Bad Boy's Bridesmaid

By: Sosie Frost
Super Secret Epilogue



One Month Post the Lindsey/Bryce Wedding

So here’s the thing about being the pregnant Maid of Honor.

The teal dress and bouquet of stolen funeral flowers singled me out as a bridesmaid, but the attention wasn’t on me exactly.

Sure, some of my friends might have gossiped and pointed.

And, of course, the minister was angry with his son and refused to acknowledge the bastard until leaving the sanctuary of the church.

And, yeah, the entire family learned all at once about the baby once Mom ninja-kicked the champagne flute from my hand…even though it’d bubbled with ginger ale.

But at least they’d watched the bride. For the most part. Sometimes.

Okay. Not at all.

I’d thought Lindsey would be furious, but the blushing bride slammed enough tequila shots to forget her new surname. The attention lavished on the rumor of my condition was lost during her blessed and drunken haze.

We’d survived the wedding, and Nate wasn’t pummeled to death by Dad or Rick, but things weren’t…normal.

As great as it was to no longer be the pregnant bridesmaid, I wasn’t sure I liked my newest role.

I hoped I’d become just Mandy again after the wedding. Instead, I became the unfortunately, accidentally pregnant, unwed mother-to-be. Besotted with a troublemaker. Spoiled before her prime. Showing with a little bump of shame that people congratulated with a tisk of their tongue, sidelong glance, and sigh.

When we said we couldn’t wait for grandchildren, we didn’t mean now.

The thing about a secret baby? The news was old to me…but not to anyone else. I’d known about the little nugget for months, but no one else had learned until the wedding.

Including my family.

And definitely the daddy-to-be…who happened to be thrilled, and even more excited that I agreed to move into his apartment.

Now we had five months to prepare until the baby, and five months to prepare everyone else for the little guy’s arrival.

Fortunately, after the nightmare that was planning Lindsey’s wedding, anything that didn’t involve flowers, shoes, dresses, musicians, or bitten strippers was a welcomed change. I’d feared for the worst, but at least my family was now as excited as me about the pregnancy—indecent as it was.

“Mandy, look what I have!” Lindsey burst into Nate’s apartment bearing a white box and a proud smile. “I had it made specially for you!”

She set the cake box on Nate’s kitchen counter.



I bolted before the tropical stench of the unholy dessert wafted its way from the kitchen.

Fortunately, the second trimester was a lot kinder on my tummy, but I still exercised an overabundance of caution. I had nothing to ward off the coconut, and, for a preacher’s kid, Nate possessed surprisingly few religious relics. So I forged a rudimentary crucifix out of the hair brushes I’d packed in the suitcase heading for my vanity and aimed it at the cake.

“Keep it away from me,” I ordered.

“I’m on it!” Nate came to my rescue.

He grinned—that perfect playfulness that was now mine and mine alone. Every night he teased me to sleep with it, and every morning I fell more madly in love with him.

Nate dropped a box of shoes in the bedroom and picked his way through the cluttered living room. He brandished a fork left over from breakfast, wiped it on his jeans, then dug into the cake.

We…still had some things to work on.

Nate held up the box so I could read what Lindsey had scrawled in pink and blue icing.

Congrats! You Had A Baby Before Me!

“That’s real sweet, Linds,” Nate said. “Not sure how you did it, but somehow you made the cake all about you. That’s a talent…and probably a mental health issue.”

Lindsey crossed her arms. “It’s a joke, Nate. God. This is the thanks I get for offering to host a baby shower?”

I frowned. “You didn’t want to throw a formal baby shower after the stripper banned you for life.”

“Yeah, well, he refused to wear a diaper for the party anyway.”

Nate made a face. “What kind of baby shower has a stripper?”

“Like the women who’d RSVP wouldn’t know where babies come from,” Lindsey scoffed.

“Not…from a grown man dancing in Huggies.”

“It’s for his show.” Lindsey pointed at me. “Besides, you two will use cloth diapers.”

Nate glanced at me. “They come in cloth?”

I had only just explained how long a baby would be in diapers to Nate. I didn’t need any more confusion—not when he still mixed-up the terms uterus, ovary, and placenta.