I banged on the ceiling. I heard scuffling noises and scraping, and then the trapdoor was flung open, flooding the tunnel with light.
“Dylan Janis Leigh!” Mom’s talons closed around my arm, and she lifted me up out of the darkness. I scrambled to stand. “What on God’s green earth are you doing crawling around under the church? Are you half possum, girl? You must have lost your damn mind.” Mom banged the trapdoor shut once Jamie was out and covered it back up again with the runner, straightening the corners. I waved good-bye to Jamie as Mom pulled me away from the chapel, down a hallway and into a little room. “Were you trying to give your sister a heart attack?”
“Hey, Dilly!” Dusty did not look like she was having a heart attack. She was sitting in her wedding dress on an armchair, feet up on Anne Marie’s lap, as she happily chowed down on a plate of french fries. “Mama, did you find any ranch dressing?”
“No, sweets, I don’t think they make that here,” Mom cooed, then immediately returned to glaring at me. If anyone was having a heart attack, it was Mom.
“Want a fry, Dilly?” Dusty held her plate out to me. “Everything go okay with Jamie?” she asked in an undertone.
I shot her a thumbs-up as I stuffed a couple fries in my mouth.
“Good,” she said smugly. “Well, ladies, should we get this show on the road?”
Mom thrust a bouquet of white roses, thistle, and heather, all bound with blue velvet ribbon, into my hands before taking Dusty’s french fries and helping her out of the chair. Dusty’s dress fell into its perfect bell shape as she stood. Her hair was simple, and soft—tossed up casually with a crown of white heather. She was beautiful, but completely unfussy. It was the opposite of her Miss Mississippi dress—not a single rhinestone or sequin in sight. It was perfect.
Dusty took her bouquet—an enormous cascade of white roses—from Mom, and smiled at the three of us.
“Well, line up, girls!” she clucked, like she was herding chickens. “Can’t keep Ronan waiting up there all day now, can we?”
As the organ music started, I took my place behind Anne Marie, and Mom led us out of the little room. She poked her head around the corner, then nodded at us.
As Anne Marie made her way down the aisle, I took a deep breath, rolled my shoulders back, and imagined that string coming out of the top of my head. Mom adjusted my arms to raise my bouquet a bit higher, then gave me a little shove into the aisle. Heaven, easily visible in the second row in her hot-pink dress, waved.
I saw Father Mackenzie, beaming beatifically down at me and the assembled congregation. Next to him was Ronan, snuffling as his lip wobbled dangerously, but dry-eyed for the moment. There was Kit—was he having a stroke? One of his eyes was twitching uncontrollably. A beat later I realized he wasn’t twitching; he was winking. Dusty’s high school cheerleading squad, sorority sisters, and a handful of pageant princesses from her year with Miss America filled up four spray-tanned, false-lashed, hair-extensioned pews, and he clearly didn’t know where to start.
Finally, my eyes came to rest on Jamie, standing tall and proud in his kilt. His hair was neater than I’d ever seen it before, neater even than when we’d gone on our date, combed back in a thoroughly respectable fashion. How had he fixed it so quickly after scrambling up through the trapdoor? Maybe he had a comb tucked into his sporran, too.
I made it up the aisle and to my spot next to Anne Marie with absolutely nothing calamitous happening, which seemed like the best possible scenario. Well, I did wave in a pretty undignified fashion when I spotted Meemaw in the front row, resplendent in a sequined purple pantsuit, but that was the only appropriate response, given the circumstances.
Then the congregation stood. My breath caught in my throat as I saw Dusty at the back of the church. Not just because she looked beautiful—which she did—but because she was standing in between Mom and Cash Keller. I may not have wanted Cash to be part of my life, but if Dusty did, that was her right. I was just glad Mom was part of today, too.
Ronan let out an enormous sob that caused every head in the room to swivel. Tears ran down his face. Wordlessly, Jamie handed him a hanky.
The only thing louder than Ronan’s crying was Kit’s singing, but somehow, the ceremony was beautiful. It all went by in a blur, until Father Mackenzie pronounced them husband and wife, Ronan kissed Dusty, and the whole church cheered. The organ struck up the recessional, and Ronan and Dusty practically skipped down the aisle, Dusty waving her bouquet around like a trophy. Kit offered me his arm, and we followed them. I looked clear over his head to wave at Meemaw, then Heaven, as we exited the church.
