Here Comes The Bride

Chapter One

Samantha Johnson, reporter for the Los Angeles Star, stood in a cramped hallway with a dozen other perspiring, frustrated reporters, waiting for security to escort them to a special viewing room inside the Fifth Avenue Church. A couple of exhausted reporters sat on the floor. One man stood in the corner with his arms crossed and his eyes closed. A woman with short tufts of black hair leaned against the door, determined to be the first inside.

An elbow stabbed into Samantha’s side. She glanced at her watch. Ten minutes to twelve--almost time for the ceremony to start. She certainly hadn’t traveled all the way from Los Angeles to New York to get locked out of the wedding of the century. Dominic DeMarco, the richest, hottest tycoon in the country, was getting married, and she wanted to be the first to learn the identity of his mystery bride. It was time for her to show her boss, her family, and maybe even the world that she could make something of herself.

Pushing her way through the crowded hallway, she headed back for the lobby and stayed hidden in the shadows as two security guards passed by, escorting another invited guest into the church. After the doors to the church clicked shut, she took off across the lobby as fast as her high heels and tight skirt would allow. As soon as she made it to the other side, she ducked behind a potted ficus and waited. If security spotted her, they’d throw her outside to wait with all the other thousands of people hoping to catch a glimpse of Dominic DeMarco and “the luckiest woman in the world.”

She peeked around the edge of a wall. The coast was clear, and just as she’d hoped, there was a door at the end of the hallway. She headed that way and turned the knob. Locked. Damn. Before she could come up with a new plan, voices caught her attention. Frustration edged their masculine tones. She followed the sounds of the voices through an open door to her right. The room was dimly lit, and an exquisite oil painting of children playing decorated the wall above a rich, walnut desk. Through connecting double doors, she saw two men impeccably dressed in tuxedos. Not a security officer in sight.

She poked her head inside the connecting doors. “Excuse me,” she said. “I was accidentally locked out of the church. Would either of you happen to have a key to the back door?”

Both men turned her way. Frowns of annoyance covered their faces. There was a third man, she noticed, but it was impossible to see him since he stood farther back in the shadows.

Both men were handsome, early thirties, she guessed. The taller of the two turned to her and said, “How did you get in here?”

“I was locked out of the church,” she said apologetically. “If you could just point me in the right direction, I’ll—”

“We can’t point you in the right direction, Miss, because there isn’t going to be any—”

“Ben,” the other man interrupted, “don’t be rash. Julia could still be coming. There’s still time.”

“She’s not coming,” the man in the shadows informed them.

A shiver shot up Sam’s spine. Obviously she’d interrupted something serious.

Fortunately for her, the two angry men turned their focus to the man in the shadows.

“What do you mean Julia’s not coming?” the man named Ben asked. “What haven’t you told us Dominic?”

Sam’s heart raced. Dominic? Dominic DeMarco? It couldn’t be. This was too good to be true. Her go-get-‘em approach might have actually worked this time. She stepped quietly inside the room and stood on her tiptoes, tried to get a better look at the man in the shadows, but the two men hovered around him, making it impossible for her to get a good look.

“She decided she couldn’t go through with it,” Dominic said.

Sam couldn’t tell if DeMarco sounded sad or just disappointed. Julia had to be the mystery bride--but who was Julia really? An actress? A friend? Sam and her co-workers, along with everyone else in the country, had been speculating about the identity of the mystery bride for weeks—and the name Julia had never come up. What her colleagues didn’t know was that she knew Dominic DeMarco better than she cared to admit.

“Why did she change her mind?” Ben asked, his voice lined with desperation.

Dominic sighed. “She wouldn’t say. She was upset. I think she was crying.”

“What the hell was she crying for? We’re the ones who should be crying!”

“Knock it off, Ben,” the other man cut in. “When she arrives at the church, we’ll talk to her. She probably has a bad case of cold feet.”

