8|A Mistake

"Thank you for availing yourself at such short notice, Friar John." Austin returned the hug, patting the clergyman on his back. Turning to Marybeth, he held out his hand, "This is my soon-to-be wife, Marybeth Tyson. You have no idea how thrilled I was when she finally agreed to make me the happiest man in Clifton Bay. I tell you, Friar, for a second there, it didn't look good. But thank heavens we managed to iron out all our issues this morning. Isn't that right, Beth?"

Marybeth slowly nodded her head, wishing the floor would open and suck her down several levels below hell, because up here on earth, there was no way she'd be able to live down this humiliation.

Nothing about the last three minutes made sense.

Where was her Austin Hawthorne with his receding hairline and wife-beater vest? Where the hell was the filthy, middle-aged man she planned to hate for the entire twelve months she was bound to him?

"Beth?" The smug smile she'd sensed during their call earlier lit up Austin's hand