I craned my neck until I found him. My hot tamale fiancé. Before I got embroiled in another superficial conversation with a well–wisher, I wanted to go to his side. That’s the way it should be. Us. Together and standing as one.
As soon as I reached him, he snaked out an arm to pull me in close and didn’t even miss a beat in his discussion about real estate development contracts. My creative mind would probably never get used to the droll topic, but for the love of my life’s sake, I’d take one for the team.
“I missed you.” He leaned down and whispered in my ear. “I’ll get away as soon as I can without offending anyone.”
I smiled up at him, knowing with every fiber of my being that life had placed me in the right place at the right time. A storybook ending.
He is truly the best man I have ever known.
– Elizabeth Bennet
Epilogue
Lydia
One year later…
“I still can’t believe it.”
“I can.” Poppy leaned over and adjusted my cathedral length, antique lace veil. The same one my grandmother had worn so many years ago. I considered it good luck to be wearing this ‘something old’ because her happy marriage had lasted more than fifty years until my grandpa had passed. “I always knew you’d make the New York Times best–seller list.”
Even though Poppy’s words tickled my ears, they still hadn’t quite reached my heart. New York Times Best Selling Author. Poppy had already had business cards made up to give out at signings along with our other author swag meant only for readers. If I wasn’t already wearing my wedding dress, I’d reach down and pinch myself. Maybe the resulting bruise would be enough to convince me of the perfection of my own life.
The fact that the letters had come on the wings of my novel, White Feathers, that had been infused with Amelia’s poetry made the accomplishment that much sweeter, although bittersweet. Even though I’d never known her, I still felt her spirit wrapping itself around the project. An angel had been watching over us, of that I was certain. Without speaking the words aloud, I asked her for her blessing on the wedding ceremony.
A chill wafted through the room. Poppy put her palms on her arms and rubbed. “Did you feel that? Good grief, this room is drafty.”
Thanks, Amelia. I’ll take very good care of him.
“It’s an old church,” I hedged. “It must have an ancient ventilation system.”
Poppy looked up at the cracked plaster on the ceiling and then made a clucking noise with her tongue. “That’s not all that’s ancient. But it is beautiful. At least by the altar. And the flowers…just wait until you see them. I think it’s even better than you could have imagined. And since you opted for a fall wedding, the heat doesn’t need to be on. Can you imagine the noise if the century old furnace kicked in? We wouldn’t be able to hear the vows.”
“Your mother’s asking if you need anything, Lydia,” Charlie said, poking her head inside the clergy office being used as a dressing room. We’d opted to forgo a huge wedding party, and only Poppy and Tristan would be standing up with us at the altar. I gave a silent nod of gratitude to the man upstairs for having mended Callum’s relationship with his brother. But then again, Tristan deserved credit too because he’d met Callum halfway. It had gotten to the point where even I enjoyed spending time with my brother–in–law. He’d really mellowed.
“No, I’m doing well. Poppy’s been an estrogen–fueled drill sergeant,” I said, smiling at Charlie who looked chic and elegant in a navy–blue cocktail dress that hugged her curvaceous figure. We’d become even closer in the past months when Callum and I had been attending events as an engaged couple. I loved Charlie like a sister.
“Okay, then,” Charlie said. “You look stunning. We’ll see you down there in a few minutes. Everything’s perfect. I made sure of it.”
***
Callum
“It’s a man’s prerogative,” I said from the altar. Nolan stood next to me with a note in his hand. “To wait for his bride at the end of the aisle and still have sweaty palms and a pounding heart. You’ve been here before Nolan. You should know for crying out loud. Now, you’re standing here with a damn note in your hand. Please don’t tell me I have a runaway bride.”
“Calm the hell down, Markham,” Nolan scoffed as if I’d lost my fool mind. Maybe I had. If I didn’t see Lydia walking toward me as scheduled, I’d go bat shit crazy. “This note’s from Tristan. He asked me to stand here while you read it.”
