Free His Emergency Fiancée by Kate Hardy

band played a few bars of the Wedding March.
    ‘And there’s a glass of champagne for everyone at the bar,’ she informed them, ‘to celebrate their engagement.’ The band played another fanfare, and the woman reached out to pull a string. A banner unfurled to read H APPY E NGAGEMENT , B EN AND K IRSTY , and there was a long round of applause punctuated by whistles and calls of, ‘It’s about time, too!’
    ‘I don’t believe this,’ Kirsty muttered.
    ‘It never occurred to me,’ he muttered back. ‘I never thought Gran would be so pleased she’d tell the world!’
    ‘The buffet opens in twenty minutes. But now we’re going to celebrate the happy couple’s news with the St Bernard’s Waltz.’
    There were three or four other dances for couples—she ended up swapping partners for each of them, but it was fine. And everyone wanted to tell her how they’d really known for years that she and Ben would end up together.
    ‘Ben’s letters to Morag were always full of you. Kirsty this, Kirsty that, right from the day he first met you.’ Robbie Forbes, the post office manager, smiled broadly as he whirled her round. ‘At least he chose a girl with a Scots name!’
    Ben’s letters as a student had been about her? But what about his string of girlfriends? The gorgeous blondes and redheads with legs that went on for ever? Hadn’t he written about them ? Why her?
    ‘Have you named the day yet?’ Robbie continued.
    ‘Er—no. When I’ve qualified. I still have to finish my surgeon’s exams,’ she prevaricated.
    ‘Don’t leave it too long,’ he advised kindly. ‘When you find the right one, you’ll want the rest of your life together to start right away.’
    Except she wasn’t the right one for Ben, was she?
    ‘Of course, we all feel we already know you—even though this is the first time we’ve actually met you,’ Jim Ramsay from the fish and chip shop said during the next dance. ‘And you’re perfect for him. I know it’s traditional to marry in the bride’s home town, but the parish church up here’s so pretty, it’s a perfect spot for a wedding.’
    ‘Er, we haven’t really decided anything yet,’ Kirsty hedged, remembering her vision of Ben in a kilt down the aisle of a tiny stone church, lit by candles, waiting for his bride. ‘There’s plenty of time to sort out all the details.’
    ‘I bet your parents are pleased you’ve a good man like Ben.’
    Her parents? She hadn’t breathed a word of this to them. Or to her brothers. Pleased? They’d lecture her for days about being so stupid!
    She was relieved when the caller told them to get in line ready for the next dance, and Ben annexed her as his partner.
    ‘This one’s the easier version,’ he told her.
    ‘Just spare me from the grillings,’ she said feelingly. ‘Everyone wants to know when and where the wedding’s going to be!’
    ‘I’m sorry, Kirst.’
    ‘Wasn’t it your countryman who talked about tangled webs and practising to deceive?’
    ‘I’ll sort it out. I promise,’ he said. ‘But it looks as if Gran told the whole village. This is their way of welcoming you.’
    If she’d been Ben’s real fiancée, it would have touched her heart to know the village thought so much of him. As his fake fiancée, she simply felt as if she was lying to everyone. She hated lying. The fact they were all such nice, genuine, innocent people made it even worse.
    The next dance passed in a whirl and by the time the band stopped, everyone was slightly red-faced and grinning.
    ‘I need a drink!’ she said to Ben, and they headed for the bar.
    ‘Champagne for you both,’ the barmaid said, handing them both a glass.
    ‘Any chance of a long, soft drink instead, Sandy?’ Ben asked.
    ‘At your engagement? Don’t be so daft!’ came the retort.
    With a rueful smile, Ben accepted the glass and handed one to Kirsty. ‘Well—cheers,’ he said.
    ‘Will you not do the thing properly, Ben Robertson?’ Sandy asked loudly.