DeMarco maneuvered his way around the two men. “Read my lips. She’s not coming. She’s on her way to Europe. She wanted to make sure the paparazzi couldn’t get to her in case her identity was leaked.”

The tiny hairs on the back of Sam’s neck stood on end. No wonder they hadn’t let the reporters in yet. There was no bride. Reaching inside her purse, she clicked on the tape recorder hidden within her bag. Security had taken her cell phone, but not her recorder. Now that DeMarco was no longer hidden in the shadows, she took note of how much taller he appeared since the last time she’d seen him. Dominic DeMarco’s incredibly handsome face kept him on the cover of every magazine in every town in America. Millions of women swooned over his tall, athletic build and twinkling blue eyes. Truth be told, she too had once joined the ranks of millions and fallen in love with DeMarco, but that was a long time ago.

He’d lived down the street from her when she was growing up. She and her friend, Carol, used to love to watch him mow the neighbors’ lawns every Sunday. They would set up chairs outside and take turns bringing him cold lemonade. Sam had taken a picture of him and every morning before school she’d kiss his sweet paper lips. But then, like most boys in town, he went away to college. When he returned, she and Carol were eighteen, and he was twenty-three. He came back long enough to take Carol’s virginity and leave her poor friend penniless and pregnant. Carol left town after that, and even now, twelve years later, Sam was often haunted by visions of Carol and her small child...homeless out on the streets somewhere.

By the time Sam graduated from UCLA with a degree in journalism, DeMarco had made it big in the real estate business. It wasn’t long before his good looks and clever business deals landed him on the front cover of every magazine across the country. Too bad he was now like all the other male tycoon celebrities who made it big--an egotistical womanizer. No thank you. Julia should be thankful to have come to her senses in time. What sort of life would it be for a woman to be chained to a man like DeMarco?

Ben placed a hand on DeMarco’s shoulder. “I guess this is it. Tom,” he added, turning to the other man. “Go out there and tell everybody the wedding is off.”

Sam stood still, prayed nobody would kick her out of the room.

Ben didn’t look her way as he headed across the room to a small sink area and poured himself a glass of water.

Her gaze locked on Demarco’s perfect chin with its Kirk Douglas divot. DeMarco’s frown made her wonder if he might have actually had feelings for the bride-to-be, or in this case, bride-to-have-been.

“We can’t give up yet,” Tom said. “We have eight different corporations sponsoring you today—Coca Cola, Chrysler, American Airlines, Hilton Hotels—just to name a few. They paid big bucks to be a part of your big day. But no wedding means—no millions. There’s got to be something we can do.”

Sam hid her surprise beneath a clenched jaw. A million questions begged to spew forth, but she knew she had to refrain from speaking or risk being thrown out. Three weeks ago, when DeMarco had made an official statement to the press about his intention to marry, Sam had speculated with the rest of the world as to why he would suddenly do such a thing. DeMarco wasn’t the marrying type and everybody knew it. Some guessed he’d knocked up one of his girlfriends, but she couldn’t imagine a guy like DeMarco marrying out of honor. Marrying for money made more sense. Greed fit right in with the rest of DeMarco’s less than complimentary characteristics.
She patted her purse. Wait until the world hears about this.

Tom jangled the change in his pocket. “There’s got to be a way out of this.”

Ben shook his head. “I don’t think so. Not unless you can find a bride in the next two minutes—”

Not likely, Sam thought as she gazed down into the depths of her purse and prayed her recorder was getting it all. When she looked up, she saw three men staring at her as if she’d just waved a big, red flag in their direction. Until this moment, she was pretty sure Dominic DeMarco hadn’t realized she was in the room. But he knew it now, and as he stepped closer, his gaze roamed up and down her body, his gaze sucking her in like one of those new Oreck XL Deluxe vacuum cleaners. The cad.

“Do I know you?” he asked.

