Reunited at the Altar

by Kate Hardy

  Once the cars had arrived and Annie, Jessica and Ruby had left, Stuart looked at his daughter. ‘You and Brad seem settled,’ he said quietly, ‘but I need to know you’re sure about this.’

  ‘Absolutely sure,’ Abby said. ‘This is the wedding we should have had, the first time round—and this time it’s for keeps.’

  The first part of their wedding was a very small register office do, with just their immediate family attending; and then Brad kissed Abby. ‘I love you,’ he said. ‘And this time our marriage is for keeps.’

  ‘For keeps,’ she agreed.

  And then they headed to the church for the blessing, where the rest of their family and friends were waiting.

  * * *

  Brad waited at the top of the aisle. He turned round as the organist began to play the traditional ‘Wedding March’, to see Abby walking towards him. She was even more beautiful now than she’d been ten years ago when they had first married; and as she walked towards him he felt as if his whole body was bubbling with sheer happiness.

  Although the blessing didn’t involve an exchange of rings or giving away of the bride, they’d discussed the service with the vicar to make it feel as much like a wedding as possible, with Stuart and Rosie reading Shakespeare and Elizabeth Barrett Browning respectively, hymns, flowers and the church bell pealing as they walked back down the aisle after the service.

  Everyone threw the bird-friendly confetti at them, and then while the photographer was organising some of the group shots they went to James’s grave and poured a glass of champagne next to his headstone.

  ‘I know you’re here with us today in spirit, Jim,’ Abby said. ‘And I promise you I’ll love your son for ever.’

  ‘Sorry we eloped, the first time round,’ Brad said. ‘We’re doing it right, this time. Sharing with our family and friends, the way we should’ve done last time.’

  After the photographs had finished, they headed for the hotel—the one where they’d gone to the prom together and kissed for the very first time, because they’d both agreed that was the right place to hold their wedding breakfast.

  And Brad felt happier than he’d ever thought possible as he sat at the table with his four-month-old daughter asleep on his lap, the love of his life next to him, and their family and friends surrounding them.

  This time, they were doing it right.

  Stuart kicked off the speeches after the meal, as the father of the bride. ‘Welcome, everyone,’ he said. ‘I’m pleased to say that this time Abigail and Bradley didn’t run off to Gretna Green—but I guess that’s harder to do when you have a baby.’ Everyone laughed. ‘I’m going to keep this short, and say I’m delighted to welcome Brad back into the family, where he’s always belonged,’ Stuart said. ‘Please raise your glasses to the bride and groom, Abby and Brad.’

  ‘Abby and Brad,’ everyone chorused.

  Brad couldn’t quite bear to wake Jessica by transferring her to his wife’s arms, so he stood up and gave his speech with his daughter in his arms. ‘I’d like to thank everyone for coming, and as Stuart said this time we didn’t run off to Gretna Green. Actually, it wasn’t so much because of Jessica, because she’s happy to go anywhere, but we didn’t think you’d forgive us for depriving you of a party for the second time.’

  There were claps and hoots and cheers.

  ‘Ten years on, we’re both older and wiser—at least, I think we are,’ Brad continued. ‘I would like to thank Stuart, Annie, Mum and George for all their help over the wedding arrangements and for being wonderful grandparents; and I’d like to thank my twin Ruby for being the best bridesmaid ever. And I’d like you all to raise a glass to my gorgeous bride, Mrs Abby Powell—I’m so proud of her. For most people, moving house or having a baby or opening a new branch of the family business in a different town would be quite enough to do in a year. Not for my new wife, because she’s done all three—and she was named local businesswoman of the year, last week. She’s brilliant. And I’m very lucky she agreed to marry me again.’ He lifted his glass. ‘To Abby.’

  ‘To Abby,’ everyone echoed.

  Colin stood up next. ‘I’m absolutely thrilled that my brother-in-law chose me as best man. I knew he actually wanted his sister as his best woman, but his bride called first dibs on her, so he was pretty much stuck with me. So I’m going to keep it short and sweet—please raise your glasses to the bride and groom, Abby and Brad.’

  And then Abby stood up. ‘I’d like to thank you all for coming today. This is the wedding we probably should have given you last time, and I think it’s fitting that we’re celebrating here because this is the place where Brad and I first danced together at the school prom—he kissed me for the very first time in the rose garden here. I’d like to thank my parents for being brilliantly supportive about me moving some of the family business to Norwich, my parents again and Rosie and George for being wonderful grandparents and excellent babysitters, and Ruby—well, she never actually stopped being my sister as far as I was concerned, but it’s nice for it to be official again. To Jessica, for being the sweetest-tempered baby in the world; to Jim, who I’m very sure is here with us in spirit; and most of all to Brad, the love of my life, for finding a compromise so we both won.’ She smiled. ‘Now we’re done with all the talking bits—let’s get this party started!’

  Jessica was scooped up by Rosie. ‘Go and have the first dance,’ she said, shooing Brad and Abby onto the dance floor.

  They walked into the centre, and the band started to play the song that Brad had danced to with Abby for the very first time, at the school prom: ‘Make You Feel My Love.’