A line of Highlanders in kilts playing bagpipes and drums stretched all the way back to the castle. Kit hastily maneuvered away from me to walk with Anne Marie, and Jamie moved up to replace him. I certainly wasn’t complaining as Jamie tucked his arm around my waist.
“Do you feel Scottish now?” Jamie shouted over the din of the bagpipes.
“I thought bagpipes were supposed to be horrible, but this is actually pretty cool!” I shouted back.
We followed Dusty and Ronan past the line of bagpipers and burst through the doors of Dunyvaig. Staff members waited with trays of champagne and warm mugs of something. Jamie neatly grabbed two mugs and whirled us away from the cold air. He handed me a mug. Mmm. Hot chocolate.
“It’s not bad, Dunyvaig, it’s really no’ bad,” Kit said companionably, and loudly. I turned back to see him standing by the fireplace, a cozy arm slung around Anne Marie’s waist. He sure worked fast—not that I was surprised. “Terribly small, compared to the Kirby estate in Aberfeldy, but it’s verra quaint.”
“Wait just one minute—what are you in disguise?” Anne Marie asked excitedly. “Where are you the prince of?”
“Erm—I’m nothing in disguise, poppet.”
“Oh.” Anne Marie frowned, sighed, then said, “Honeybun, why don’t you tell me more about this estate of yours.”
Jamie rolled his eyes and steered me away from the fireplace.
“Can’t wait to hear that best-man speech,” Jamie said. “It’s going to be absolutely bonkers. That’s nice for you, though, isn’t it? I hadn’t thought of it before. No pressure.”
“No pressure?”
“For your speech,” he clarified. “Kit’s best-man speech is going to be insane, naturally. No matter what you do, maid of honor, it’ll be loads better.”
“Right.” I smiled weakly at him.
Speech.
My speech.
Crap.
The only advantage of the icy bolt of panic currently gripping my belly was that there was absolutely no room whatsoever for any more dread. So as the bridal party lined up outside the ballroom to prepare for the Scottish Grand March, the idea of dancing into the room while hundreds of people watched didn’t faze me in the slightest. Because I didn’t have a speech. For my only sister’s only wedding. Which made me officially the worst, and a certified grade A idiot.
“So we just march around in a circle? That’s all?” Anne Marie asked, clearly a few drinks worse for the wear. Hopefully, nobody’s brachial plexus was in need of attendance this evening.
“Stick close to me, lovey, and I’ll steer ye in the right direction,” Kit purred.
“Ooo, I’ll stick very close!” Anne Marie tee-hee-hee’d.
Unbelievable. The world’s tiniest Casanova was at it again.
“You’re very quiet, Dylan.” Jamie poked me in the shoulder. “You’re not worried about the Grand March, are you?”
“No. I mean yes. A little. Maybe? It’s just marching in a circle, right? Ah-ha-ha-ha!” I laughed a horrible, awkward, strangled fake laugh for no reason at all except that was what my panicking body had decided to produce.
“My God. You really hate dancing, don’t you?” Jamie’s eyes widened.
“I’m going to move to that town from Footloose when I get back. No, I’m going to write a letter and ask the president to Footloose the whole country,” I babbled. “Ah-ha-ha-ha
!”
Jamie raised an eyebrow, but wisely chose to say nothing.
The doors to the ballroom finally opened, and it was not what I expected. For once, there wasn’t a single plaid anything in sight. Instead, the space had been transformed into a winter wonderland—like the outside had come indoors. The room glittered with snowy whites and sparkling silvers. Actual trees, painted white and silver, lined the room, their spare branches stretching up to the stag mural on the ceiling. It looked exactly like…
“Narnia,” Jamie said with wonder.
“That is exactly what I was thinking,” I whispered back.
“I’m half expecting to see Mr. Tumnus come trotting by.”
“It makes sense, if you think about it. We’ve got the lion—Ronan, with his long mane of hair. The witch—”
“Ronan’s mum, obviously, yes.”
“And Dusty’s wardrobe,” I concluded, satisfied. “Which, in case you didn’t know, is extremely extensive.”
