The Wedding Dance

by Lucy Kevin

  Patrick placed the box carefully on his desk, not caring if it smudged the plans beneath, and opened the box slowly. There was a single flower within.

  It was electric blue above a slender stem, with four petals spread out in a semi-circle around the front of the flower and a fifth standing straight. The heart of the flower curled over in a mixture of yellow, darker purple and a deep red-brown. The overall effect was that of fragile beauty, nearly translucent when Patrick held the flower up to the light coming through the window.

  There was no note, just the flower, and he knew Phoebe was using the language of flowers to tell him something very important. Praying it was what he thought it was, first he had to rule out what it wasn’t.

  He’d looked up the meaning for the pasque flower and knew what it meant, and that it wasn’t good. He went over to his computer, searching for images of flowers. He typed in “the pasque flower” and when he saw the purple petal in the first picture that popped up on his screen, a moment of physical pain shot through him.

  But when he took a breath and looked at it more closely, however, he could see it simply wasn’t the same as the flower that sat on his desk. Next to this flower Phoebe had sent him, the pasque flower was ordinary, not nearly so beautiful.

  Patrick hardly dared to type the next words in, praying harder with every letter that appeared on his computer monitor. He sent the new search off, and held his breath for the fraction of a second it took to come back with an answer.

  He reached out to lift the flower Phoebe had sent and hold it next to the image on his screen, looking from one to the other, wanting to be sure.

  Only when he was absolutely certain that he had found the right flower, did he stand again, walking over to the window holding the flower Phoebe had sent him.

  A Caladenia orchid.

  Cally.

  It was every bit as beautiful as Phoebe had said it was…and it was in full bloom.

  Which meant miracles really did happen.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Nothing.

  How could there be nothing?

  Phoebe stared at her phone accusingly, praying for it to ring. But it remained still and cold in her hand, the way it had the previous nineteen times she had checked it.

  “We’re ready for the bouquet,” Rose called out.

  Phoebe put the phone away. If Patrick were going to phone, he would have done it by now. She knew he’d received the flower, because Brian had called with the news of his successful delivery while leaving Patrick’s building.

  Looking up, Phoebe realized Marge Banning was standing a couple of feet away in her wedding dress. She looked amazing...like a woman in love whose every dream was coming true.

  Phoebe carefully picked up the bouquet she’d put together for Marge. Roses, exactly the same as last time, yet today they looked fresh and bright. They went perfectly with the wedding dress, and if Phoebe didn’t know better, she would have sworn that Anne had secretly made some changes to it. It was the same flowing dress in delicate cream with expertly picked out stitching that it had been before, but today, it looked truly perfect on Marge.

  As Phoebe handed her the bouquet, she said, “You look beautiful.”

  Marge was normally a good looking woman, but today she shone with happiness, and that only made her more beautiful. Phoebe had never before believed that brides could be “radiant” but tonight it was the only word to describe her.

  “Thank you,” Marge said softly. “It’s amazing what being in love will do for you.”

  “Good luck,” Phoebe said.

  “You know what?” Marge said with a smile that only made her look more radiant, “I don’t think luck is going to come into it this time.”

  On the other side of the doors to the Rose Chalet’s main room, Tyce and the string quartet he was directing struck up the wedding march.

  Phoebe concentrated on pinning the ribbon from the bouquet to the dress. “There,” she said to Marge. “Perfect.”

  The other woman studied her for a second or two. “You know, Phoebe, there’s something different about you today.”

  Phoebe felt those darn tears she’d had so much trouble with lately rise up again and she shook her head. “There is,” she admitted, “but today is about you, not me. Are you ready to go in?”

  For the first time, Marge actually looked a little nervous. Phoebe put a hand on her shoulder, searching for the right thing to say. Fortunately, it didn’t take long to find it.

  “Third time’s the charm, remember?”

  She opened the door for Marge, giving them both a clear view down the aisle to where RJ’s re-creation of Tara stood. Phoebe had to admit it was impressive today with the guests gathered around. The flower arrangements at the end of each row and on the tables were stunning, even if RJ had put together at least half of them in the end. The guests all looked like they were enjoying themselves, even though most of them had been to the first two weddings, too.

  The groom waiting on the deck was a good looking man, distinguished and fit, but right then, his looks weren’t what mattered.

  All that mattered was the way he looked back at Marge standing there, and the way she looked at him.

  With pure love.

  They both looked so nervous and so happy as Marge made her way down the aisle. Phoebe knew that she ought to be feeling cynical about their chances right then, given Marge’s track record, but she couldn’t. Not this time.

  Not now that she knew what it felt like to be head over heels in love.

  “You’re braver than I am, Marge,” she whispered.

  And luckier, apparently, because there was still nothing from Phoebe’s phone, which she’d silenced so she wouldn’t interrupt the ceremony.

  Usually, she disappeared at this point, went back to clean up her work. It was the best way to avoid as much of the wedding as possible. But today, she found that she wanted to watch, wanted to be a part of two people making vows of forever to each other.

  All at once, Patrick’s parting question came back to her: “Have you ever thought about why you chose to be a florist for weddings, Phoebe?”