Double cad. Twelve years was a long time, but what sort of man wouldn’t recognize a woman who used to bring him lemonade every fifteen minutes? Sure, she’d lost more than a few pounds since then, grown a few inches, highlighted her hair and straightened her teeth, but still--the man didn’t deserve to know the truth.

“Is there something we can do for you?” Dominic asked in what sounded to her like a ridiculous, albeit well-practiced drawl.

“Umm--no—no, thank you. I was here for the wedding—” She took a step backward toward the door. “Since there isn’t going to be one, I’ll just be on my way.” She turned to leave.

“Stop right there,” one of the men called out.

She turned around, pointed to her chest.

“Yes, you,” Ben said. “Come here.”

He knew about her tape recorder. Crap. She stood frozen in place, praying he wouldn’t ask to look inside her purse.

Ben looked at Dominic. “She sort of looks like Julia, doesn’t she?”

Dominic stepped closer--close enough for her to get a whiff of his expensive cologne. She refused to let him intimidate her. Staring up into vast blue eyes that had somehow become incredibly bluer over the years, she stared him down.

“She’s shorter than Julia,” Dominic said without looking away. His gaze fell to her breasts, and he shook his head and shrugged. “No, she doesn’t look anything like Julia.”

Sam held in a growl. “I don’t think I like where this conversation is headed.”

Ben smiled. “I think this might work.”

Were they all deaf?

“The solution to our problem could very well be standing right in front of us,” Tom agreed, his cheery voice grating on her nerves.

“Whatever it is you men are talking about,” she said as she headed for the door, “I don’t want to know. I’m outta here.”

Ben took a shortcut around the sofa and rushed toward the exit, blocking her way. He glanced at the Press pass hanging around her neck. “You’re a reporter, right?”

“What about it?”

He lifted her left hand and examined her ring finger. “You’re not married.”

She pulled her hand from his grasp. “No. And I really don’t think that’s any of your business.”

“All you have to do is marry Dominic,” Ben said. “Something most women would give their left arm to do.”

“I happen to be attached to my left arm,” Sam said with a snort, “and besides, you’re all nuts. There’s no way I’m going to marry this man. No offense, DeMarco, but I’m not into the whole conceited-rich-man-whose-a-celebrity-for-no-reason scene.”

“No offense taken. I feel the same way about reporters.”

She chose to ignore that statement.

“We’ll pay you one hundred thousand dollars,” the other man said confidently, as if money solved all problems.

She laughed and leaned her chin into her chest, talking loud enough so the recorder would get it all. “Let me get this straight. You’re making millions of dollars off of a handful of billion-dollar companies and you’re offering me a measly hundred thousand dollars to marry a womanizing, reporter-loathing Trump wannabe?”

Ben seemed to ponder that, before he said, “You’re right. Make it two hundred and fifty thousand. No more. No less.”

“Hey, I take exception to that,” Dominic said. “And for the record,” he added, looking at Sam. “I don’t loathe reporters, I just don’t trust them.”

“Obviously I’m not making myself clear,” she said. “I’m not in the mood to get married today, so forget it.”

“The only way to make a reporter do what you want,” Dominic muttered, “is to give them a story.”

Tom nodded in agreement.

Ben’s eyes lit up. “That’s it! We’ll give her an exclusive; a one-year exclusive on everything that goes on in Dominic DeMarco’s life!”

“You’re insane,” Sam said.

“I actually agree with her,” Dominic said, sounding less like a surly, spoiled man who has everything and more like a normal guy in a desperate situation. “Get out of her way, Ben. Let her go.”

“Just hear me out, will you?” Ben asked Sam. “Nobody knows who DeMarco is going to marry. That’s part of the big ruckus...one of the reasons why these companies are willing to shell out big bucks to be a part of the big day. This wedding is not just a wedding anymore...this thing is bigger than all of us.”

“And since nobody knows who he’s going to marry,” Tom added, “nobody will care who he walks down the aisle with.”

“What about the reception?” Dominic asked.