  ‘We did it right, this time,’ he said softly as they began to dance. ‘Celebrating with all our family and friends—including our little girl.’

  ‘Three magpies,’ she said.

  He smiled. ‘The old superstition turned out to be right. And I’m the luckiest man on earth. Thank you for giving me a second chance.’

  ‘This time,’ she said, ‘it’s for keeps. You and me. Always.’

  ‘Always,’ he said, and kissed her.

  * * * * *

  If you enjoyed this story, check out these other great reads from Kate Hardy

  Christmas Bride for the Boss

  The Runaway Bride and the Billionaire

  His Shy Cinderella

  Her Festive Doorstep Baby

  All available now!

  Keep reading for an excerpt from Best Man and the Runaway Bride by Kandy Shepherd.

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  Best Man and the Runaway Bride

  by Kandy Shepherd

  CHAPTER ONE

&n
bsp; WHERE WAS THE BRIDE? She should have been at the church a half-hour ago. Max Conway paced back and forth on the pavement in front of the historic sandstone building. As best man at the wedding, he’d been despatched outside to report on the bride’s arrival status. Again, he glanced down at his watch. Traditionally a bride was tardy but this much late was ridiculous. No wonder the groom, standing inside all by himself at the altar, was grim-faced and tapping his foot.

  Organ music drifted out through the arched windows of the church. The notes had a trill of desperation as the organist started her wedding repertoire for the third time. Anticipation levels inside would be rising as the congregation waited—and waited.

  Max checked the traffic app on his phone to see if there were problems. All roads leading to the church in Sydney’s posh eastern suburbs were clear. The bridesmaids had arrived without any problem. But still no bride. He was about to turn on his heel and go back inside to give the glowering groom an update—a task he didn’t relish—when the bridal car approached. His shoulders sagged with relief. She was here.

  Through the tinted window of the luxury limousine he could see a froth of white veil framing a lovely female face. Nikki Lucas. Max recognised her straight away, though he’d only met her for the first time at the rehearsal two nights before. Honey-blonde hair. Soft brown eyes. Tall and slender. A truly beautiful bride. Well worth the wait for the lucky groom.

  At the rehearsal she’d greeted Max with a smile so dazzling he’d been momentarily stunned. She’d been warm and welcoming to her fiancé’s best man—a total stranger to her. If she’d realised who he was—who he had once been—she’d been too well-mannered to mention it. The rehearsal had gone smoothly and he’d got the impression Ms Lucas was efficient and organised. Not the kind of woman to be so late for her own wedding.

  The wealthy father of the bride sat next to her in the back seat. Why hadn’t he hurried his daughter along? Max found such lack of punctuality unpardonable. What was Ms Lucas’s game? If this were his bride—not that he had any intention of marrying any time soon—he would be furious. The limo slowed to a halt. No doubt he’d be greeted with a flurry of excuses. He would cut her short, bustle her inside and get this tardy bride up the aisle pronto.

  He ran to the bride’s door and yanked it open. ‘You’re here,’ he said through gritted teeth, swallowing the where the hell have you been.

  He didn’t get so much as a smile in response. In fact the errant bride looked downright hostile. Her face was as pale as the layers of tulle that framed it, her mouth set tight. She swung her long, elegant legs out of the car, shook off the hand he offered her to help, and stood up in a flurry of fluffy white skirts.

  She gave no apologies, no explanations, no excuses. Just a tersely spoken command. ‘You have to get me out of here.’

  Max stared at her. ‘Get you up the aisle, you mean,’ he said. ‘You’re late. There’s a church full of guests waiting for you. Not to mention your groom.’

  ‘Him.’ She shook her head so vehemently her long veil whipped around her face. ‘I’m not going to marry that man. I thought I could go through with it but I can’t.’

  By now her father had clambered out of the car to join them. The limo took off with a squeal of tyres, the driver muttering he was late for his next job.

  ‘Think about this, sweetheart,’ said the older man. He handed her the bouquet of white roses that she had left behind her on the car seat. ‘You can’t just walk out on your wedding.’

  ‘Yes, I can. You can’t talk me out of this, Dad. If you won’t help me, Max here will.’ She spat out his name as if it were a dirty word. ‘It’s the least he can do as best man to the creep who convinced me to marry him under false pretences.’ She glared at Max through narrowed eyes. ‘That is, unless you’re just as much lying pond scum as he is.’

  Max wasn’t usually lost for words. But the insult came from nowhere. Where was the smiling charmer from the rehearsal? Behind the perfect make-up the bride was grim-faced and steely eyed. ‘I don’t consider myself to be pond scum,’ Max said through gritted teeth. ‘But my duty as best man is to get you into the church for your wedding.’

  ‘There isn’t going to be a wedding. Your duty as a decent human being is to help me get away from here. Now.’ Her hands shook with agitation and she kept looking anxiously towards the church.