  Oh my God, she thought as she stumbled back from the doorway and braced herself against the wall. Patrick, amazingly, knew her so well that he’d figured her out long before she had.

  All these years, she’d rationalized being a romantic cynic who had taken a job doing flowers for weddings by telling herself it had been better paying, with better hours, than most florist jobs, with the bonus of not being tied down by her own shop.

  But now—finally—she realized what the real reason was.

  Phoebe had taken the job at the Rose Chalet because she’d been secretly hoping the day would come when she could find a reason to believe in love.

  It had taken a long time, but she’d finally found that reason…in Patrick Knight. If only she’d realized it before it was too late.

  Oh god, she prayed, it couldn’t be too late.

  As Marge and her groom began to say their simple vows, Phoebe remembered the very wise bride telling her that when you had found the right man, the actual details weren’t important. Love was all that mattered.

  Tears streamed down Phoebe’s face as Marge and her new husband kissed. She never cried at weddings. But then, she never normally cared.

  Out on the small stage at the side, Tyce started up the music again, and Phoebe gently slid the doors closed. In a minute or two, she would have to go help with the reception, but for now it was all she could do to try and dry her tears.

  She was surprised when a hand touched her shoulder. “Would you like to dance?”

  Phoebe turned and saw Patrick standing close, looking at her with an impossibly sweet, heartfelt expression that wasn’t hard to read. After all, she’d seen it on two faces just a moment ago.

  He was also holding a primrose.

  I Can’t Live Without You.

  Eternal Love

  Both were the commonly accepted meanings for a primro
se in the language of flowers.

  At first, she was so stunned, she simply didn’t know what to do. And then, at long last, she did.

  She kissed him, with all the love in her heart.

  “Is that a yes?” he asked when they finally broke apart from one another.

  “Patrick, I—” Phoebe began. She didn’t know quite what to say next, though.

  He put a finger to her lips. “I know. You don’t have to say it. You don’t have to say anything at all, sweetheart.”

  “I want to say it,” Phoebe said, pressing close to him. “It scares me, and it’s hard, but I want to say it.” She stared into his eyes, not wanting to hide anything from him anymore. “I love you. I’ve loved you from the start and I’m sorry I pushed you away. I shouldn’t have.”

  He gently brushed her tears away. “But then you wouldn’t have been you, and it’s you I’m in love with, Phoebe. All of you. I know you’re scared, but can’t you see how strong you are? How brave you’ve always been?”

  “I want to be brave. For you. And for myself, too.”

  Patrick held out the half-crushed flower to her and when she took it from him with a teary, “Thank you for giving me my first flower,” he kissed her again before spinning her around in his arms. Together, they swayed to the sound of the music coming through from the other room.

  Phoebe thought back to what it had been like dancing with Patrick the first time they had met. It had been wonderful...but this was better. So much better.

  Back then he had been just a particularly attractive stranger suitable for a quick fling.

  Now, he was so much more: he was the man she loved. For all that being in love was strange and frightening, it was also wonderful.

  Absolutely wonderful.

  Phoebe pressed closer to him, wrapping her arms around his neck as they gave up any pretense of dancing. Instead, they simply held one another.

  “Are we going to start making plans for the future?”

  Patrick placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. “Later. And trust me, Phoebe, there will be a later.”

  He pulled her aside just as the doors opened, letting people spill out as held her close behind the door, where no one could notice them. Phoebe took a breath, and pulled them out into the open.

  She didn’t mind if people saw them.

  She wanted people to see them.

  Marge Banning went past, arm in arm with her new husband. She saw Phoebe with Patrick, paused for a brief moment, and then smiled a wide, knowing smile. Phoebe grinned back, and held onto Patrick a little tighter.

  “I’m going to have to go help with the reception in a minute,” she whispered, though she made no move to let go.

  “I know,” he said. But he didn’t let go either. “Tell me, Phoebe, do you believe in miracles yet?”

  “I believe in us.”

  “That’s close enough.”

  Phoebe nodded. It was.

  Epilogue

  Tyce tapped away at his laptop, making a few last minute changes to the playlist for the wedding reception as he looked around the Rose Chalet’s dance floor. Marge Banning looked great, twirling around the room with her new husband, who clearly knew exactly how lucky he was, if the smile on his face was anything to go by. All the other dancers looked like they were having a good time, too. That was one thing Tyce always prided himself on: he could always get people out onto the dance floor.

  So far, he’d had a busy day. First there had been that business of taking over the final Tara details from RJ so that RJ could help out Phoebe. Tyce grinned as he saw her dancing with Patrick Knight.

  It looked like he was going to need someone else to flirt with. He hoped the new permanent caterer Rose eventually found for the chalet would be pretty.

  On top of RJ’s duties, Tyce had had the string quartet to manage, which had meant writing out parts for a new viola player who was filling in, and then making sure that the set list was properly set up to run, not to mention having to quickly rewire one of the speakers on his amplifiers. All in all, he’d been so busy that he’d barely been able to enjoy the party. And he always enjoyed the party. He had a reputation to uphold, after all.

