The Wedding Bait: Golden Years, #1

By Adele Buck

You are cordially invited to…a hot mess.

 

"Ice Queen" Tove Nilsen has it all: a successful career as a political consultant, beauty, a wonderful daughter who's about to be married…and a gaslighting, selfish disaster of an ex-husband who's just RSVP'd "yes" to the wedding. On top of that, he's bringing wife number six with him—a woman who's a mere 5 years older than their daughter.

 

Oh, and she's a literal supermodel.

 

Tove's always handled everything on her own, but now she's out of her depth until she decides to hire a man to pose as her date for the weekend-long event.

 

Enter Patrick Mercer, retired escort. His easy confidence soothes Tove's ragged nerves and enables her to face her ex with her head high. Even better, he infuriates the other man, who can't make Tove the target for his usual taunts about her single status.

 

Everything's going according to plan as the events surrounding the wedding unfold, but there's a slight complication: for the first time in his career, Patrick is falling for a client. And Tove's frozen heart is dangerously close to thawing for him.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Adele Buck
• Release date: Apr 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201939328

Adele Buck

Adele Buck is the author of several novels. In October 2022, she announced a three-book deal at a new, unnamed imprint at Harlequin. A New Hampshire native, Adele still has membership card number 430 from her hometown library even though she has lived in the D.C. area for over 20 years with her fantastic husband and the requisite number of melodramatic cats. Having worked as (among other things): a bookseller, a server, a communications manager, an actor, and a stage manager, Adele is currently employed as a librarian at a Washington, D.C. law school. To keep up with the latest, please sign up for her newsletter on adelebuck.com. (Photo credit: Brian Adams PhotoGraphics)

Book preview

Chapter One

W hat do you mean, your father will be there?

Emily’s pause had a weight and a presence all its own. Her slow inhale was too audible over the phone clutched so tightly in Tove’s hand. Yeah. I got the RSVP today.

Tove drew in a deep breath of her own. She’d been so sure her ex-husband would steer clear of their daughter’s wedding. After all, it wasn’t about him. An involuntary gust of laughter escaped her lips. And will he be bringing the supermodel? Tove didn’t voice the unnecessary thought to her daughter. Last she knew—and she really, really wasn’t keeping track—her ex-husband had been ensconced in his newest wife’s family villa on Lake Como.

In truth, she didn’t have to keep track. It felt like she couldn’t go to the grocery store without seeing the man’s face on the cover of a tabloid. Her ex-husband, despite having sold out of his wildly successful dot-com business over two decades ago, remained in the popular media, the result of having married a string of glamorous, ever-younger women, culminating in the latest: a literal supermodel who was also the daughter of old Italian money and, at thirty, a mere five years older than their daughter.

It was enough of a cliché that Tove wanted to vomit.

Mom? You still there? Emily’s worried tone made Tove realize her eyes had been squeezed tightly shut. She opened them, staring out at the building across L Street from her office and took a careful breath, making sure the tremor in her body was inaudible to her daughter.

Yes, sweetheart. I’m here, she said, pouring every ounce of boardroom calm into her voice. Who knew her skills as one of the foremost political image consultants in Washington would be needed in a conversation with her only child? If your father feels the need to make an appearance I’ll just…deal with it. Anthony had already done his level best to ruin Emily’s childhood with his selfish behavior. Tove was going to make sure he didn’t ruin her wedding. Damn sure.

Emily sighed. Mom, you really don’t have to protect me anymore. It’s fine.

It wasn’t fine. Just thinking about Anthony being within five feet of her daughter made Tove want to scream and hit things. Or people. Or just Anthony.

The idea of a baseball bat connecting with his smug smile had been soothing at one point. Now the fantasy was worn and tattered from overuse, faded like an old photograph that had been handled too often.

I sent the final guest count to the wedding planner, Emily continued, drawing Tove back into the present. One hundred and eighty-three. You sure you’re okay with this?

Don’t worry about it, Tove replied instantly. Hayley’s parents and I have it covered. Emily’s future in-laws had been a delight from the start, stepping up to split the costs of the wedding, coordinating logistics with ease and good cheer. Though neither Emily nor Hayley were extravagant, both young women had dozens of friends. The mere size of the guest list was enough to push the wedding into big dollar territory, even though they weren’t holding it in the city. The resort on Deep Creek Lake in Maryland was beautiful, and while the cost wasn’t exorbitant by Tove’s standards, it was still going to be expensive.

There was no question as to whether or not Anthony would step up to help. Despite his wealth, he never had and he wouldn’t start now.

You know, I could tell the planner to round it up to one hundred and eighty-four, Emily said, interrupting Tove’s reverie.

Tove snapped back into the present. What? Why?

Well, in case you wanted to bring a plus-one… Tove recognized that wheedling tone. It hadn’t changed since the child learned to speak.

Em, who would I bring? Tove stifled an exasperated laugh.

You tell me. Emily’s voice was bright with mischief.

No. Don’t start this. Don’t be that person who has found love and immediately wants everyone else to couple up. It’s not happening. Never again. She shuddered.

Okay, but since Dad and Sofia are going to be there…

Tove’s back teeth clicked together. This was just something else she’d have to deal with. Alone.

You just keep your attention on your own relationship, she told her daughter. That’s what’s important.

Emily laughed. Okay. But I’m telling the planner the final count is one-eighty-four.

Emily…

Bye Mom! Tove shut her eyes and laughed in spite of herself. Damn, she had a good kid. Misguided, but good.

I fucking hate my ex-husband, Tove muttered, tossing back a slug of the most perfect after-work dirty martini D.C. had to offer.

Parvati snickered into her whiskey. Tell me something I don’t know.

Tove groaned, her elbow on the bar, her fingers rubbing her eyelids, careful to not disturb her makeup. It was a skill she’d learned from her own mother, this subtle self-care while still maintaining her outer armor. Katrin Nilsen had been a world-famous model in her own right. And that was probably why Anthony had pursued Tove all those years ago. His marital track record since then certainly pointed in that direction: a ladder of cascading trophy wives in descending order of age.

Lovely.

Vati, how am I going to deal with him without losing my entire shit? Tove removed her fingers from her eyelids and glared at her business partner and best friend.

Vati shrugged and sipped her drink. Do him one better.

Tove snorted. "Sound in theory but how do I do that in reality? Because we live in the real world, in case you hadn’t noticed. The real world where my dirtbag sixty year old ex-husband is married to an Italian supermodel half his age and the fact that men like him always win. How on earth do I do that one better?"

Vati’s brown eyes gleamed and her grin was wicked. What does anyone do when they want something done right? Hire a professional.

Tove snorted. Right.

I’m serious. Vati took a long pull of her drink. You have a leaky pipe, you call a master plumber. You want to bait your ex-husband into looking like the dumpster fire he is, you—

Hire a master…baiter? Tove broke in, laughing in spite of herself. "What, like a boy toy? Do Anthony one better by bringing someone even younger than Emily? She snorted and rolled her eyes. Even if I wanted to do something like that, Anthony would see straight through it. It’s absolutely not my style. Also utterly hypocritical, considering how I’ve been rolling my eyes at his increasingly younger wives for years."

Vati’s mouth, painted in her signature deep red Lisa Eldridge lipstick, curled. Yeah. No. Not a youngster. Even if it wasn’t hypocritical, women get judged for being with younger men in a way that men never do. So that wouldn’t work.

So, all I need to do is to magically come up with a man who’s age-appropriate, gorgeous, successful, and who will pretend that I’m the air he breathes. No big deal. Why didn’t I think of that myself? Tove gave her friend a look that