Caught on Camera

Chapter 7, Scene 2, Part 14

Scene 2

Mickey illuminated his phone screen to see the time. Tiffany sat to his left at the six person round table reserved for the bridesmaids and groomsmen near the window overlooking the grounds. He had no quibble with the seating plan, had in fact rearranged the name cards earlier to situate himself between the two women of interest to him.

But Tiffany was all about Tiffany at the best of times, and this was one of those times. She'd amped up sophisticated ingénue charm to make herself the center of attention, only to pout when male attention drifted away. Garth at her other side listened avidly to the story of her audition for the Bond girl role. Mickey had witnessed the screen test, had heard the story a dozen times. Unfortunately, when Tiffany flipped "on" no one dared to interrupt the performance for fear of ruining her mood. She had a tendency to drink away irritation when ignored.

Mickey bided his time, waiting for an opening to remind her of his own role in snagging that crucial audition. He patted the inside pocket of his suit jacket, felt the contract, shifted his shoulders impatiently. Tick-tock.

Dinner service began. Busy waiters filled crystal glasses with white wine and sparkling water and served salads to the hundred guests. Candy, Halden and their respective parents sat at a round table in the center of the spacious, chandelier-lit dining room.

Where is that girl?

Two women appeared at the entrance to the dining room, one tall and light, the other short and dark.

Rachel, at last. He raised an arm and waved. Candy's efficient assistant pointed at his table beside the window, then sidled sideways to an empty chair at a table adjacent to the kitchen entrance.

Rachel set out in his direction, her silver dress sparkling in reflected light from myriad crystal prisms dangling from overhead chandeliers. Her long-legged figure slowly wove between occupied chairs, a glistening trout swimming upstream. In her wake the clink of glasses, cutlery and dishes abruptly ceased. The servers froze in mid-action, blatantly staring. Conversations died. Guests rubber-necked to see what or who had distracted the waiters from their duties.

As Rachel carefully approached the vacant chair next to Mickey on those damnably treacherous heels, his gaze traveled from nipples budding the skin-tight fabric to a narrow waist, curvy hips and sleek-muscled bare legs that went on forever. His thumping heart pulsed hot blood to his groin. He'd no idea that such a spectacular figure lurked under the straight black shift she'd worn that afternoon. His mouth opened to welcome her, but his brain had disconnected. For one of the very few times in his life, words escaped him. He identified with a trout hanging open-mouthed off a fish fly -- pure and simply hooked.

The men at the table pushed back their chairs, stood politely. Tiffany pursed artificially plumped lips, narrowed heavily made up eyes.

Rachel lay a slender hand on the back of the vacant chair. "Do I belong here?"

Mickey immediately pulled it out for her. "Yes, you belong to me. I, ah-- I meant to say you're beside me." His neck heated. Across the table Wade arched his brows.

For decency's sake Rachel held onto the hem of the micro dress with both hands as she lowered her butt onto the proffered chair. Pain from the blisters firing her heels eased as she took the weight off. Fixated on every agonizing step across the room, she hadn't spared a thought to nervousness about being late. Or about angering Candy. Small mercies, because without her glasses she hadn't a clue where in the room Candy and Halden sat.