“Why for the love of God is he not delivering it himself? And standing beside me where he belongs as my best man?”
“He’s an actor. I think he has some kind of grand dramatic gesture up his tuxedo–clad sleeve. Just open it and don’t keep me in suspense. I need to get back to my seat. Have you seen my wife tonight? I’m going to try and cop a feel before they start playing the wedding march and Bradenton sings it. You should hear him. Worse than a dying cow.”
I ripped the seal on the heavy vellum and pulled out a single ivory note card.
Callum,
As a wedding gift to you and Lydia, I studied hard to become a minister ordained by the state of New York. I’m going to be performing your wedding ceremony exactly to Lydia’s specifications. Please don’t spoil the surprise. Nolan can stand in as your best man. Since the affair is black tie, he’s already dressed in the penguin suit. I’ll be ‘a little less formally attired.’
Yours,
Tristan
I scanned the congregation looking for my mom. I’d never needed her more than I did in this moment. What on earth was Tristan up to? I could imagine Lydia fleeing the scene of her own wedding, or worse, bursting into tortured tears as everything imploded on the dynamite of Tristan’s constant need for attention. I thought he’d changed. I’d believed he wanted me to be happy.
Biggest mistake ever.
I couldn’t find my mom’s hair anywhere or my dad’s. She was probably out in the vestibule waiting to be escorted into the church during the processional.
“What did it say?” Nolan’s annoyed voice brought my eyes and my mind back to the situation at hand.
“It said he’s going to perform the ceremony, and he’s asked if you can stand in.” I raked a hand through my hair, thankful I’d have time to fix it before pictures.
“You’re shitting me? So much for my lovely wife. I’m going to have a semi while standing at the altar in a damn church. Seriously, Markham? What is up with your brother? Arrogant much?”
The reality of standing in a church waiting for my soon to be bride settled in bone deep. Soul deep. And I welcomed it. I wanted to become Lydia’s husband more than anything. I just wanted the ceremony to be everything she’d ever dreamed about as a little girl. One to remember, cherish and relay to our grandchildren from the safety of our rocking chairs.
A flutter of activity outside the side door to the pastor’s preparation room caught my eye. Nolan’s head snapped up, and he hissed in a breath. “Well, I’ll be damned. That was not what I was expecting,” he said with a low whistle.
I chuckled. I hadn’t been expecting it either. Lydia was going to smile. Maybe she’d actually laugh, and I’d get to hear one of my favorite sounds in this entire world. Nolan fell into place on the step beside me and patted me on the back. “Are you ready?”
“I am so ready,” I said, happier and more content than I’d ever been.
The first strains of Pachelbel’s Canon in D wafted through the air, expertly played by the string quartet Lydia had insisted upon. They sounded magical and ethereal. Artistic and unique. Just like the woman herself. I held my breath as I saw my mom and Lydia’s being escorted by the ushers down the aisle. After my mom slid into her seat, Poppy appeared in the doorway, looking ravishing in her red lace maid of honor gown.
My heart pounding in my throat, I waited, staring at the doorway until Lydia appeared on the arm of her father. She took my breath away. Stunned me stupid. The long, ivory lace dress with cathedral veil made her lo
ok like an angel. My angel. I couldn’t believe that God had graced me with such an incredible woman. I didn’t deserve her. I didn’t deserve a life of too much perfection. But I had it. And I wouldn’t let one moment pass without showing my gratitude.
She glided toward me, her lush lips tugging up at the corners when she saw Tristan. He stood at the altar, dressed in full Mr. Darcy dress, holding an antique book marked with a tassel to highlight a certain page. When she finally reached me, I took her hand and kissed it, not wanting to wait a single second longer to touch her skin.
Tristan turned to Adam, Lydia’s father. “Who gives this woman to be married to this man?”
“I do.” At that, he lifted her veil, kissed her cheek and then went to join her mom in the front row.