Jamie barked out a laugh as the band began playing the first strains of the Grand March. I awkwardly hop-skip-marched into the room on Jamie’s arm—technically, as maid of honor, I think I was supposed to be with best man Kit Kirby, but at this point the only way I could have pried the limpet formerly known as Anne Marie off his arm was with a crowbar, and I was more than fine partnering with Jamie. Before I knew it, it was done.
“You did it!” Heaven was waiting at the edge of the dance floor, holding up a soda with a tiny straw and a slice of lemon. “You survived! You Grand Marched the hell outta this thing.”
“Yeah, and now all my troubles are over,” I muttered as I gratefully grabbed the soda she proffered.
“So I scoped out our table sitch. Not bad, not so bad.” She steered me to a round table half-full of nearly identical teenage redheads. “It’s us, Jamie, Kit Kirby—ugh—Anne Marie, and then a bunch of Ronan’s cousins, and I cannot understand a single word they are saying. Their accents are so thick you could swim through them. So prepare for a lot of smiling and nodding.”
“Heaven.” I grabbed her arm and pulled her to a halt in the middle of her monologue. “Ididntwriteaspeech.”
“Say what?” She cupped her hand to her ear exaggeratedly.
“I. Didn’t. Write. A. Speech.”
“Oh hell no.” Her face turned stormy. “Dylan. No. No! This is like the one thing you had to do, the one thing!”
“It’s not that big of a deal…right?” I asked weakly.
“It is a huge deal!” She planted her hands on her hips. “How could you not write a maid-of-honor speech?”
“I just, um, forgot. There’s been a lot going on!”
“That’s no excuse!”
“I’m sorry, Heaven, I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t apologize to me. Apologize to your damn sister.” She closed her eyes and pressed her forefingers against her temples. “Lord. Sit your ass down. I don’t have time for you right now.”
“You don’t have time for me? What are you doing?”
“Stuff, Dylan. I’ve got stuff to do, too. Now sit down.”
She pushed me into a chair. I awkwardly nodded and smiled at Ronan’s cousins, who said something either very welcoming or completely offensive. I had no idea.
The lights darkened and the room hushed. Jamie found his way to the chair next to me as Heaven flitted off somewhere. A spotlight illuminated the dance floor. Dusty and Ronan stepped into the light, holding hands. And damn if that traditional ceilidh band Florence had mandated didn’t play the heck out of “It’s Your Love.” Tim McGraw and Faith Hill couldn’t have done it better. Dusty and Ronan swayed gently in a circle, her head resting on his shoulder. There weren’t any fancy steps or anything, but maybe that was part of what made it so nice. Dusty looked so happy, I thought for a minute my heart would burst for her. The song came to an end, and the room erupted into applause, punctuated by a few earsplitting whistles.
“And now,” the rugged fellow who’d been singing Tim McGraw’s part announced into the microphone, “we have a special presentation from the best man and the maid of honor’s best friend.”
The what? The what and the who? I swiveled my head all around, trying to find Heaven, probably looking like a demented owl, but she was nowhere to be seen.
The band struck a chord, and the spotlight illuminated the door, where Heaven and Kit stood, arm in arm. They were both wearing kilts and velvet jackets, with knee socks and black shoes that laced up their legs. As the fiddle kicked into gear, they skipped into the room. My jaw dropped open. Jamie reached over and helpfully tapped it back up into place.
I didn’t know enough about Scottish dancing to know what this was—I only knew that it involved very intricate footwork, very straight legs, and a lot of kicks. How did they learn this? Heaven had been really cagey about practicing something, and this was clearly the result, but how did she become a professional Scottish dancer in like a week?
“Did you know about this?” I asked Jamie as the crowd cheered.
“I had no idea!” He clapped in amazement. “They’re bloody brilliant!”
The band concluded with a strong final chord, as Kit and Heaven bowed to thunderous applause. But just when I thought the dance was over, I heard a guitar from the other side of the room. Every head turned toward the ballroom doors.
A cute blondish guy entered the ballroom playing the guitar, grinning at the crowd as he made his way up to the band on stage. Was that Hunter Hayes? I wasn’t sure. Even though Dusty blasted MISS 98 nonstop on the radio whenever she drove me around, I couldn’t have picked any of her favorite country singers out of a lineup, certainly not Hunter Hayes. But if TRC really was trying to make this into their own version of The Bachelor, it wouldn’t have been complete without a private concert from a celebrity musical guest.
