The Love Wager by Lynn Painter

            Keep reading for an excerpt of the next romantic comedy by Lynn Painter

            THE OBJECTORS

            from Berkley!





Sophie


            The moment my dad raised my veil, kissed my cheek, and handed me off to Stuart, I wanted to throw up.

            No—first, I wanted to punch my groom right in his besotted smile.

            Then I wanted to vomit.

            Instead, I took his arm and grinned back at him like a good bride.

            The pastor started speaking, launching into his cookie-cutter TED Talk about true love, and my heart was racing as I waited. I swear I could feel four hundred sets of eyes burning into the back of my Jacqueline Firkins wedding gown as I heard nothing but the sound of my panicked pulse, pounding through my veins and reverberating in my eardrums.

            Was he already there, seated among the guests? Was he going to burst through the doors, yelling?

            And—God—what if he was a no-show?

            The photographer, kneeling just to my right, took a photo of my face as I listened to Pastor Pete’s love lies, so I turned up my lips and attempted to project bridal joy.

            “You look so nervous,” Stuart whispered, giving me a small smile.

            I honestly don’t know how I didn’t throat-punch him at that moment.

            “Welcome, loved ones,” the pastor said, beaming at the congregation as he spoke. “We are gathered here today to join together Sophie and Stuart in holy matrimony.”

            I felt my breath hitch, unsteady, as he kept yammering, leading us closer to the moment. Oh, please, oh, please, oh, please, I thought, panic tightening my chest. With every word he spoke, my anxiety grew.

            Stuart squeezed my trembling hand, the ever-supportive fiancé, and I squeezed back hard enough to make him look at me.

            “Should anyone present know of any reason that this couple should not be joined in holy matrimony, speak now or forever hold your—”

            “I do.”

            A collective gasp shot through the large chapel, and when I turned around, the man standing up was not at all what I expected. He was big and tall and impeccably dressed: charcoal suit, white shirt, gray tie, and matching pocket square. He looked like Henry Cavill’s stunt double or something, but with darker hair and more intense eyes.

            Honestly, I’d imagined he would be a party bro, like Vince Vaughn in Wedding Crashers, but this man looked more like he belonged in a boardroom.

            “So sorry to interrupt,” he said in a smooth, deep voice, “but these two should absolutely not be married.”

            “Who is that?” Stuart hissed, daring to give me an accusing stare as a low rumble of whispers emanated from the pews.

            “Oh, she doesn’t know me, Stuart,” the man said, looking one hundred percent comfortable in his uncomfortable role. He raised one dark eyebrow and added, “But my friend Becca knows you.”

            I gasped, my response entirely authentic even though I’d actually practiced it beforehand. I’d known this man was coming, but I hadn’t expected him to be so . . .

            Good.

            The man was good. The way he spoke made me feel just as shocked as I’d been two nights ago, when I’d discovered Stuart’s Becca on his phone.

            “Listen, pal, I don’t know—”

            “Stuart. Shut up.” The man looked down at his wrist and straightened his cuff, as if the mere sight of Stuart bored him. “The lovely Sophie deserves so much more than a cheater for a husband. I would imagine most of us here know it isn’t the first time; wasn’t there a Chloe last year?”

            “I don’t know who you are, but this is bullshit.” Stuart’s face was red as he glared at the man, and then his darting eyes came back to me. I looked at his face, remembering how it’d looked when he’d sobbingly begged my forgiveness over his Chloe transgression, and he actually had the gall to say to me, “You know it’s not true, right?”