrupted her train of thought from the chair beside her. “You okay? ” Andy again … he was so sweet. He leaned in closer to check on her.

  She took a deep breath and wiped beads of perspiration from her upper lip. Christ, you couldn’t breathe in here. Didn’t they have air conditioning in Hawaii? “I’m fine, Andy, thank you. ” Pass the oxygen, please.

  “You don’t look fine.” He was taking quick peeks
between the people milling about at her face. A face she was sure was not doing its job hiding her utter terror.

  No shit, Columbo. Calm, slow breaths, Tara. “Really, I’m okay, thanks for asking. I just hate to fly and I’m relieved it’s finally over.”

  “You’re sweating. ”

  Observant too. “Yeah, I’m always bit shaky after getting off a plane. But it passes. I managed to fight the urge to run down the aisles of the plane screaming, ‘we’re going down!’” she joked.

  Andy blanched and leaned into her, his round face concerned.

  God, she hated small talk; worse, she hated sitting so closely to someone you could count the hairs in their nostrils.

  “So it’s been quite a day, hasn’t it?” He observed, way too damn cheerfully if you asked her.

  Tara gulped and smiled weakly. “Well, if you take into account that I’ve been up since three this morning and it’s now, seven in the evening, waited forever to be interviewed, left said interview thinking I was a loser, found out I wasn’t, shopped until the show’s credit card bled, then landed here, all in one jam-packed, emotionally charged day, then yes,” she giggled, “it’s been quite a day.”

  He laughed, “You looked pretty beat on the plane. We didn’t want to disturb you. ”

  “I’m sorry. I hate to fly and coupled with the long day … I was just fried. I’m sorry I didn’t get to know everyone.” She shrugged her shoulders and smiled. “So you’re a jury member…” he certainly wasn’t one of the contestants … he wasn’t exactly the cover boy for body beautiful.

  That was catty wasn’t it? Since when had she begun to judge anyone on their appearances alone? It was that evil Kelsey Little’s warped way of thinking, teaching her bad manners. It wasn’t so long ago that Tara was anything but perfect. She couldn’t claim perfection even now. No one could. Shutting up…

  “Yeah, ” he smiled back. “I’m a juror.”

  “Like Henry said, I’m your foreman. ” She tipped an imaginary hat at him.

  His blue gaze steadied on her. “Man this was something, throwing us together like that without any warning. Cool, that you’re foreman. Think they have enough rules? I’m beginning to wonder if we’ll even actually see the contestants, they’re so closed mouthed about where they are on the island.”