  He looked out over the reception again and saw that Marge was done dancing and was waving him over. What could the beautiful woman want with him?

  He picked his way through the dancers with the ease of long practice in clubs. “Hi Marge. I hope you’re having a good time.”

  “I’m the happiest I’ve ever been. Everything is perfect.”

  “You do realize that today is a sad one for all of us single men, don’t you?” Tyce gave her his saddest expression, which got a brief laugh from the vitamin heiress.

  “It’s just as well I planned ahead then, isn’t it?” she said, taking his arm. “Come here, let me introduce you to my bridesmaids. They’re all my nieces.” Marge winced theatrically. “I’m still not used to the idea of being old enough to have nieces, let alone grown up ones. Please flatter me by saying I don’t look it.”

  “Will your new husband be angry if I say that you’re the most beautiful woman in the room?”

  “Not since we know you say that to all the women.”

  Marge’s bridesmaids had congregated in one corner of the room, forming, thanks to the theme for the wedding, a cluster of blue taffeta.

  “Now, girls,” she said. “There’s someone I’d like you all to meet.”

  Tyce found himself being scrutinized. Marge’s nieces obviously liked what they saw, because they moved forward slightly, obviously eager to say hello. Well, all except the one at the end of the line who was hanging back a little. Who could blame her, when Marge was clearly in a mood to set him up with one of them?

  For the next few minutes, Tyce smiled and made jokes with niece after niece. There was Annette, and Georgia and…no, he couldn’t remember more than that.

  “So, Tyce,” Marge asked after she’d introduced him to a few of her bridesmaids, “what do you think of my nieces so far?”

  “They’re all very lovely,” Tyce said automatically. The truth was that any one of them might have been good to go on a date with sometime, but he half suspected that giving one of them his number would only spark some kind of feeding frenzy. And it would be difficult to make a quick getaway with so many wedding guests in his way.

  “Now, Tyce,” Marge said, “I just have one more niece to introduce you to. Don’t hide at the back there, dear.”

  Marge stepped forward, taking the woman’s arm and bringing her forward firmly.

  “I’m afraid this niece is strictly off limits, Tyce. She’s getting married here herself four months from now.”

  Tyce thought he remembered Rose saying something about Marge being responsible for nearly a quarter of the chalet’s income, what with her own weddings as well as those of her friends and family, and readied his best smile. He was prepared to say something about how he hoped that her upcoming wedding would go as well as this one.

  Then he finally caught sight of the final niece’s face.

  He stopped, frozen to the spot, unable to say anything. For what seemed like an eternity, he couldn’t do anything except stare into the deep green eyes in front of him. Eyes he remembered perfectly.

  Eyes he had never thought he would see again.

  ~ THE END ~

  Don’t miss Book #1 in the Four Weddings and a Fiasco series

  THE WEDDING GIFT

  Watch for Tyce and Whitney’s love story in

  THE WEDDING SONG

  Coming June 25, 2012!

  * * *

  Please enjoy the following excerpts from Lucy Kevin’s books...

  THE WEDDING GIFT

  Book #1 in the Four Weddings and a Fiasco Series

  © 2012 Lucy Kevin

  After Julie Delgado’s restaurant closes, she temporarily takes over the catering position at the Rose Chalet, a full-service San Francisco wedding venue. She plans to dazzle the bride and groom so the Chalet’s owner will keep her a
round, but fate has other plans for her when the bride’s brother shows up for the first food tasting.

  Andrew Kyle is not only the Cuisine Channel’s Edgy Eats host and chef, but his recent review of Julie’s restaurant was the final nail in its coffin. Once he meets Julie at the Rose Chalet, he’s certain she’s playing it safe. And he wants nothing more than to be the one to break her guarded passions loose.

  But despite the undeniable sparks between Julie and Andrew–and the fact that he seems to believe in her when no one else does–can she afford to be taking risks with her cooking, with her career…or with her heart?

  Enjoy the following excerpt for THE WEDDING GIFT...

  It wasn’t easy trying to finish off the main courses and desserts, knowing all the while that Andrew Kyle was probably out there telling the Rose Chalet’s owner exactly how awful Julie’s food was. And Rose would listen, of course, because what else would she be able to do in the face of a triple whammy: celebrity chef, the groom’s brother, and great dimples?

  Enough about the dimples, Julie ordered herself. Just remember what he did.

  It was pretty hard to forget. One review from the city’s most prominent TV chef, and her business had come crashing down around her ears. The faint trickle of new customers Julie had hoped would widen into a stream dried up completely. Her entire dream went south in a matter of weeks, all thanks to the man who was currently sampling Julie’s seafood platter.

  Well, she couldn’t let him ruin this dream too. Which meant Julie couldn’t do anything horrible to his food, even if a small part of her wanted the revenge.

  The truth was, the best revenge would be to show him just how wrong he had been. All she had to do was present him with the best plates of food in her life, and then force him to eat his words.

  Easy.

  Though if it was that easy, why was her hand shaking while she finished the duck? She needed to focus, take her time, and—

  “Is everything okay?”

  Julie jumped at the sound of Andrew’s voice, almost slicing a finger open in the process.