Lucky This Isn't Real: MacBride Brothers Series St. Patrick's Day Fake Fiance Romance by Jamie Knight (digital e reader .TXT) 📕

the dresses’ fault that the seams were a few deep breaths from ripping apart. I possessed more boobage than could reasonably be contained by most designs, let alone a silky summery dress. The dress’s design didn’t really allow me to wear a bra, and the last thing I needed was for my nipples to get hard.

Wearing the bridal party dresses to the rehearsal wasn’t usual, but Maggie was so nervous about being under-prepared that she insisted we do a full rehearsal— fancy garb and all— so that we would make sure to practice every little thing. She, on the other hand, wouldn’t wear her Irish linen wedding dress until tomorrow when she walked down the aisle to her soul mate.

As her maid of honor, I was determined to do whatever would make her happy. The other bridesmaids didn’t even have a fancy title to compensate for the humiliation, and when it came right down to it, I had little to complain about, aside from the overall effect being a bit more booby than I would have preferred.

On the bright side, I might attract the attention of a sexy, single Irishman who would sweep me off my feet just as Gavin had swept Maggie off of hers. It was a dream I held onto, despite my dedication to my career.

Even if it was just for a night, it would be nice to put my lengthy dry spell to an end. I hadn’t gotten any kind of action in nearly two years. I’d been far too busy and tired to even masturbate, and it was starting to affect my mind.

I hung a tweed coat over my arms just in case I got cold. Despite being nearly six years old, it still looked as crisp and as new as when I first pulled it out of the box the morning of my eighteenth birthday.

I didn’t really know what to do with a tweed coat back then, but I had come to appreciate it since. Particularly once I came to discover the true and capricious nature of early Spring.

Once I made it inside the church, where the theme for the wedding was green, green, and more green, Maggie rushed over to me and dragged me into a bone-crushing bear hug.

“I can’t believe I’m getting married tomorrow!” she nearly shouted into my ear.

“Me neither,” I replied, my breathing only slightly constricted. “I’m so happy for you, Maggie.”

“Isn’t it wonderful?” my best friend forever enthused.

“So wonderful,” I agreed.

She released me and stepped back. Today, she was dressed somewhat normally in a jade-green wrap dress and nude heels. Maggie adored the idea of god and goddesses and usually dressed like a hippy chick who’d escaped a renaissance festival.

She stood back and eyed me up and down, and I felt like I was awaiting inspection by a Sargent-Major.

“Green suits you, and your boobs look great,” she finally declared.

The bridesmaids— Amy, Nicole, and Ciara— stood in line beside me, waiting to hear if they passed the test.

Amy and Nicole were my friends first, but Maggie had gotten to know Nicole through work and Amy through a series of mutual get-togethers. We’d all grown close enough to the point that Maggie had recruited them to be bridesmaids.

I’d only just met Ciara, the other bridesmaid, yesterday when I picked her up at the airport. Being one of Gavin’s best friends from back in Belfast, she flew out especially for the wedding, as had most of his family.

Making friends and trusting people didn’t come easy to Maggie, so I wasn’t sure how she would be with Ciara, but she seemed okay with having the stranger in her wedding party. And having her there made Gavin happy, so Maggie seemed to accept it, at the very least for his sake. Plus, she knew Ciara better than I did, having traveled to Ireland with Gavin before and meeting her there.

Personally, I found Ciara to be nice enough but also a bit of an odd duck. To be fair, it was at least partly a cultural difference, particularly when she used terms like “for the crack.” I had to Google it to find out it was spelled “craic” and meant “fun.”

Suddenly, it was go time— the rehearsal was starting. The organ rucked up a particularly slow rendition of “She Moved Through the Fair,” and we all got into position before moving in near lockstep like Stormtroopers in green gowns.

Our formation and focus were nearly too perfect because it meant I couldn’t dodge the doofus coming the wrong way up the aisle and straight for me.

Sure, he was a sexy doofus– tall, handsome and confident-looking– but he was a doofus nonetheless, who clearly didn’t know where he was going.

As we made contact, I steeled myself, and a collision that could well have put me on my ass was reduced to a bump.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, his Irish lilt elevating the statement from embarrassment to almost sexy.

I assumed he was a groomsman, mostly because he was dressed like one. Even if the term did put me in mind of the people who took care of horses at a stable.

“No harm done,” I said, doing my best not to blush or swoon.

He was so damn handsome.

“Are you sure? I really am sorry.”

“I promise.”

I narrowed my eyes a little and peered at him a little closer. While his hair was as dark as the night sky, his eyes were as blue as the ocean.

“Let me guess, you’re one of the six brothers.”

“One of many. Sean, at your service.”

He bowed so deep I thought he might break, or at least I thought the cummerbund on his emerald-green suit might put up some resistance.

“I just flew in and haven’t really had time to talk to Gavin or Maggie about the exact goings-on,” he explained. “Believe it