“Dearly beloved,” Tristan said, reading from his ceremonial book in a perfect British accent. “We are gathered here in the sight of God and in the face of this congregation to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony. Which is an honorable estate instituted by God in the time of man’s innocence, signifying unto us the mystical union that is between Christ and his church. And therefore is not by any to be enterprised lightly or wantonly to satisfy man’s carnal lust and appetites. But reverently, discreetly, advisedly, soberly and in the fear of God.”
I stared at Lydia, unable to take my eyes off her as she beamed at Tristan. I had to admit, his eighteenth–century adaptation of the Pride and Prejudice wedding ceremony had merit.
I leaned down so I could whisper into her ear. “I hate to admit it, but I’m entering into this union wantonly. I want my brother to hurry it up because I want to get my wife out of that expensive dress. I’m dying to know what she has underneath it.”
She slid her eyes to me and whispered, “How do you know she has anything on underneath it?”
I heard Nolan chuckle beside me. God, I loved this woman standing next to me. I had somewhere I belonged. To her, to our new home and to a new family. All because of her.
“I love you so much, Lydia Singleton.”
She beamed up at me and nodded toward Tristan. “And I love you, so very dearly.”
BONUS STORY - WASTED HEAT
By
Colleen Charles
Chapter 1
“I’m so proud of you, Ally. You’re really doing this.”
“It’s been a long time coming,” I murmured, tucking a strand of pale blonde hair behind my ear. I’d wrapped myself in one of those toasty wool ponchos and taken up residence at the front of my new bakery with a mug of hot cocoa sandwiched between my torso and palm.
Snow drifted down from the heavens, blanketing everything in a veil of freshness. Of renewal. Like my life.
“So, that’s it then. Bakery up and running, professional career on track, all you need now is—”
I interrupted Kelly before she hit her stride, giving her a warning grunt. “Don’t even.”
She sighed, a deep exhalation that caused static to crackle into my phone. “Aw, come on, let me set you up with someone. I’ve lost count of the hot guys who walk through our front doors. And it’s Christmas. You can’t spend the holiday season alone.”
“I’m not alone, I have you and Pat. Besides, Kels, I’m going to be so busy with business, I won’t have time for a social life.”
I could almost hear Kelly rolling her eyes. “Ugh, famous last words.”
She was my best friend and had been since I’d moved to Minneapolis from Bemidji and wandered into their coffee shop two years ago. She and her husband, Pat, had taken me under their wing. Those had been strange times, before my break up with Matthew. When I’d had nothing to show for myself. A shiver ran through me at the memory.
Kelly had encouraged me to pursue my dreams.
“Ally?”
“Huh? Yeah, I’m here.”
“You went quiet for a second there.”
A wave of gratitude washed over me. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Kels, you and Pat.”
“Well, you’d be up shit creek without a paddle, of course.”
I chuckled. “I’d better get some rest, big day tomorrow. These bank loans won’t pay themselves off.”
“Tell me about it,” she replied, then paused, the silence stretching out for a few seconds. “If you need help with anything, give me a call.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I said, then stuck my tongue out even though she couldn’t see me. “See you tomorrow.”
“Later Allygator,” she said, then hung up.
I put my phone in the pocket of my jeans and sighed. This was it, my first real endeavor at being my own damn person. I glanced around the bakery and grinned. Hard to believe where I’d landed from where I’d jumped.
I picked out the décor myself — it had a burlesque atmosphere, with velvet cushions on the wrought iron chairs and round tables with glass tops. Very French bistro. In fact, in better weather, I could easily move a couple of tables outside.
Silk floral arrangements in lush shades of purple, strung with Swarovski crystals served as centerpieces. The cupcakes would stand up front in the glass front counter, to showcase their sexy designs. And names.
Kelly had rolled her eyes at my idea for a racy theme, but it was tough being an entrepreneur and a woman in business had to face the facts. Sex sells.
That was the thing about baking, it wasn’t sexy unless you made it that way. And I planned on making it damn sexy. And licking the bowl.