  Max’s first reaction was to back away from the bride. He wasn’t good with crazy. This was something more than pre-wedding nerves. There was no trace of the joyous, vibrant woman he’d met at the rehearsal. But then her lush pink mouth trembled and her eyes clouded with something he couldn’t quite place—fear, anxiety, disappointment? It made him swallow a retort. How well did he actually know the groom? He’d played tennis with him back in high school but had only reconnected with him just weeks before the wedding—had been surprised to be asked to be best man. The groom could well be pond scum these days for all he knew. But he’d made a commitment to be best man. That made him Team Groom.

  The father took her arm. ‘Now, Nikki, there’s no need to—’

  The bride turned on her father with a swirl of white skirts, glaring back at Max as she did so. ‘I’m sorry, Dad,’ she said, her voice unsteady. ‘I can’t do it.’

  She indicated the church with a wave of a perfectly manicured hand. Her large diamond engagement ring flashed in the afternoon summer sunlight. ‘Please tell everyone to party on without me. Don’t let all that food and wine go to waste.’ Her mouth curled. ‘Maybe someone could have the fun of smashing Alan’s lying, scheming face into the wedding cake—all three tiers of it.’

  ‘Maybe not,’ Max said, trying not to let a smile twitch at the corners of his mouth at the thought of the somewhat supercilious groom facedown in the frosting.

  He made his voice calm and reassuring. ‘I know you must be nervous.’

  Pre-performance nerves. He knew all about them. There was nothing more nerve-wracking than stepping out onto the centre court at Wimbledon with the world watching him defend his title.

  ‘Nervous?’ Her cheeks flushed and her eyes glittered. ‘I’m not nervous. I’m mad as hell.’ She brandished the cascade of white roses as if it were a weapon. Max ducked. ‘The wedding is cancelled.’

  ‘Why?’ At the rehearsal she’d seemed to be floating on a cloud of happiness. For one long, secret moment he had envied her groom his gorgeous, vivacious bride-to-be. Despite his success at the highest rank of his chosen sport, and all the female attention that came with it, at age thirty Max was still single.

  ‘You want a reason?’ She raised her perfectly shaped brows. ‘How about four reasons? His two ex-wives and two children.’

  Max frowned. ‘You knew Alan was divorced.’

  ‘Divorced once. With no children. He lied.’ Her voice ended on a heart-rending whimper. ‘One of the reasons I fell for him was that he told me he was longing for children. Like...like I was.’ Her face seemed to crumple; all the poise Max had admired melted away to leave only wide-eyed bewilderment.

  ‘How did you find out?’ he asked.

  ‘His first ex-wife called to warn me off Alan. Didn’t want to see me get fooled and hurt by him like she had been. He called her a vindictive witch. Then the second ex-wife wife called to tell me about their three-year-old twin sons and how he’d deserted them. Oh, and warned me he was on the verge of bankruptcy now that he’d gone through all her money.’

  Max gasped. The dad hissed. Nikki was a successful businesswoman. Being both beautiful and wealthy made her quite the catch—and vulnerable to a fortune hunter.

  ‘You believed her?’ said Max.

  She shook her head. ‘I trusted my fiancé. But I had her investigated. Definitive proof she was telling the truth came just as I waved off my bridesmaids and was about to get into the limo.’ Her breath caught on a hitch, dangerously close to a sob. ‘I can’t marry a liar and a fraud.’

  ‘Go in there and tell him that,’ said Max.

  ‘I couldn’t bear the humil
iation.’ She looked up at him, her eyes pleading now. ‘You know all about humiliation.’

  Max grimaced. Of course he did. Evidence of his disastrous final game where he’d injured his elbow so badly still circulated on the Internet: the thrown racket, his writhing in pain on the grass court surface of Wimbledon. People had even made memes of it.

  ‘Yes,’ he said through gritted teeth, not appreciating the reminder.

  ‘Please help me get away. I can’t run down the street to hail a cab dressed like this.’

  Tears glistened in her brown eyes, making them luminous. Max had a weakness for female tears. But he was also a man of his word. He was the best man. An honourable position with duties he took seriously. It would take more than tears to recruit him to Team Bride. As she looked up at him, a single teardrop rolled slowly down her cheek. He had to fight an impulse to wipe it gently away with his thumb. She was another man’s bride. She sniffed and her voice quivered as she spoke. ‘You say you’re not pond scum, now prove it to me.’

  * * *

  Nikki held her breath as she looked up at Max Conway for his answer. She hadn’t expected to find him standing guard outside the church, ready to corral her inside. In fact, she hardly knew the guy. Just was aware he was a celebrity athlete and had a well-publicised love life.

  The first she’d known that her groom’s best man was the world’s golden boy of tennis—featured in countless ‘sexiest men alive’ media round-ups—was when she’d met him at the rehearsal. Just another of her former fiancé’s secrets, she thought with a twist of bitterness.

  She could read the struggle on Max’s face—with his spiky light brown hair and blue eyes, he was every bit as handsome as his photos. Duty warred an obvious battle with gentlemanly instincts to help a bride in distress. The media did not consider him a gentleman. She didn’t care. All she wanted was his help to get away. The clock was ticking. Her father had reluctantly gone to tell everyone that the bride would be a no-show. If she was going to escape, she’d have to do it now.