Sam feigned disinterest although she was also curious as to how they planned to pull off such a ridiculous stunt.

Ben smiled. “What about it? Live it up. Party. The congregation is made up of a few big names, but mostly fans—one of the reasons we brought the wedding to New York. Nobody will blink an eye when they see an unfamiliar face at your side.”

Dominic loosened his bowtie.

“You make unheard of real estate deals for a living,” Ben said. “And she makes up stories for a living. You’re perfect for one another.”

“I don’t make up stories,” Sam said. “I write what I see. I tell the truth.”

All three men laughed at the same time.

She rolled her eyes. “What about after the reception?” she found herself asking out of what she considered to be morbid curiosity.

Ben came between her and Dominic and slapped a hand against Dominic’s back. “You’ll do what all newlyweds do--you’ll go on a honeymoon.”

Sam opened her mouth to protest, but Ben stopped her with a raised hand. “Hear me out,” he said. “Two of the company sponsors include the airlines and the hotel in Hawaii where you’ll be staying for your honeymoon. You’ll be expected to attend a few local functions, but that’s all. It’s a huge suite...plenty of room. You don’t have to share a bed unless you want to,” he added with a wink.

Sam snorted at the prospect.

Dominic merely shrugged.

“My bags are back at my hotel,” she said as if she might actually go through with this madness. Would she? Could she? Exclusive story of a lifetime? She could see the headlines now: Small Time Journalist Marries Ultra Rich Real Estate Mogul. Instant best seller.

“Just tell me your name,” Tom said, “and I’ll send someone to retrieve your bags and settle the bill. You won’t have to worry about a thing.”

“I don’t know--”

“You’ve got about two seconds to make up your minds,” Ben said.

“Samantha Johnson,” she blurted, waiting for DeMarco’s jaw to drop when he recognized her name. But he didn’t flinch. Not one twitch. “Just call me Sam,” she said, irritated by DeMarco’s disinterest.

“Great,” Ben said, his arm snaking around her shoulder. “I’ll draw up a quick agreement and all you have to do is sign on the dotted line. You’ll be set for life.”

Sam removed his arm as if it were a poisonous snake and looked him straight in the eyes, searching for the courage to just say no. But she couldn’t. He was right. This was her big chance, the sort of opportunity that only came around once every million years.

Ben reminded her of one of those flashy, fast-talking car salesmen, but despite her reluctance, she nodded.

Ben gave her a suffocating hug. “See,” he said to Dominic, “she’s spunky and beautiful.”

Now she knew Ben was full of it. With her hair plastered against her face after sweating in the hallway for hours and her clothes wrinkled and clinging to her skin, she looked far from beautiful.

“After the honeymoon, you two will fly back to Los Angeles where I’ll have everything ready and waiting,” Ben said. “I’ll set up her room in the south wing of your Malibu estate and—”

“What do you mean when we get back to Los Angeles?” Sam asked. “After the honeymoon, we can call it quits, right?”

Ben shook his head. “You two must be married for a minimum of three months, which means you’re going to have to live together, you know, do all the normal things newlyweds do. Otherwise the contracts are void."

Sam frowned. “So, you're really doing this for money?”

Dominic loosened his tie a little more.

“Yeah,” Ben said, “but that's here, nor there. As you can see, this wedding has grown into a nationwide story. It’s not just about money anymore. It’s bigger than all of us.”

“You already said that, and what does that mean, anyhow? Bigger than all of us,” she muttered. “What else does he have to do?” she asked. “Consummate the marriage? Have 2.5 kids and name one after the son of the American Airlines’ president?”

Dominic chuckled.

“This isn’t funny,” she snapped.

“No, it’s not. But if we’re going to go through with this, honey, you’ve got to lighten up.”

“Don’t call me ‘honey.’” She turned to Tom. She didn’t trust Ben, and she didn’t like Dominic. Despite the earring on his eyebrow and the tattoo on his neck, Tom was the only one in the room who seemed like a fairly normal guy. “Is that all of it?” she asked him. “Anything else I should know about?”

