Big mouth. Big heart.

Big wedding. Big problems.

It's the wedding of the century!

Things are looking up at last for Lizzie Nichols. She has a career she loves in the field of her choice (wedding gown restoration), and the love of her life, Jean-Luc, has finally proposed. Life's become a dizzying whirl of wedding gown fittings—not necessarily her own—as Lizzie prepares for her dream wedding at her fiancé's château in the south of France.

But the dream soon becomes a nightmare as the best man—whom Lizzie might once have accidentally slept with...no, really, just slept—announces his total lack of support for the couple, a sentiment the maid of honor happens to second; Lizzie's Midwestern family can't understand why she doesn't want to have her wedding in the family backyard; her future, oh-so-proper French in-laws seem to be slowly trying to lure the groom away from medical school and back into investment banking; and Lizzie finds herself wondering if her Prince Charming really is as charming as she once believed.

Is Lizzie really ready to embrace her new role as wife and mistress of Château Mirac? Or is she destined to fall into another man's arms...and into the trap of becoming a Bad Girl instead?

Chapter One...

Whatever souls are made of, his and mine are the same.

—Emily Brontë (1818–1848), British novelist and poet

Chaz," I say, poking the man in the tuxedo who lay sprawled across my bed. "You have to get out of here."

Chaz brushes my hand away as if it's annoying him. "Mom," he says. "Stop it. I told you, I already took out the trash."

"Chaz." I poke him some more. "I mean it. Wake up. You have to go."

Chaz wakes up with a start. "Wha— Where am I?" He looks blearily around the room until his unfocused gaze finally comes to rest on me. "Oh. Lizzie. What time is it?"

"Time for you to go," I say, grabbing hold of his arm and pulling on it. "Come on. Get up."

But I might as well be pulling on an elephant. He won't budge.

"What's going on?" Chaz wants to know. I have to admit, it's not easy, being so mean to him. He looks downright adorable in his tuxedo shirt, all stubbly faced and confused, with his dark hair sticking up in tufts all over his head. He squints at me. "Is it morning already? Hey—why do you still have your clothes on?"

"Because nothing happened between us," I say, relieved that it's true. I mean, stuff happened. But my Spanx are still on, so not that much stuff. Thank God. "Come on, get up. You have to go."

"What do you mean, nothing happened between us?" Chaz looks offended. "How can you say that? That's my beard burn you're wearing."

I lift a hand guiltily to my face. "What? Oh my God. You're kidding, right?" "No, I'm not kidding. You're completely chafed." A look of self-satisfaction spreads across his face as he stretches his arms. "Now come over here and let's continue where we left off before you so rudely fell asleep, which I'm going to try not to hold against you, although I will admit it's going to be difficult, and will probably necessitate punishment in the form of a spanking if I can figure out how to get those things off you. What did you call them again? Oh, yeah. Spanx." Chaz brightens. "Hey, how appropriate."

But I've already dived for the bathroom and am examining my face in the mirror over the sink.

He's totally right. The entire lower half of my face is bright pink from where Chaz's stubble rubbed it as we made out like a couple of teenagers in the back of the taxi on our way home from the wedding last night.

"Oh God!" I cry, staggering back into the bedroom. "Do you think he noticed?"

"Do I think who noticed what?" Chaz has seized me by the wrist, pulled me over, and is fumbling with the tiny buttons to my gown.

"Luke!" I cry. "Do you think he noticed I've got beard burn all over my face?"

"How would Luke notice that?" Chaz asks. "He's in France. How do you get this thing off, anyway?"

"He's not in France!" I cry, swatting at Chaz's hands. "He was just downstairs. That was him, at the door!"

"The door?" Chaz pauses in his attempt to disrobe me, looking more adorably confused than ever. Not that I have any business noticing how adorable Chaz is. "Luke's at the door?"

"No, not anymore," I say, swatting his hands away once more. "But he's coming back in half an hour. And that's why you have to leave now. He doesn't know you're here. And I want to keep it that way." I wrestle his tuxedo jacket from beneath the knee he's resting on it and hold it out for him. "So if you wouldn't mind putting this on and kindly vacating the premises—"

"Wait a minute." Chaz raises a dark eyebrow. "Wait just a minute here. Are you honestly trying to tell me that you and Mr. Romance are getting back together?"

"Of course we're getting back together," I say, throwing an urgent glance at the clock. Twenty-five minutes! Luke will be back in twenty-five minutes! He only went in search of a...