Call Me Irresistible Read Online Free PDF Page B

right?
    Meg’s spine flattened against the door. Their questions grew louder, more demanding.
    Where are the bride and groom?
    Is the ceremony over?
    Tell us what’s happening.
    “I—I’m not feeling well, that’s all . . .”
    Their shouts swallowed her weak response. Somebody screamed for everybody to “Shut the hell up!” She’d faced down con artists in Thailand and street thugs in Morocco, but she’d never felt so far out of her element. Once again, she turned toward the door, crushing her bouquet beneath her heel, but the lock wouldn’t budge. Either no one inside realized her predicament or they’d tossed her to the wolves.
    The bleacher crowd was on its feet. She looked desperately around and spotted two narrow steps leading to a walkway that ran around the side of the church. She rushed down them, nearly tripping. The onlookers who’d been shut out of the bleachers clustered on the sidewalk beyond the churchyard fence, some of them with strollers, others with drink coolers. She picked up her skirt and ran along the uneven brick path toward the parking lot at the rear. Surely someone from the security detail would let her back in the church. An awful prospect, but better than facing the press.
    Just as she reached the asphalt, she spotted one of the groomsmen with his back toward her as he opened the door of a dark gray Benz. The ceremony had definitely been canceled. She couldn’t imagine riding back to the inn in the same limo as the other members of the wedding party, and she rushed toward the Benz. She tugged open the passenger door just as the ignition turned over. “Could you drop me off at the inn?”
    “No.”
    She looked up and met the cool eyes of Ted Beaudine. One glance at that stubborn jaw told her he’d never believe she wasn’t responsible for what had happened, especially not after the way she’d interrogated him at the rehearsal dinner. She started to say she was sorry for the pain this was causing him, but he didn’t look pained. He seemed more inconvenienced. He was an emotional robot, and Lucy had been right to dump him.
    Meg pulled her skirt around her and took a faltering step backward. “Uh . . . Okay then.”
    He took his time leaving the parking lot. No squealing tires or roaring engine. He even shot a brief wave to a couple of people on the sidewalk. He’d just been ditched by the daughter of the former president of the United States while the whole world looked on, yet he showed no sign that something monumental had happened.
    She dragged herself to the nearest security guard, who finally let her back into the church, where her reappearance received exactly the hostile reception she expected.
    Outside the church, the president’s press secretary delivered a hurried statement that offered no details, only a brief announcement that the ceremony was canceled. After an obligatory request for the public to respect the couple’s privacy, the press secretary hurried back inside without taking questions. Through the commotion that followed, no one noticed a small figure dressed in a royal blue choir robe and white satin pumps slip out the side door and disappear into the neighboring backyards.

Chapter Three
    E mma traveler had never seen Francesca Beaudine so distraught. Four days had passed since Lucy Jorik had disappeared, and they were sitting under the pergola in the shady courtyard behind the Beaudine home. A silver gazing ball nestled among the roses made Francesca seem even tinier than she was. In all the years they’d known each other, Emma had never seen her friend cry, but Francesca had a telling mascara smear under one of her emerald eyes, her chestnut hair was disheveled, and weary lines etched her heart-shaped face.
    Although Francesca was fifty-four, nearly fifteen years older than Emma and far more beautiful, their deep friendship had its roots in common bonds. They were both British, both married to famous professional golfers, and both far more