Call Me Irresistible (Wynette, Texas #5)(10)

Her soft condemnation told Meg what she should have known from the beginning. They were going to blame her. And maybe they were right. No one else believed this marriage was such a terrible idea. Why should a confirmed loser think she knew better than all the rest of them?



       
         
       
        

She wilted under the powerful force of the president's Mayflower blue eyes. "I-I didn't mean-Lucy wasn't . . ." Seeing such disappointment reflected in the expression of a woman she admired so much was even worse than enduring her own parents' censure. At least Meg was used to that. "I'm-I'm sorry."

President Jorik shook her head. The bridegroom's mother, who'd been known to annihilate puffed-up celebrities in her television interviews, got ready to annihilate Meg until the cooler voice of her husband interceded. "We may be overreacting. They're probably patching things up right now."

But they weren't patching anything up. Meg knew it, and so did Nealy Jorik. Lucy's mother understood her daughter well enough to know Lucy would never subject her family to this kind of distress if she hadn't made up her mind.

One by one, they turned their backs on Meg. Both sets of parents. Lucy's siblings. The groomsmen and best man. It was as if she no longer existed. First her parents, and now this. Everybody she cared about-everyone she loved-had written her off.

She wasn't a crier, but tears pressed against her lids, and she knew she had to get away. No one noticed as she began to edge toward the front doors. She twisted the knob and slipped outside only to realize her mistake too late.

Strobes fired. Television cameras whirred. The sudden appearance of a bridesmaid at the exact moment when the wedding vows should have been being exchanged set off a frenzy. Some of the onlookers in the bleachers across from the church rose to see what the commotion was about. Reporters surged forward. Meg dropped her bouquet, spun around, and grabbed the heavy iron knob with both hands. It refused to turn. Of course. The doors were locked for security. She was trapped.

The reporters rushed her, pressing against the security detail at the bottom of the steps.

What's happening in there?

Has something gone wrong?

Has there been an accident?

Is President Jorik all right?

Meg's spine flattened against the door. Their questions grew louder, more demanding.

Where are the bride and groom?

Is the ceremony over?

Tell us what's happening.

"I-I'm not feeling well, that's all . . ."

Their shouts swallowed her weak response. Somebody screamed for everybody to "Shut the hell up!" She'd faced down con artists in Thailand and street thugs in Morocco, but she'd never felt so far out of her element. Once again, she turned toward the door, crushing her bouquet beneath her heel, but the lock wouldn't budge. Either no one inside realized her predicament or they'd tossed her to the wolves. 

The bleacher crowd was on its feet. She looked desperately around and spotted two narrow steps leading to a walkway that ran around the side of the church. She rushed down them, nearly tripping. The onlookers who'd been shut out of the bleachers clustered on the sidewalk beyond the churchyard fence, some of them with strollers, others with drink coolers. She picked up her skirt and ran along the uneven brick path toward the parking lot at the rear. Surely someone from the security detail would let her back in the church. An awful prospect, but better than facing the press.

Just as she reached the asphalt, she spotted one of the groomsmen with his back toward her as he opened the door of a dark gray Benz. The ceremony had definitely been canceled. She couldn't imagine riding back to the inn in the same limo as the other members of the wedding party, and she rushed toward the Benz. She tugged open the passenger door just as the ignition turned over. "Could you drop me off at the inn?"

"No."

She looked up and met the cool eyes of Ted Beaudine. One glance at that stubborn jaw told her he'd never believe she wasn't responsible for what had happened, especially not after the way she'd interrogated him at the rehearsal dinner. She started to say she was sorry for the pain this was causing him, but he didn't look pained. He seemed more inconvenienced. He was an emotional robot, and Lucy had been right to dump him.

Meg pulled her skirt around her and took a faltering step backward. "Uh . . . Okay then."

He took his time leaving the parking lot. No squealing tires or roaring engine. He even shot a brief wave to a couple of people on the sidewalk. He'd just been ditched by the daughter of the former president of the United States while the whole world looked on, yet he showed no sign that something monumental had happened.