Besides, if Casey was pregnant, she should marry the father of her child. The pretty-well-perfect father of her child.
“You could wait a long time for a man who adores you,” Adam said, and was annoyed to find he felt like a heel, telling her to abandon her dreams. More forcefully, he added, “You might never find one. Marry Joe and be happy with what you’ve got.”
“Casey!” A voice from the doorway startled them. Adam recognized one of the production assistants. About time. Casey leaped to her feet.
“There you are.” The woman’s voice was overly bright. She flashed Adam a look of sympathetic exasperation. “They’re waiting for you in makeup. We need to hurry.”
Casey hesitated. She swallowed, then turned to Adam. “You’re right, I’m sure it’ll be fine.” Her voice held the faintest question, so Adam nodded reassuringly. She smiled, a proper smile this time, which made her eyes glow more green than gray. “It was nice talking to you.”
“You, too. And—” he might as well admit he knew what she’d been alluding to “—good luck with the baby.”
Her eyes widened. He saw confusion, the dawn of understanding, then amusement chasing through them. She laughed out loud. “I’m not pregnant.”
“So why did you say you have to get married?”
She beamed, still amused. “It’s complicated. Family stuff.” She stuck out a hand and said, “Bye, Adam.”
“Goodbye, Casey. And good luck.” Whether it was because he knew what desperate measures family could drive a person to, or because he felt unaccountably relieved she wasn’t pregnant, or just because she was dressed in such formal, elaborate style, Adam did the weirdest thing. Instead of shaking her hand, he lifted it to his mouth, pressed a kiss to the back of her fingers.
And found himself sorely tempted to kiss Casey Greene all the way up her arm and keep right on going.
CASEY HAD CONVINCED herself she had her nerves under control. She’d gotten over that crazy bout of crying in front of a complete stranger. She’d gone through makeup, final adjustments to her hair and the fitting of her veil, ninety-five percent certain that following her dream justified this extreme step.
Now, a renewed surge of misgiving tightened her grip on the seat of the high stool center stage in the baking-hot television studio. The show hadn’t started; a buzz of conversation drifted from the studio audience toward the stage.
“Remind me why I’m doing this,” she muttered to the bride on her right, her best friend, Brodie-Ann Evans. Beyond Brodie-Ann, the third bride overheard the question and tittered. She’d introduced herself as Trisha from Truberg and, in her wedding dress, was alarmingly reminiscent of a giggling meringue.
“Two words,” Brodie-Ann said. “Push. Over.”
Oh, yeah. I am not a pushover. Not anymore. Casey recalled the way Joe kept postponing the date for their wedding, and how their plans to move out of Parkvale kept getting put on hold. Then she summoned to mind the letter she’d received last month from her sister, Karen. A letter that gave Casey the urge to get as far away as possible from their hometown.
It was time her life started happening, and tonight was the night.
“Thanks, hon,” she breathed to Brodie-Ann.
Signing up for the pilot episode of Kiss the Bride had been Brodie-Ann’s idea—but Casey had instantly recognized its genius. If her best friend could marry the man she loved after dating him just six months, then Casey would darn well marry Joe.
Which was how she’d ended up here, dressed in a silk-and-lace concoction she could never have afforded in real life.
The floor director, who’d introduced himself earlier, stepped up on to the stage in front of Casey. “Two minutes, ladies, so get ready to smile. And remember, don’t look at the cameras while you’re being interviewed.”
Instinctively, Casey’s gaze darted to the nearest camera, which appeared to be pointed right at her. The director tsked. “Keep your eyes on Sally, the camera will find you.” He paused, pressed his headphones against one ear as he listened, then smiled at the brides. “I’m happy to report that your men are ready and waiting in the green room. No cold feet.” He nodded brisk reassurance, then hurried to talk to Sally.
Casey wasn’t surprised to hear the men weren’t worried.
She’d told Joe they were competing on a game show and were likely to win a lot of money. They’d driven three hours to Memphis this morning. Brodie-Ann’s boyfriend, Steve, along with a third unsuspecting man had been taken out for lunch by Channel Eight staff and given bogus details as to what the show was about. They doubtless assumed their female partners were getting the same treatment.
How could it have occurred to Joe that Casey would be selecting a wedding dress, having a makeover and planning on marrying him in front of millions of viewers?
She shuddered. Thank goodness it was only a local show. No one outside of Tennessee would see what she’d had to go through to get married.
“I’m not conning Joe into marrying me,” she told Brodie-Ann. “I’m just bringing the date forward a bit.”
“You told me that already. Twelve times.”
Casey closed her eyes and prayed she wasn’t crazy.
What was crazy was that her fingers should still be tingling from the kiss of a stranger. Worse, as she tried to conjure up Joe’s face, that same stranger’s image kept intruding.
Adam Carmichael was the kind of guy any woman would think about, she consoled herself. Those broad shoulders, those strong hands that had steadied her…At first, Casey had thought his eyes an arctic blue, but when he kissed her, they’d glinted a warmer azure color. Most of the time he’d looked tense, with a furrow in his brow that told her the tension might be habitual.
When Casey opened her eyes, Adam stood in her line of vision, next to the camera she wasn’t supposed to be looking at. He was looking right at her, frowning again. She couldn’t see that furrow, but she knew it would be there. She guessed he might be worrying about her, and her delusions of romance.
She mustered a reassuring smile—I’m not going to fall apart—and waggled her fingers at him. He waved back, but it was a brief, tense movement.
A production assistant clipped a microphone to her dress, obscuring Casey’s view of Adam. When the assistant stepped aside, he was gone. A peculiar loneliness made her chest ache.
Then someone was counting down. Sally Summers, the show’s host, looked in the mirror one last time and…they were on air. It took all Casey’s willpower not to flee the set as Sally began her introduction. The words passed Casey by, but she was jerked back to reality when Sally came over to interview Trisha from Truberg.
“Trisha, how long have you and Martin been dating?”
Five years, Trisha told Sally. They’d been engaged for three, and their families still couldn’t agree on a wedding date.
After the interview, a drumroll rounded to a crescendo, then Sally called Martin Blake to the set. He emerged from backstage to the strains of “Here Comes the Bride,” and the audience applauded on cue. Martin did a double take, but to Casey’s relief—maybe this won’t be so bad—he got over his initial shock.
Sally explained he could marry Trisha right now. The deputy clerk of Shelby County Court would issue a marriage license and a minister would perform the ceremony. Then Martin and Trisha would head off on a luxury honeymoon.
Martin scratched his head. “Now? Tonight?”
Sally repeated the offer, this time stressing that the honeymoon was all-expensespaid.
“Just think, baby,” Trisha