Heaven and Kit grabbed their kilts and jackets, pulled, and revealed entirely new outfits underneath as everyone in the crowd lost their minds. This was like Broadway-level production values. Not for the first time, I wondered just how big the budget was for this whole spectacle.
Under his kilt and jacket, Kit had somehow been wearing a gingham button-down shirt with matching shorts that perfectly matched the gingham romper Heaven wore. It looked a little like a picnic had exploded, but in the best possible way. As maybe–Hunter Hayes sang, “Love don’t know what distance is,” they threw their arms around each other’s waists, began spinning, and launched into the type of intricate partner jazz choreography I had never seen outside of Dancing with the Stars.
I realized belatedly that I was jumping up and down, waving my napkin above my head. Well, whatever—the only way to respond to something this insane was by being completely insane. As Hunter sang, “But I don’t want ‘good’ and I don’t want ‘good enough,’ I want ‘can’t sleep, can’t breathe without your love,’” Heaven took a running start, Kit caught her, and lifted her above his head. The screaming was deafening.
“He Dirty Dancing-ed her!” I screamed, still waving my napkin. “That crazy mofo just pulled a Swayze!”
“I didn’t think he had that kind of upper-body strength!” Far too late, I realized Jamie had been dancing along in an incredibly adorable, completely uncoordinated way.
Kit and Heaven cartwheeled toward each other, but as Heaven stood up, Kit landed on his shoulder with a sickening popping sound. The music cut out abruptly as he screeched in pain.
“Call an ambulance!” he wailed. “I’m injured! And on my good side, too!”
“Back up, y’all.” Anne Marie pushed her way through the crowd that had already gathered around Kit. “No need for an ambulance. Future MD here.” Anne Marie bent down, poking and prodding around Kit’s arm. “Nothin’s broken, honeybun. You just dislocated your shoulder. Hold real still.” With another popping sound that turned my stomach, Anne Marie wrenched his shoulder back into place. Kit yelped, then pushed himself up to his feet, rolling his shoulder experimentally.
“She bloody fixed it,” he marv
eled. “Right, then. Enjoy your dinners, all!”
Probably not the grand finale Heaven had been hoping for, but it was certainly dramatic. As Kit waved to the crowd, Jamie and I took our seats and happily set to attacking the bread basket. I still didn’t have a speech. Which was, admittedly, not great. But at least I had two working shoulders. And a basket of carbs.
Halfway through the salad course, the bandleader called Kit up to the stage. My stomach let out a loud nervous gurgle. No, it would be fine. Just fine.
“Hello there, lovies!” Kit addressed the crowd, his glass of amber liquid sloshing around in his hand. His other arm was in a sling made from a silver pashmina that definitely wasn’t his. “I’m Kit Kirby, the best man. When I first met Ronan, I thought, ‘That cheeky bugger’s got quite a few Legos.’” Titters from the crowd. “We were four, you see. Wee tots. When I first met Dusty, I thought, ‘Lucky Ronan. What a looker! Those legs! Legs for days, that girl!’” I could feel the force of Florence glaring at him from here. “But it’s not just the legs. There’s the whole top half, too!”
I heard a chair push back and saw Ronan up on his feet.
“With all respect, Ronan, all meant with due respect!” Kit protested. “It’s a compliment, is all!”
Ronan didn’t stop him, but he didn’t sit down, either.
“In conclusion, what I’ve realized is that Dusty and Ronan are much more than legs or Legos. Together, they are much better than apart. And being around all this love has, as always, inspired me to poetry. Because I’m verra romantic.” He winked in Anne Marie’s general direction, then decided to hedge his bets, and winked at a few former pageant queens for good measure. He cleared his throat. “There once was a girl from Tupelo—”
“Stop! No.” Ronan was almost up to the front, grabbing for Kit’s microphone. “No, no. I think you’ve said more than enough already. Cheers, mate.”
“It wasna going to be inappropriate! Well, hardly.”
“See?” Jamie said as Ronan firmly steered Kit back to his seat. “I told you, you’ll be fine. Just don’t compose any naughty limericks.”
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