How to Make a Wedding

by Cindy Kirk

  All week he’d worked to convince himself that pocketing her napkin years ago wasn’t a serious offense, rationalizing that someone needed to have the courage to make good words like hers available to the public. April hadn’t had the guts; still didn’t have them or she wouldn’t be working in the same bar wearing the same apron and singing the same nightclub ballads.

  That’s what he’d told himself.

  Now the only words floating through his mind were liar . . . selfish . . . cheater. All of them on repeat. Well, he was tired of the labels. Weary of the mental taunt. There really was only one way to rectify that grievance, only one way to make the accusations stop launching toward him like hand grenades aimed straight for his head.

  He just hoped he could actually bring himself to go through with it.

  April was annoyed with her sister. Fed up and sick of her demands and weary of being Kristin’s personal punching bag for the last week. No one should be treated the way she’d been treated the past several days, and she’d had enough. More than enough, and she was ticked off.

  So why in the world was she crying?

  Because her sister was getting married, and she would miss everything about their one-on-one relationship. Quiet conversations late at night from the living room sofa in the apartment they’d shared for the past three years. Fights over which one of them used the last of the conditioner and placed it back on the shower shelf for the other to discover it empty. Grocery store trips and split bills at the checkout—always in half and always annoying because Kristin’s tastes ran decidedly more expensive than hers. Living with her sister was a pain in the butt. She was bossy and messy and lazy and selfish to the core.

  But Kristin was her sister. April would miss her so much it hurt just thinking about it. She swiped at a tear threatening to run down her cheek and smear her perfectly applied makeup. But then another one followed it and she gave up. It didn’t matter if anyone saw her cry. She loved her sister; it wasn’t anything to be ashamed of. Their love ran deep.

  “April, pay attention,” Kristin whispered. “Why are you choosing my wedding to daydream?”

  Their hatred . . . it also ran deep.

  “I wasn’t daydreaming,” April shot back. “What do you want?”

  “It’s time for the rings. If you’re not too busy, could you hold my bouquet?”

  April forgot her tears as her gaze turned hot. “Stop complaining and hand it over. Geez, you’d think this moment was all about you.” She grinned at her unintended words, and just like that her anger dissolved.

  As did Kristin’s. It didn’t take long until both of them were giggling. Onstage. In front of everyone. At a wedding. A wedding that had cost a lot of money and time and effort to impress the socially upward. At the exact same moment, they remembered their mother and the heated glare she was likely sending from her spot on the front row. April tried to catch a glimpse of her, but as luck would have it, her eyes connected with Jack’s and stayed there before she had the chance.

  And then, of course, April forgot all about her mother. Because Jack was staring right at her, the sweetest look of concern lining his features. She could get used to that look. She could swim in it and hang out inside it for a while and probably never want to leave. And more than anything else at that very moment, it was what she wanted.

  April blinked. Why, of all the men she could one day meet, was she thinking these things about Jack Vaughn? And why, when she was standing at her sister’s side, holding her bouquet, listening to their heartwarming handwritten vows that she had personally written and rewritten a half dozen times, did she suddenly wish she were a bride in her own wedding?

  That was a problem. One so big, April barely recognized herself.

  And as she listened to her sister exchange vows and rings and a kiss with the man who had just become part of their family, April didn’t see an end to this problem.

  Worse, as she chanced a look at Jack out of the corner of her eye, she no longer thought she wanted one.

  The moment April stepped into the reception hall with the rest of the wedding party, she knew. She halted her steps, sucked in a breath, listened to Kristin scream, and she knew. The entire room had Jack’s fingerprints all over it, because who else had this kind of money? Her parents were well-off, but they had been given strict instructions by Kristin not to go overboard. Kristin wanted a normal Nashville wedding.

  But this. This was anything but normal.

  One look at Kristin’s face, though . . . Clearly her sister was just fine with it.

