Jock MacLaren glanced over at the wedding party and all the smiling faces as photo after photo was shot, including one of the wedding rings he’d designed and hand-crafted for Greg and Samantha. Greg wanted something simple, yet elegant. Jock designed a flowing interlocking Celtic knot pattern made of strands of 18k yellow and rose gold with rails of platinum for substance, weight and longevity. Jock had known Greg since he was born and he’d loved Greg’s mother far longer than that.
And there she stood, off to the side of the rest of the wedding party, alone, arms lightly wrapped around herself as if she needed a hug. Theresa looked regally elegant in her simple pale yellow v-neck sheath with a ribbon of Morrisson tartan caressing the top of her rib cage, subtly accentuating her breasts and coming to a small bow at her shapely back. Her taste, like everything else about her, was exquisite.
Jock sold Theresa the pearls she wore at her neck. He’d hand chosen each and every one to go with her dress. She didn’t know that the graduated choker started with a near perfect champagne hued 12mm South Sea pearl that was worth a small fortune by itself. Theresa didn’t care about things like that, even though she could afford them now that she’d finally divorced Mathew.
Jock took perverse pleasure in the fact that Mathew knew what his ex-wife was wearing around her neck. His new wife, Brittany, who could have attended high school with his son’s bride, nodded toward it and whispered into her husband’s ear as she clung to his arm like a two tentacled octopus. Mathew’s gaze met Jock’s. Jock nodded from the back of the church and smiled, fully enjoying the moment. Theresa paid for a strand of dyed fresh water pearls. What she wore was priceless and Mathew knew it.
Mathew might not regret trading Theresa in for a younger, blonder, model, yet, but he would in the years to come. It was inevitable. Theresa was smart, kind and fun to be around. The new Mrs. Mathew Williams was high maintenance now with the potential of reaching new heights of ever-increasing-maintenance as she grew older. Her yearly shoe budget alone could have paid for the entire wedding.
Samantha and Greg chose to have a cocktail hour reception at Samantha’s home, a quaint yet picturesque residence, complete with a white picket fence and a beautiful back garden that was Samantha’s pride and joy. Jock helped set up the white canvas tents in case the weather turned foul. So far the weather stayed a bright, cheerful seventy-two degrees, as if the wedding gods were shining on this beautiful and loving couple.
Finally, Samantha noticed that her new mother-in-law was not being brought into the photos and waved her to the dais where the photographer was shooting. When Theresa un-hugged herself and moved forward with a smile, Jock turned and walked out of the church. He’d catch up with her at the cocktail hour in Samantha’s garden. He looked at his watch. The cocktail hour was due to begin three minutes ago. The wedding party would be along shortly. All they had to do was cross the street to be at Samantha’s for champagne, more potent libations and more nonstop photo ops before entering the horse drawn carriages and making their way to Samantha’s parents home for the dinner reception. The horse drawn carriage ride down Main Street, so romantic for the bride and groom, would be torture for Theresa, who would be alone. Everyone else in the wedding party had been separated into couples.
Jock planned on stealing the mother of the groom away, sweeping her off her feet, and making love to her slowly, if she let him. The love-making would wait until Theresa was ready. The kidnapping and whisking away would start immediately.
Jock headed toward the libation tent, had the bartender pull out the bottle of Dom Perignon he’d secreted there earlier along with a set of Waterford flutes and waited for Theresa Morrison to cross the street. Her gaze sought and found his and she walked right to him. Jock smiled as she came to his side. He poured the perfectly chilled champagne into the heavy flutes, handing the first to her, then held his up to hers, clanging them gently. He winked at her and saw her face soften.
“What do you say, lass. Wanna take a ride with me? I promise to get you back in time for dinner.”
Theresa pushed back her shoulders, steeled her jaw and drained her glass in two long swallows. Her gaze flew to her ex-husband, then to the fifty or so people following Samantha and Gregg, vying for the couple’s attention. When she looked back at him, there was certainty and a willingness to engage in a new adventure in her eyes.
“Lady, your carriage awaits.”