Seeing Red(2)

She tightened her grip around the gorgeous hibiscus bouquet she’d cried over while trudging up the beach with her bridesmaids and shifted her weight.

“How long do you think I’ll have to stick with this?” she asked as Carla Fennell joined them with their newest friend, Erica. Erica had experienced firsthand the enormity of Sharon’s meddling. Sharon only meddled when she cared.

Erica’s laugh was deep and throaty as she shook her head. “Come on, Seth’s a nice guy. You could do worse.”

Meg cocked up one eyebrow, then tried and failed to suppress a scoff. She had done worse. And then divorced him. That jerkoff was why she’d just married a virtual stranger.

Her ex was a philandering rock star who’d cheated one time too many and liked to brag about it. If that hadn’t been bad enough, he’d claimed their son Toby wasn’t his. That had been the ultimate slight.

People thought Meg was a goddamned joke. A caricature. Some pathetic waif a rising star had dragged into the spotlight with him and then humiliated. There was even a “Poor Meg” internet meme.

Poor Meg couldn’t get over Spike.

Poor Meg was such a victim.

Poor Meg should have known better.

Poor Meg should have moved on.

Poor Meg had bought herself a big fucking diamond engagement ring. She’d announced to the world she’d found The One, and that she was getting married again.

Idiot Meg hadn’t thought she’d actually have to follow through with that announcement, but once Sharon impressed on her that this was an opportunity to disassociate herself from Spike once and for all, they’d thrown together a wedding in a week. The groom was practically an afterthought. Meg had told Sharon she didn’t care and to just find someone, so Sharon had.

Seth. Best friend of Carla’s and Erica’s husbands. The man who used to hang out on the stone wall at their mutual alma mater to watch the pretty girls walk by. The eccentric guy who liked patterned shirts a bit too much. And the very same dude who both Erica and Sharon regularly checked in on because apparently single male astrophysicist-slash-aerospace engineers were incapable of feeding themselves nutritious meals.

She already had one kid. Apparently, she’d just picked up a thirty-five-year-old one, too.

“Ugh.”

“What is it, honey?” Carla nudged.

Meg’s cheeks burned hot even thinking it. She blew out a breath and met her friend’s serious blue gaze. “I was just thinking about all the jokes people will make about the red hair.”

The other three women shared a look.

Meg groaned. They had to have noticed it, too. Between Meg, Seth, and Toby, they could declare themselves a convention. Add Stephen’s auburn to the mix, and maybe they could have a parade, too.

“People might think Toby is Seth’s love child,” Sharon said in a flat voice.

“Would that be good or bad?”

Sharon raised her narrow shoulders in a shrug, but Meg could see the concentration bubbling behind those narrowed eyes. Plotting again, probably. “I haven’t decided. I bet Spike will want a paternity test.”

Now Meg really did scoff. “Already had one. Unfortunately, Spike doesn’t believe in science. He’s paying the child support only because the courts do believe in the wonders of DNA. Lucky me.”

Lightning flashed again and this time she didn’t try to count. She knew the storm was blowing closer. Why were they still standing around?

“Looks like those photographers who’ve been following you around all afternoon have given up the pursuit. I think they’ve got enough pictures, so we can probably break it up,” Carla said.

Meg turned and scanned the resort’s long boardwalk and the cabanas nearby. The photographers had been on her trail since the divorce rumblings had started, more interested in her personally after the dissolution of her marriage than they’d been when she and Spike had been married. Before then, they were only interested in generic Meg. The idea of Spike’s wife, but not the specific woman filling the job.

She didn’t spy any unfamiliar camera holders on the beach, and the ones she’d noted before the wedding had now clustered, chatting amongst themselves. Damn shame she’d started recognizing paparazzi. Her mother had joked she should offer them hot coffee next time she found them in front of her building.

“Yes, I’d like to get out of here,” Meg said through clenched teeth. “I’m sure Toby is giving the nanny fits.”

Sharon and Carla snorted in unison.

Erica offered a wry smile.

Meg rolled her eyes. The kid had been a handful at age two. At three, he’d been downright ferocious. At age four, he was motion bound in skin and freckles. He exhausted her with little effort. Handling him on her own was tough, but that was her normal.