Free Stop the Wedding! by Stephanie Bond Page A

hospital waiting room when this young lady was born. Suzanne, may I present my fiancée, Belle Coakley, and her daughter, Annabelle.”
    The woman flashed a dazzling smile—Annabelle had never seen so many teeth in one mouth. “I’m pleased to meet you,” Suzanne gushed. “I was helping Martin select a couple of ties while we waited for Clay.” The woman pronounced the latter name with wistful familiarity.
    Frustrated that her plan had been thwarted, and doubly irritated to meet one of what must be a long list of Clayton Castleberry admirers, Annabelle sent a withering glance toward a sock rack and muttered, “If I hear the name “Clay” one more time—”
    “Careful,” a male voice sounded near her ear, “my ears are already burning.”
    She wheeled, not entirely surprised to see Clay Castleberry, who seemed to pop up at the most inconvenient times. Dressed in classic dark jeans, a white ribbed T-shirt, and broken-in leather tennis shoes, Annabelle thought she had a good idea of what Martin might have looked like during his movie-making days. Clayton Castleberry was a striking man, an acknowledgment that only rankled her further.
    The subject of her agitation swept his dark gaze over her overalls and quirked a brow. “They don’t pay attorneys in Detroit enough to afford clothes?”
    A flush scalded her neck. “The airline lost my luggage,” she said through clenched teeth, feeling like a hobo next to the glittery, coiffed Suzanne, who paraded over to stand next to Annabelle, crowning the comparison.
    “Hello, darlin’,” the woman drawled to Clay, hiking out a rounded hip which had been vacuum-packed into a red skirt.
    Clay’s eyes followed her movement. “Hello, Suzanne. I haven’t seen you in a while.”
    “That’s your fault,” she said silkily.
    “I’ve been busy.”
    “Don’t tell me you’re getting married, too,” she said, sounding wounded, then
shot a suspicious glance toward Annabelle.
“No!” they said in unison.
    Clay added a laugh, his voice casual. “I only came to help Dad select a tux.”
    “And I’m only here to help mother pick out a dress,” Annabelle offered, hating that she felt the need to explain, and frowning at the older couple who stood engrossed in each other a few steps away. Belle straightened the hideous tie and Martin showered kisses upon her mother’s hands. Ugh.
    “Annabelle, dear,” her mother said. “I’d like to show Martin that pink dress.”
    Martin flashed a charming smile. “You can stay with Clay, Annabelle, and give your opinion on the jacket style I picked out. Add the tie to my account, Suzanne. We’ll be back in a few minutes.”
    They didn’t even wait for an answer before strolling out of the shop, arm in arm. Annabelle gritted her teeth, lamenting the turn the day had taken. She’d been so close.
    “Temper, temper,” Clay chided.
    She glared in his direction. “Shut. Up.”
    Suzanne glanced back and forth between them, then said, “I’ll get the jacket Martin selected,” and scampered away.
    “You don’t have to keep up the act around me,” Clay said, folding his arms.
    “What are you rambling about?” she asked, looking for somewhere to sit.
    “I’m not convinced you’re against this marriage as much as you pretend.”
    Her feet were killing her, and her head felt equally offended. She looked back to him and stepped closer, narrowing her eyes. “Mr. Castleberry, let me remind you that you dug a deep hole for yourself within the first ten minutes of our meeting.” With every word, she inched toward him, her ire rising. “You are the most arrogant man I’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting. And I couldn’t care less whether you find my behavior ‘convincing,’ because you have no say-so over any aspect of my life.” She jabbed a finger in his chest, and winced when it met unyielding muscle. “Got it?”
    “Excuse me,” Suzanne said as she reappeared. Her voice had changed and she eyed Annabelle with