“That’s it,” Tom said. “Three months of marriage, a few miscellaneous engagements, and the money is yours to keep.”

“And the exclusive?”

“And the exclusive.”

Her stomach gurgled. “I’m not dressed for a wedding,” she pointed out, “and since I don’t make it a habit of packing an emergency wedding gown--”

“It’ll be fine,” Ben assured her. “You’re about the same size as Julia and her dress is in the other room ready to go. We’ve got hair and makeup people waiting to work their magic. I’ll be close by the entire time. I’ll take care of everything. All you need to do is sign a couple of documents stating your agreement to never let on that this marriage isn’t completely legit.”

“How am I going to write an exclusive if I can’t be truthful about what went on today?”

Ben sighed. “In three months time, when this is all over, everyone is going to want to know what it was like to be married to the sexiest tycoon in America. They’re going to want your story, Samantha. They don’t need to know why you walked down the aisle today.”

He had a point. She didn’t have to lie. She just wouldn’t tell everything right from the beginning. She could write a book, beginning with their first day as husband and wife. Ninety Days as Mrs. Dominic DeMarco or My Life as an Arrogant Playboy’s Wife. There wasn’t a woman in the world who wouldn’t want to know what Dominic DeMarco looked like in the morning, what he wore to bed, whether or not he had any distinguishing birthmarks...her cheeks heated at the thought. What the heck was she doing? It could be worse, she decided with a sigh. When it came to looks, DeMarco had it all; thick dark hair, blue eyes, strong firm jaw, great body. He might be a womanizing cad, but it wasn’t as if Ben and Tom were asking her to marry Danny DeVito.

Dominic fidgeted with his collar for the tenth time. His face had grown pinched, his jaw tight. He was nervous. Ben must have noticed DeMarco’s reaction because he pulled Dominic aside and said in an undertone, “Walk down the aisle, sign a few papers, or walk out there right now and tell those sponsors the deal is off. It’s your call.”

Ben looked over his shoulder at Sam, obviously worried he might lose them both. “And you, Samantha, will have the story of a lifetime. Newspapers and television shows around the country will be vying for your attention before and after the marriage ends.”

She hated to admit it, but the whole idea had a certain crazy, disgusting appeal to it. She had been working long hours with little sleep for years--always hoping to catch a break. She couldn’t walk away from the deal of a lifetime. She always said she needed a little adventure in her life. What harm could it do? For a few short months, she would be Mrs. Dominic DeMarco, something she’d once dreamt about. Not only would she walk away with enough money to put a down payment on a house and help out her parents, but in the end, she could tell the world the truth about the man--every sordid detail.

A tall, bald man poked his head into the room, his voice flustered. “There are hundreds of fidgety people waiting for the ceremony to begin, not to mention thousands of fans waiting outside in the heat, hoping to get a glimpse of the bride and groom. What’s going on?”

“Tell the guests they’ll be there soon,” Tom said as he ushered the man out of the room and down the hallway.

When they could no longer hear departing footsteps, Ben looked at Sam. “So, what’s it going to be? Are you in?”

Her stomach knotted. “Under one condition. After the three months are over, I want to write a book about my experiences.”

“Can’t do,” Ben said. “The sponsors would be furious if they ever learned they were duped.”

“They’ll never know. I’ll market it as fiction. Maybe even a romance. Depends on how I decide to end the story.”

“Definitely not a romance then,” Dominic muttered. “Because romances have a happy ending and there’s no way this is going to end on a happy note.”

She smiled. “Sounds like someone reads romance.”

Ben looked at Dominic and raised a curious brow.

DeMarco didn’t bother denying or confirming the accusation, he just looked at Sam with those arctic blue eyes of his and said, “Could you go put on a wedding dress? I’d like to get this over with.”