Mister Wrong

  Mister Wrong

  Copyright © 2017 by Nicole Williams

  All rights reserved.

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products, bands, and/or restaurants referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Dedicated to everyone who’s met the right person at the wrong time.

  Title Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  About the Author

  He was wrong for her.

  That was the only thought running through my head as I rechecked every inch of the church. So completely wrong for her. This latest disappearing act, the most recent proof. He’d skipped out on her before, but today was different.

  Today, they were supposed to get married. Today, Cora Matthews would become Cora Adams. She’d have my last name. But not in the way I’d hoped for—not that I hadn’t accepted that years ago.

  She’d chosen him. My brother. My twin brother. She’d chosen him forever ago, and that was that. She’d been as good as Mrs. Jacob Adams since the day Cora Matthews first showed up in our lives years ago.

  At least until today, when Cora was going to be marching toward an empty altar in fifteen minutes if I didn’t find the supposed Mister Right. Jacob wasn’t the right one—for a dozen reasons I could list—but he was who she wanted and he’d done his best to convince her she was all he wanted too. But I knew better.

  My brother had always been indulged; being the “firstborn” son—by a whole three minutes—to a wealthy family has a way of doing that. The problem arose when the boy grew into a man who wanted to be equally indulged in all sorts of ways that a wife would likely frown upon. Jacob wasn’t the right one for her. I knew that. Hell, I think even he knew that when he surfaced from his self-adoring stupor every so often.

  Not that I was the right one for Cora either. I was just as wrong for her as Jacob was, but in a different way. See, where he’d always loved her too little, I’d loved her too much. So I’d kept my secret for years and watched the girl I loved fall in love with the brother I’d shared a womb with for thirty-eight weeks. The brother I loved and looked after, despite his faults.

  God knew I had a shit ton of my own.

  That was why I was about to start tearing this church apart in order to find him. I was looking after his interests as well as Cora’s, because even though he had a piss-poor way of showing it, he loved her. In his own way. If you could call what Jacob felt for anyone love. In a way, it was love, but in another way, it was the opposite.

  “Where the hell’s Jacob?” The senior Adams, also known as Dad, asked when I circled into the lobby again, hoping my missing brother had magically appeared. He was holding my brother’s tux zipped up in an expensive bag and looking at me like I was failing the task of keeping track of my brother as I’d failed all the rest presented to me in life.

  Where the hell’s Jacob? How many times had I asked myself that question? How many times had I probably known or had a good idea where he was?

  “He’s back in one of the church offices waiting. Just got here.” I had to slow myself down when I heard the words wobble. It had been years since I’d stuttered over a word, and now was not the time to resurrect that old habit. “I’ll take it down to him.”

  I grabbed the tux from Dad and backed down the hall, trying to ignore the stuffed sanctuary and the orchestra playing some song that sounded more fitting for a funeral than a wedding.

  That was what this was about to become if I didn’t do something. Whether it would be my dad murdering me for flunking my best man responsibilities of keeping track of the groom, or me murdering Jacob when I finally found his pathetic ass after doing this to Cora on today of all days, someone was going to die.

  “That tux isn’t going to put itself on a groom, Matt. Get after it.” Dad motioned me down the hall before he marched toward the sanctuary like he was ready to get this over with.

  He wasn’t thrilled about the wedding. Didn’t exactly approve of the match. It wasn’t that he didn’t love Cora, because he did, like a daughter. He just didn’t find her fitting as a daughter-in-law, especially to his prized firstborn who was incapable of doing wrong. He probably wouldn’t have cared so much if she was marrying me, which was disconcerting to say the least. The only person who’d approve of Cora and me ending up together was my dad.

  As I jogged down the hall, carrying a found tux to a missing groom, Dad’s last words replayed through my mind. That tux isn’t going to put itself on a groom.

  A groom.

  A groom.

  My plan was already forming as I ducked into a dark church office, my fingers working my tie loose. Jacob wasn’t just my twin brother—he was my identical twin brother.

  I was maybe a little bit taller and he was maybe a little bit fuller, but not enough that anyone would notice. Not enough, I hoped, that Cora would notice. She used to confuse us all the time when we were growing up together and still, on occasion, she’d mistake me for Jacob and Jacob for me. Like the last time I’d been at her and Jacob’s condo when she’d thrown a surprise party for him. I’d been talking with a group of old friends, she slid by me, found my hand, and gave it the briefest of squeezes. She’d thought I was Jacob. I knew that because she never touched me anymore. At least not on purpose. We used to be comfortable enough with each other that she’d hug me without thinking, but that changed when she and Jacob became a thing. An official thing.

