The Trouble with Weddings

[Of Honor] 3

Recap:

"Brielle Dalton, will you be my Maid of Honor?"

*

FEBRUARY

Brielle was woken up by the incessant ringing of her phone. She fumbled around in the dark till her fingertips felt the device near the edge of her bed.

That's weird, she thought, staring at the dark screen of her phone.

She was about to pass it off as a dream when the ringing started again. It was the house phone. As much as she wanted to ignore it, it might be an emergency. Or what qualifies as an emergency in hotels, at least. She got out of bed reluctantly and slipped on a robe before heading out of her bedroom.

"Cold, cold, cold," she practically sprinted to pick up the phone. "Hello?"

"Ms Dalton," the Night Manager, spoke quietly. "A certain Mr D'Angelo has been trying to swipe his credit card as a Penthouse access card for the past half hour."

"Mike, stop clowning. Are you fvcking with me right now?"

"I wish I were," he laughed. "I'm sending him up. The Duchess appreciates its' press but not like this. We're lucky it's a quiet night."

"Thank you. Wait, which... never mind. Good night." She wanted to ask which D'Angelo was currently on his way up the elevator but decided it didn't matter. Since that morning in January, neither Ryland nor Christian had left her alone. It was beginning to get annoying.

"Hi," a drunk Christian came stumbling into her suite. "You look good in blue. But I like you better in red."

If Brielle hadn't been holding on to him, he would've fallen flat. He was heavy, but she's had practice. It wasn't the first she'd handled a drunk Christian. They were best friends after all. She practically dragged him across the suite into the guest bedroom.

"Up you go," she deposited him on the bed. "Can you manage from here?"

He snored in response.

"Guess not," She took both his shoes and his socks off and tossed them in the corner. "You better be wearing something underneath those pants, mister, or I swear to God I'll leak that video of you pole dancing."

Again, this wasn't new to her. There was that one time in college when Christian went commando and got absolutely pissed. Let's just say she wasn't too happy with him for giving her an unexpected eyeful. She'd been careful ever since, always slipping a finger beneath the hem of his jeans first to feel for boxers. Thanking all her stars that he was wearing proper underwear, Brie undid his belt and pulled his pants off. All of this sounded so sexual, yet so normal. She removed his dress shirt next, followed by the undershirt. She yanked the blanket up to his chin and headed back to her room.

---

Christian woke up feeling like someone was drilling a hole in his skull with a jackhammer. He sat up and looked around. He doesn't recognize the furniture of the bedroom he was currently in, but for some reason it looked familiar. It took a few seconds before his alcohol fogged brain could figure it out. He was definitely in one of their family's hotels. Which one? He wasn't too sure. Upon wandering out of the room, he found the answer in the form of a 5 foot 4 brunette standing in front of the stove.

"If I didn't see my shirt earlier," his voice made Brie jump. "I'd have thought you took advantage of my inebriated state."

She turned around to see Christian was smirking at her, eyes running her over from head to toe. What a sight she must have been! Messy ponytail, bare face, tank top, sleep shorts and bare feet. She wasn't even wearing a bra! She stopped herself from crossing her arms across her chest. The less attention drawn to her braless state, the better.