Here Come the Groomsmen

By Miranda Burns

When the groom walks out, they fill in...

This was supposed to be the happiest day of her life.

Maisey Evans had the dress. She had the flowers. She had her best friends by her side. She had the love of her life, her high school sweetheart, waiting for her at the end of the aisle.

Or so she thought.

What do you do when your true love isn’t true? When you’re decked out in your wedding gown, rocking a hot bridal corset and the lingerie that was supposed to be a sweet surprise? When your groomsmen, seven of the sexiest men you’ve ever known, want to give you their sympathies for their friend’s poor taste... and get a taste of you for themselves?

It could still be the happiest day of her life. If she plays her cards right.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Miranda Burns
• Release date: Feb 12, 2018
• ISBN: 9781370278633

Miranda Burns

Miranda Burns is a woman of low moral fiber who loves men, lots of men, women, lots of women, and the intermingling of the lot in as many fun positions and predilections as she can dream up. She loves craft cocktails, fine dining, time spent with friends who love her for her dirty mind, and her demonic pain-in-the-ass of a cat.

Book preview

1

Dressed in White

O h my God. Close your eyes, Maisie.

I close them. I feel the world spin as the stylist’s chair swings around to face the mirror. I hear the giddy giggles of my bridesmaids, a soft gasp from my mother.

I open them.

A bride stares back.

My long hair frames my face in luscious waves of auburn, glittering with tiny jewels. My pale skin glows. My green eyes sparkle beneath long, midnight-black lashes and a dusting of ombré gold and chestnut. The light dusting of freckles on my cheeks are nearly hidden in a sudden blush of pink. My lips match the roses in my cheeks. Also the roses in my bouquet, currently resting in a position of honor amidst the mimosas on the salon’s coffee table.

My mother’s hands rest on my shoulders. My baby girl. I hear a sniffle. You look absolutely radiant, sweet pea.

I feel tears well. Suddenly, half a dozen hands thrust tissues at me.

Nooo! Don’t! You’ll ruin your makeup!!!

The tears turn to laughter. Okay, okay, I’m sorry! We’re having a moment over here! Jeez! I wave my hands at the girls in a calming gesture. The panic subsides, and the mimosa-drinking resumes.

Linea, my maid of honor, presses a glass into my hand and guides me over to the sofa. Vanna takes my place in the chair, fussing over a loose eyelash as the stylist starts running a brush through her blond locks.

My mother takes a seat across from me, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. I place a hand on her knee and squeeze. She beams at me.

All these years. Who would have thought that the little boy who gave you his mother’s prize roses in kindergarten would be the one who gave you this day? She looks at the bouquet and beams.

I beam