  She didn’t touch me anymore, not even to nudge me for saying something stupid, which I said all too often in her presence. But that night, she’d touched me. And a year later, I could still remember the way her small hand felt falling into mine.

  Cora would be distracted today—nervous. I knew because she’d told me how panicked she was about standing in front of five hundred people. She’d be so distracted by trying to keep herself from passing out or hyperventilating, so would she really notice if the man standing across from her in front of that altar was me?

  I was banking on the chance that she wouldn’t, as I changed from my suit into Jacob’s tux as fast as humanly possible. The clock on the wall was fast, hopefully, or else I had two and a half minutes to get my ass up front so tha
t when Cora started down the aisle, she’d have someone waiting for her.

  Someone who loved her.

  As I tied the shiny dress shoes, I tried to put aside all of the inner voices telling me how wrong this was. How utterly and unforgivably wrong this was. I knew it was wrong. I knew that. But it was just as wrong to do nothing. It was wrong to let Jacob ruin another moment for her. By doing something that I knew was wrong, I hoped I was ultimately doing the right thing.

  Maybe he wasn’t where I thought he was, hungover and waking up in some girl’s bed. Maybe he’d gotten into an accident or been kidnapped or . . . damn, then I’d feel like a real piece of shit for thinking the worst about my own brother. Maybe something legitimate had come up and he’d have some great explanation and I’d pull him aside to let him know I’d stepped in and no one besides us would know what had gone down.

  And maybe Jacob had decided to turn over a new leaf and not be such a selfish prick, I thought with a sigh.

  Pausing in front of the picture hanging beside the door, I adjusted the bowtie as best I could before tearing the door open and jogging down the hall. Jacob’s tux was a little big for me, and his shoes a little small, but those were minor discomforts compared to what my psyche was putting me through.

  The ring.

  Fuck.

  After sprinting back to the office, I wrestled the ring box out of the pocket of my jacket, along with my wallet and phone—just in case I didn’t make it back here anytime soon—then I kicked my suit behind a bookcase in the event that someone stumbled into the room to find an abandoned suit and started asking questions.

  My dad’s face was red by the time I made it inside the sanctuary, but when he saw me, his face relaxed and he smiled. It took me a moment to realize he wasn’t smiling at me—he was smiling at Jacob.

  Dad never really smiled at me too much. Smirks were more the way of it.

  “Where the hell’s Matt?” one of the groomsmen, Hunter, whispered when I passed.

  God, this church was stuffed to capacity. And hot. And lacking in oxygen.

  “Barfing up his guts,” I answered quietly, reminding myself that I was Jacob and needed to talk and sound like him.

  The groomsmen rocked with silent laughter. They were all Jacob’s friends; none were mine.

  “Go figure. We’re the ones drinking places dry, and it’s your brother, the DD, yacking his insides out today.”

  My shoulder lifted in the dismissive way Jacob’s did. “Some guys have all the luck.”

  “And some guys named Matt Adams have none,” Aaron, another groomsman, whispered up the line.

  Didn’t I know it?

  They didn’t make any more jokes or jeers at my expense because they knew better. Jacob and I might have seen things differently and been as unalike as two people could be, but we were twins. He stood up for me and vice versa. He had my back, I had his.

  As my current predicament proved.

  The orchestra broke into a new song—the "Wedding March". The collar of Jacob’s dress shirt felt like it was strangling me at the same time it felt like someone had just dialed up the temperature in the room by twenty degrees.

  What am I doing? Why am I doing it? Is it right? Or wrong?

  The answers to those questions didn’t have a chance to form because that was when I saw her. Like the thousands of times before, the world faded away when Cora Matthews walked into the room. When she started down the aisle, I swayed a little and had to step out of line to keep myself from toppling into the minister.

  “Easy there, big guy,” Hunter said under his breath, elbowing me. “Too late for cold feet. Bride is en route.”

  I wanted to tell him it wasn’t cold feet I had, but something else. It was the feeling of being so sure of something that the rest of the world seemed off-kilter. So sure of something that the rest of the world just didn’t make sense. I’d never been as certain of anything as I was about the woman walking toward me, about to marry me.

  Under false pretenses.

  I had to remind myself of that when Cora’s eyes found mine and her plastered-on smile crumbled behind a real one. She was smiling at me the way she smiled at him—like I was her world.

  Matthew Adams had never been her whole world, but unknown to her, she’d been mine. That was why I was standing here now, posing as my twin brother, as his fiancée took the final steps toward me. I was doing this for her because I knew she loved him, and I didn’t want to see her hurt again at my brother’s hand.

  Marry the woman you love, Matt, then let her spend the rest of her life with the man she loves.