  The room had been transformed into something so grandiose, April had never seen anything like it. Reminiscent of five-page spreads in InStyle magazine, April almost expected celebrities to be sprinkled along the perimeter— holding crystal goblets filled with Dom Pérignon, decked out in tailored Armani tuxes, draped with sparkling twelve-carat diamonds.

  In a word, this place was unbelievable.

  Gone were the birdseed cups with the little yellow umbrellas they had worked to assemble just yesterday afternoon. Instead crystal champagne flutes were filled with creamy white rose petals and stacked in a pyramid pattern that began on the floor and stretched nearly to the ceiling. Gone were the small, neatly arranged bouquets draped with yellow ribbons and gingerly placed in the center of the tables. In their place, mounds of moss and ivy and every white flower imaginable hung in a mass along the ceiling, attached to light-strewn wooden trellises. Gone were the simple white linen tablecloths that had been rented at a nearby party store and positioned over plain wooden tables. Billowy silk fabric replaced the plain linen—mounded high and draped to the floor. Each table gleamed with oversized lighted candles and spotless silver place settings.

  The only thing April recognized were the paper lanterns, but they had been moved to the four corners of the room, hanging in an asymmetrical pattern and back-lit in a way that made them appear to float on air. The room felt like a dream. April fully expected Cinderella to descend a magic staircase followed by fairies waving sparkling wands. But even as April took it all in, even as she scanned the room with her mouth hanging open because for some reason she couldn’t seem to close it, even then everything combined wasn’t the most shocking feature.

  The photographer with the massive camera and the People magazine credentials hanging around his neck was the most shocking . . . and outlandish . . . feature.

  People magazine?

  What in the name of everything holy was People magazine doing here? More importantly, who were they here to interview?

  Kristin latched onto her arm, squeezing like April’s bicep was a stress ball meant for kneading and twisting and reshaping into something more pliable. April fully expected fingerprint indentions to remain long after she let go, which wouldn’t be anytime soon.

  “Did you know about this?” she asked. If April thought for even the slightest second her sister would be upset about the change in décor, her breathy, high-pitched squeal put that fear to rest.

  “I had no idea. Still have no idea what is happening . . .” She let the sentence hang as Jack walked up to her, a shy smile curling one corner of his mouth.

  “I hope you like it,” he said, looking truly concerned that both women would be angry. Gloria Quinn chose that exact moment to enter the room. Her shocked gasp could be distinguished even over the hum of two hundred guests. April had never heard such an unflattering sound come out of her mother’s mouth; the woman had forever preferred decorum and reservation over the reveal of honest emotion.

  “What on earth has happened here?” But like both her daughters, the words were laced with dreamy incredulity rather than offense. “It’s like an entirely different world than the one we left last night.” If April had been in the frame of mind to giggle, she would have chosen this moment to do so based on her mother’s spellbound words. But she felt a little dazed herself. Dazed and completely baffled.

  “I have no idea,” April answered, seeing that Kristin was still too out of it—spendin
g her time craning her neck to see the flowers, the arbor, the lights that she seemed to be counting one by one—to speak. “But I think Jack may have had something to do with it.”

  Three heads snapped in Jack’s direction, all laced with varying degrees of uncertainty. Yet they each wanted the same thing: an answer.

  “You did this?” Everyone heard the underlying tone of accusation in Gloria’s question. It was slight, but it was there.

  Reluctantly, Jack nodded, a kindergartner approaching his teacher’s desk to explain a missing assignment. “I did. I heard you talking about what you would do if you had more time, so I took it upon myself to take care of it. I have connections and a few people who owe me favors, and . . . I hope you don’t mind?”

  April’s breath caught as she stared at her sister. Did they mind? Because she didn’t think they minded. She didn’t even think they minded if he offered to put the whole family up for the week at an upscale resort in Fiji. In fact, maybe she should make that important fact known just in case—

  “Of course we don’t mind.” Kristin, clad in twenty pounds of silk and lace and tulle and pearls, flung herself into Jack’s arms. He looked as surprised as April felt.