I slurped down the dregs of my cocoa and carried the mug through to my new kitchen. Sure, most of the stuff was second hand, but it was still my kitchen and I’d scrubbed and polished until you could see your reflection mirrored in the stainless steel.
I trailed my fingers over the countertops, the Kenwood K-mix, and eyed the shelves with pride. I put up most of them myself, wielding my cordless drill. The work had taken my mind off Matthew.
Rinsing out my mug, I yawned and shrugged my shoulders as exhaustion threatened to overtake me. I glanced at the staircase in the back, beside the door to the pantry, knowing I’d get to use them soon.
The wooden steps led upstairs, to my tiny apartment above. Time to get a little rest. It was already past nine and I’d be up at the butt crack of dawn to get baking. I actually tingled with excitement at the thought. Tomorrow was a Red Velvet Rapture kind of a day.
I strolled up the stairs and smiled at my cat, Codsworth, curled up on the sectional I’d pushed against one wall. He’d adapted nicely to the change too. I stroked him behind the ears, then headed to the bedroom and settled on the edge of my queen bed. What was the use of a king-size when there was no one to share it with?
I brushed my teeth and glanced in the mirror at the green eyes staring back. My porcelain complexion held on to the dark circles of my recent fatigue and I resembled a raccoon. Too many long nights. Turning to the side, I sighed as I took in the curvy body I’d always resented because it would never be thin and stylish. Probably needed to lay off the taste testing in the kitchen. I rinsed, splashed cold water on my face and then tied my long, wavy blonde hair up in a ponytail holder. The book I’d started months ago and still hadn’t finished beckoned to me from my nightstand. Maybe just one chapter.
I shook my head, then rubbed the sleep out of my eyes. Or, was it stinging? I stopped and sniffed. A strange smell burned my nostrils and coated the back of my throat. Kind of like an open campfire. Did the neighbors have a chimney or a fireplace or something? Were they burning trash? I hurried over to the window and opened it, then peered out into the alley. Nope, no smoke billowing into the night sky above.
So where had it—?
“Oh, shit,” I murmured “Son of a bitch. No, no, no, no.”
I darted out of the bedroom, past Codsworth and down the stairs. The smell of burning intensified and as I got closer, the heat brought a new flush to my already scorching cheeks. I burst into the kitchen, praying to God for a miracle but my bubbling nausea told a different tale.
One of the ovens had caught fire!
Crackling flames had overtaken it already. They caught the edge of my favorite apron and made their way over the counter. I gagged on the smoke, eyes burning, tears streaming down my face from the fumes. Fear pushed me forward into the danger as I began to see my entire life about to go up in flames.
How had this happened? So fast too, one second there was nothing, now half of my kitchen was on fire. I couldn’t see a thing.
I ripped my cell out of my pocket and hurried to the front of the bakery.
“9-1-1, what is your emergency?”
“There’s a fire!” I choked out as I swallowed hard and about coughed up a lung. I stood in the thick of it, struck dumb by panic. And terror. “A fire, there’s a fire in my bakery.”
“What is your location, miss?”
“I’m at—” I broke off and hacked again. The front room had filled with smoke too. The temperature was sweltering. God, my bakery, this couldn’t be happening.
“Please repeat that,” the operator said, cool as a damn cucumber.
I spluttered and coughed. “1020 E Franklin. Please hurry!”
“I’ve dispatched an ambulance and firetruck to your location. Can you stay on the line for me, miss?”
“I — I don’t know,” I said. My limbs had started to go numb and I struggled to draw breath into my already smoky lungs. The entire bakery was covered in a grey haze. I couldn’t get clean air; I couldn’t see. I grasped the doorjamb and glared at the front door. I should get out. Fresh air. Yes. There was no fire out there.
I took a step towards the door.
Codsworth!
I couldn’t leave him behind; he was family. I turned and stumbled back into the kitchen as sweat erupted from my skin, then evaporated immediately in the oppressive heat. I held my hand up to shield my eyes, but it was no use. I rubbed at them, stumbling away from the flaming kitchen, in the direction of the stairs at the back.
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