  The orchestra was just playing its final chords when Cora stopped beside me, her eyes matching the real smile still on her face. God, she was beautiful.

  Too beautiful, I thought again, as I noticed the line of groomsmen appraising her with more than just casual regard. Cora had always been more than another one of the pretty girls; she was the standout. Every guy knew the type. The girl who shouldn’t be real, but there she was, passing you in the hallway every morning. The girl who’s noticed by every person she passes, male or female. She was so beautiful on the outside, few people took the time to get to know the beauty hiding underneath, but I had. I knew she was beautiful everywhere.

  Jacob. Channel Jacob, I reminded myself as everyone took a collective seat behind us.

  “Hey,” I whispered to her, winking.

  Hey? What a moron. Who says hey to the woman he’s about to marry when she stopped beside him looking so damn perfect. I couldn’t feel my lungs.

  “Hey,” she whispered back, like she didn’t think anything of it.

  Because, yeah, Jacob totally would have said hey to his bride like a moron.

  Cora had been versed in moron for practically two decades.

  As the minister started droning on about something I probably should have been paying attention to, I tuned out. This wasn’t my wedding. This was hers. This was his. So instead I watched Cora, memorizing every detail of her face as she stared at the man across from her, who loved her like she was both a poison and an antidote.

  When the pastor asked if I promised to love and cherish her, in sickness and in health, until death do us part, that was the easiest question I’d ever had to answer. It was the simplest part of this mess of a day.

  “I will.”

  I was a married man. I’d married the woman I’d loved since we were eight years old.

  Then why was my mood so damn grim? I splashed some more cold water onto my face at the sink of one of the many first floor bathrooms inside the house I’d grown up in. Outside, the reception was well under way. I could hear music and celebration spilling across the estate. Why did I feel like I’d soaked my world in kerosene and was about to drop a match?

  The wedding had gone fast. Too fast. It felt like five minutes after I’d slipped into Jacob’s tux, Cora and I were being announced as husband and wife. If she suspected anything, she hadn’t shown it. She’d just said her vows, slipped a ring on my finger, and we’d exchanged an innocent kiss that didn’t make me feel innocent things.

  I could still feel her lips on mine, the warmth of them seeping into mine, the slightest hint of mint on her breath. After nearly two decades of fanaticizing about kissing her, I finally had. At her and my brother’s wedding. How was that for a story to one day tell the grandkids?

  Provided I had any since, yeah, Cora. I’d been so hung up on her, I’d gone on a pathetic handful of dates in my twenty-seven years, and after that kiss . . . fuck, I knew I’d spend the future just as hung up on her.

  After drying off my face, I pulled my phone out of my pocket to try calling Jacob again. I’d been sneaking off to the bathroom all night to try to get a hold of him, and this call, like the ones before, ended in the same result. No answer. I was starting to worry. My brother had always drunk more than he should have, which had gotten him into plenty of shady situations.

  Usually those situations involved waking up next to some woman whose name h
e didn’t know, but it was past six o’clock. His drunken stupor from last night should have worn off by now, along with the hangover, leaving enough room in his head for realization to hit that, holy shit, today was his wedding day.

  Either Jacob hadn’t hit pause on whatever party he’d disappeared to last night, or something bad had happened. And I would feel like a real prick if I’d spent the afternoon marrying his fiancée and dancing with her and touching her if he was in some ditch in need of help.

  I was just looking up the numbers to some of the local hospitals to see if a Jacob Adams had been admitted when a pounding sounded on the door.

  “The ol’ ball and chain’s looking for you, Adams.” Some muffled laughter and more pounding. “That didn’t take long. Hopefully she doesn’t start sporting mom jeans and cancelling her waxing appointments. Make sure she doesn’t let herself go just because she’s landed you.”

  More laughter, followed by a few more comments that had me gripping the edge of the sink. That these friends thought it was okay to say what they did to Jacob about Cora made me see red.

  Growing up, I’d heard plenty of lewd locker-room talk about Cora. Most of it derived from the fact that she was pretty much every straight guy’s type—though no one could seem to get through to her—but some of it was said because she didn’t come from our world. The world of the supposed “elite,” where money decided how important you were and were not.

  Cora’s mom became our nanny after our mom died since Dad knew his way around kids as much as he did a kitchen. Mrs. Matthews was our nanny from the time Jacob and I were eight to the time she lost her fight with breast cancer seven years later. Her daughter, Cora, had grown up right along with us, from sitting at the breakfast table every morning to roaming our school halls.

  Even though our dad paid for her to go to the same private schools Jacob and I did, everyone knew she was the daughter of the “hired help.” They treated her as less than, and the boys talked about her and viewed her in ways they didn’t the girls who came from “good” families.