  It was the first time she could remember anyone in her family displaying anything besides anger toward Jack Vaughn. It was a weird sensation. The death of a pact. The end of an unspoken mission to unite in their hostility where he was concerned. And as she watched her sister locked in a hug-fest with the guy who used to be her bitterest rival, every negative emotion she’d ever held against him dissolved. Finally, after all these years, April was no longer angry.

  What she felt for Jack didn’t resemble anger at all.

  “And then my coordinator quit last-minute and I had to fill the role myself. Doing all this work was exhausting, especially with only four days to make it happen. If anyone deserves a vacation, it’s me.”

  And this was the sort of crap April had been listening to for the last two minutes as her sister answered questions for her upcoming mention in People magazine. The article would highlight Jack’s return home before his upcoming tour began—the magazine had asked for a feature on him for months, which he had consistently turned down until now—but of course Kristin’s wedding had been part of the deal. It was a favor. A way to make peace. An olive branch extended by a guy trying to make good on a past gone wrong. Kristin had grabbed on to that branch and shredded a few leaves in the process. Her excitement was an electrical current charging through everyone in the room.

  Except April. Doing all the work was exhausting?

  “Um, I seem to remember you having a little help,” she said, unable to take it anymore.

  In response, Kristin waved her off. “This is my sister, April. She stepped in a couple of times when I needed some extra help. But for the most part, I was on my own. And let me tell you, when that happens right before a wedding as high profile as mine, the stress level is sky high . . .”

  April turned away before the desire to punch her sister took over. This wasn’t the time or place. Next week—right after Kristin returned from her honeymoon—that was the perfect time and place. April made a mental note to mark it on her calendar.

  “Interview is going well, I hear.” Jack walked toward her, on a short break from singing. The band was providing background music for the moment; his time off wouldn’t last much longer. “I could hear her talking from the stage. Sounds like you should have stepped in to help more, slacker.”

  The gleam in his eye kept her from scheduling a personal beat down for him too. Punching two people in one day sounded just so exhausting, anyway.

  “Yeah, poor Kristin. Having to do all the work in between massages and pedicure appointments must have been a killer. I’m not sure how she managed to handle it all.”

  When his face broke into a grin, she felt her irritation give way to something else. Something that was growing increasingly hard to ignore. She swallowed and gave it the old college try. Even though she knew it wouldn’t work. Because she hated college in the two years she’d attempted to go. Found it a complete waste of time.

  Besides, musicians didn’t need college anyway.

  “That’s Kristin, at least the one I remember. A hard-working control freak.”

  “You got that last part right.” She stared at him a long moment. “You sound good up there. Yet I’m still waiting to hear ‘Open Arms.’ It’s the one I’m really looking forward to.”

  “I’m sure you are. Nothing more fun than seeing a musician make a fool of himself onstage,” he said. “Although it won’t be the worst thing I’ve ever done.”

  April laughed. “I want to hear that story sometime.” She caught herself, aware the words sounded like an invitation. An offer to make herself available for a future . . . date? She swallowed, trying to measure her level of excitement. Was she excited? Would she welcome another chance to see him again after tonight?

  If the way her pulse raced was any indication, she would. She definitely would.

  She blinked up at Jack just as a slow grin began to tilt his mouth. “I’m still here tomorrow night if you want me to tell it to you.”

  She bit her lip on a smile. “Sure. Can’t think of anything I need to do, plus I’m off work.”

  He nodded. “Great. I’ll buy you some fries and we’ll hang out.”

  That earned him a scowl. “Coffee, ice cream, and fries? You spend less money on dates than my fourteen-year-old boyfriend in eighth grade.”

  He frowned. “You were allowed to date in eighth grade?”

  “That’s not the point.”

