Dylan met her halfway, shaking his head in aggravation. “Thank God you’re here. We’ve got a bit of a situation.”
Shanna Wade’s green eyes were the same pale shade as her sons’ and swimming with the same shock Dylan was currently feeling.
“Dylan,” she said in a grim voice, “can you please explain why your brother just asked me to tell all the guests to go home?”
His heart dropped to the pit of his stomach like a sinking rock. “He did what?”
“He told me to make an announcement that there won’t be a wedding.” She hesitated. “He said you were responsible for telling Claire.”
Dylan’s shoulders tensed. “What? Where is he now?”
His mom’s voice trembled. “He left.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
For once, Shanna didn’t reprimand him for dropping an F-bomb. “He went out the back. I was too flustered and confused to stop him, and then when I finally snapped out of it and ran outside, he was already driving away.”
Chris, you fucking asshole.
Fury whipped through him, along with a wad of disgust that knotted around his insides. He couldn’t believe this. Chris had actually fled without telling Claire McKinley it was over. His brother had actually pulled an Elvis and left the fucking building.
“What do we do?”
His mom’s frantic demand penetrated his enraged thoughts. Taking a calming breath, Dylan reached for her hand and found that it was icy cold. He squeezed her delicate fingers and met her confused expression.
“You’re going to have to make the announcement,” he said softly. “Tell everyone there won’t be a wedding today.”
She looked panicked. “And say what? That my son got cold feet?”
“No. Don’t give any details. Just say the bride and groom had a change of heart, and the decision was mutual.”
Tears filled Shanna’s eyes. “Oh my God. How is this happening? Will you come with me?”
“I can’t. I have something else to take care of.”
“What are you doing?”
“What Chris was too much of a coward to do.” Dylan’s jaw tightened with anger. “I’m going to break up with his bride.”
“Do I look okay?” Biting her lip, Claire stared at her reflection in the full-length mirror. The butterflies in her stomach were flying around in crazy circles, making it difficult to focus on the vision in white staring back at her.
“Okay? You look more than okay, sweetie. You look beautiful.” Nora McKinley appeared in the mirror, her brown eyes gleaming with pride and sparkling with unshed tears.
A queasy feeling tickled Claire’s belly. “Mom…”
“I mean it. You’re beautiful, inside and out.” Nora sniffled. “You’re the most wonderful daughter a mother could ever ask for, and I’m so very proud of you.”
Claire’s teeth sank harder into her bottom lip.
“Oh, sweetie, don’t cry. You’ll ruin your makeup.”
She hadn’t even noticed the moisture welling up in her eyes, but that did explain why her reflection was blurry all of a sudden.
She blinked away the tears and turned to face her mother, who looked gorgeous and elegant in a peach-colored empire-cut dress that stopped just below her knees. Nora’s auburn hair was pulled back in a neat chignon, and with her perfect complexion and naturally red lips, Claire’s fifty-three-year-old mother didn’t look a day over forty.
“What’s going on, Claire? Are you nervous?”
“Yes.” She gulped. “But that’s normal, right? People get nervous before their wedding, don’t they?”
”Of course. It’s a perfectly normal response,” Nora said in a gentle tone. “Lots of brides get jittery right before the ceremony.”
”I wish Nat was here,” Claire murmured.
Her mother let out a soft sigh. “I know you’re upset that Natasha couldn’t be here, but you can’t dwell on that. Do you want me to get Michelle? Your maid of honor should really be here to help you get ready.”
”No, it’s all right. I just…I think I need a moment alone. Do you mind?”
A wrinkle appeared on Nora’s forehead, but she didn’t object to the request. “Of course not.” She stepped closer and gently stroked Claire’s cheek. “Michelle and I will come get you when it’s time.”
The second her mother was gone, Claire slid down to the carpeted floor in a pile of white lace.
Was this normal? The nerves, the shaky hands and damp palms? When she was a little girl, she’d constantly fantasized about her wedding, imagined how elated she’d be when the big day finally came. Cold feet had never been part of the fantasy.
And neither had a full-blown panic attack.
The bodice of her dress suddenly felt too tight, making it impossible to breathe, and her hands were shaking so hard she had to dig her fingers into her thighs to still the erratic trembling.