  He shrugged. “Fine. I’ll take you to Husk.” When he couldn’t quite hide a smile, she knew she’d been played. Husk was of the nicest restaurants in Nashville. At least this was what she’d heard. Not many lounge singers with an income like hers could afford to go there, especially considering she refused to borrow money from her parents.

  “Much better. And bring whichever credit card has the highest limit, because I’m ordering the most expensive thing on the menu, plus dessert.”

  Finally, Jack laughed. “I expected as much.”

  April glanced over his shoulder. “Don’t look now, but Kristin is glaring at you. And motioning for me to get you back onstage.”

  He sighed. “Great, just great. I’m not sure how I found myself back in the role of the wedding singer, but whatever. ‘Open Arms’ is coming right up.” He turned to walk away.

  April laughed. “I guess I should find some lucky guy to slow dance with me. Then it can become our song too . . .”

  Jack looked over his shoulder at her. “Hold up on that dance. I have something special planned for this song.”

  April just looked at him. Something special?

  She watched as he took the stage and reached for his guitar, then approached the microphone once again. But instead of beginning the opening riff of the famous Journey song, this time Jack began to talk. And as he launched into a monologue of love and commitment and faithfulness, April’s legs and arms and head grew numb.

  Nothing could have prepared her for his words.

  “Jack, what are you doing?” April whispered under her breath. But even though her voice was barely audible, the panic . . . the strain . . . the terror was unmistakable. He was out of his mind. He was insane. He was completely . . . completely . . .

  She couldn’t believe what he had just done.

  “April, what do you say. Will you come up here with me?”

  Her hand fluttered to her throat. She felt her head slowly move side to side. “I don’t think I can—”

  “April, please.” Jack’s voice was pinched with hope. A hope she didn’t have the heart to kill twice in one week. Especially since he’d just announced to the entire place that—

  “April, you cowrote ‘Confidence’?” the kid standing next to her said. “The song we used for our senior prom theme last year?” At her reluctant nod, he kept going. “That is so cool! Why didn’t you ever say
anything?”

  “I just . . . didn’t.” She was still in a state of shock and indecision and stuck in a haze of not knowing what to do. Go onstage? What in the world for? And then her feet began to move. Before she knew it, she was climbing four steps, then turning to face a crowd of two hundred expectant people, all of whom began to cheer. Her sister smiled from the front, tears streaming down her face.

  Before she was able to think, before she took a single breath, before she could even consider doing what Jack asked of her, she had to know. She covered the microphone with her hand and leaned closer, scanning his face with her eyes.

  “Why did you do it, Jack? What in the world possessed you to tell everyone now?”

  For the smallest second—so small she almost missed it—she saw his confidence drain. Vulnerability took its place.

  “Because you deserve it. You’re a great songwriter, April, and I’ve known it for years. It’s about time the rest of the world knows it too.” His eyes took in her features as he reached out and brushed a strand of hair out of her face. “I’m sorry, and I wish I could undo it, but I can’t. Can you forgive me for that stupid, stupid mistake?”

  Unable to speak past the lump in her throat, she simply nodded.

  Jack’s relieved smile filled his face, and he looked down for a moment. “What do you say? Will you help me?”

  She frowned, just so confused. “I guess, but what am I helping you with?” she asked.

  Three seconds later, she wanted to take back that question. Would she ever, ever learn to keep her mouth shut?

  “I thought about killing you. Did you know that?”

  “I saw the way you were looking at me. I think you more than thought about it. When you approached the stage, it was all I could do not to duck and run for cover.”

  “Coward.”

  “Where you’re concerned, I’ll gladly claim the label.”

  April smiled, then spooned another bite of her crème brûlée into her mouth, closing her eyes for a second to really savor it. If someone held a gun to her head and forced her to make a decision, she would say it was the best thing she’d ever tasted. But then she opened her eyes and saw her brownie fudge sundae practically giving her a guilt-ridden stare down and paused that thought. Because it was awfully good too. Maybe even better than the caramel cake with buttercream glaze she’d polished off a few minutes ago.