The Wedding March

by Tara Randel

  “Congratulations.”

  He grinned. “I’m a lucky man.”

  Wonderful. Great. What time was it?

  “Do you mind if I put my two cents in where it isn’t needed?”

  “Why not?” Everyone else had. Her sister, mother and friends. They meant well, but she had to make her own decisions.

  “Luke messed up. He knows it. Would you cut the guy some slack and give him a second chance?”

  “And why would I consider doing that?”

  “Because he’s a good guy. Being with you makes him a better man.”

  At Dane’s words, tears prickled the backs of her eyes.

  “Like I said, it’s just a suggestion.”

  He walked away leaving her to ponder his words. Suddenly the lights went down. From across the room, the sound of a microphone being turned on screeched in the speakers. Luke stood under a single light, his guitar strapped over his chest.

  “Hello, everyone. Tonight we’re here to celebrate Dane and Nealy.”

  Applause broke out.

  “My cousin, who’s had my back my entire life, is giving me the floor for a few minutes tonight.” He cleared his throat. “You might have heard that Cassie Branford and I came up with a new song together. It’s true. While I’m not back in the music business, I am hoping we’ll be a team. So in honor of her, I want to debut our song, ‘This is True.’”

  Shocked, Cassie weaved her way through party guests to stop a few feet away from Luke. He started to strum the tune they’d come up with. When he sang, the lyrics resonated in her heart.

  “This is true, the beating in my chest.

  It felt like ages for true love to arrive.

  I tried to deny the love shining in your eyes,

  but I knew from the very first hello,

  you held my lonely heart.”

  Cassie quietly sang along, word for word, each syllable etched on her heart. When he finished, the room erupted with loud applause. Luke put his guitar down and strode to her, pulling her to a dark corner of the room, away from the gaping crowd.

  “I meant every word I sang, Cassie. Before you came into my life I was resigned to an empty existence. But you turned everything around for me and I’ll be forever grateful. I love you, Cassie Branford.”

  Shimmery tears blurred her surroundings. Sound faded. It was as though she and Luke were the only two people in the room. “I guess you got the memo that grand gestures work.”

  “If it means convincing you that we’re better together than apart, I’ll keep coming up with gestures to knock your socks off.”

  “So this means we continue to collaborate? Maybe divide time between here and LA?”

  “I’m ready to agree to anything that keeps you in my life. We can always decide on the logistics later.”

  She wrapped her arms around his neck. Emotion thickened her voice. “You didn’t have to sing our song.”

  “Yes, I did. To tell the world I don’t care who knows we wrote it together. Just as long as we are together.”

  “I think that can be arranged.”

  His eyes caressed her. “What happened to your hair?”

  She ran a nervous hand over the styled tresses. “New Cassie.”

  “I miss the streak.”

  “For you, I can put it back.”

  He tilted his head. “Or maybe just stay as you are. After all, you are the music of my heart.”

  When he grinned at her, all her reservations, about their love, life and future, drifted away. She’d never been so sure about anything in her life. “You and I are destined to make beautiful music together, Luke Hastings.”

  His hold on her tightened. “A Cassieism?”

  “The best one yet.”

  * * * * *

  If you loved this book, don’t miss the other books in Tara’s miniseries

  THE BUSINESS OF WEDDINGS:

  ORANGE BLOSSOM BRIDES

  MAGNOLIA BRIDE

  HONEYSUCKLE BRIDE

  THE BRIDAL BOUQUET

  Available now from Harlequin.com!

  And watch for Tara’s next romance,

  coming in December 2017

  from Harlequin Heartwarming!

  Keep reading for an excerpt from A SONG FOR RORY by Cerella Sechrist.

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  A Song for Rory

  by Cerella Sechrist

  CHAPTER ONE

  “AND THE WINNER of this year’s Artist of the Year is...”

  Sawyer Landry tensed in his seat as the reigning country music diva, Daisy Elliot, slowly untied the red satin ribbon from the envelope. He knew the cameras would be watching him, so he tried to appear relaxed and prayed the stiffness in his shoulders wasn’t obvious. The auditorium sat hushed in anticipation of Daisy revealing American Heartland Radio’s most prestigious award.

  If he managed to win, he could just hear his manager’s reaction. Well, butter my butt and call me a biscuit, sugar! I knew you had it in you! Perle Jackson peppered all her conversations with such colorful dialogue. It was part of a carefully cultivated persona that she put on to disarm others. Sawyer had quickly learned not to trust her redneck shtick. Perle was as ruthless as a Mafia crime boss when the occasion called for it, which made sense if you believed the rumors that she’d actually grown up in Brooklyn, and her Southern accent was as fake as her fingernails. It made Sawyer glad she was working for him and not against him.

  Daisy fumbled with the envelope, her bracelet catching on the satin ribbon. She laughed breathlessly, the sound a whiffle of air against the mic.

  Sawyer realized he was balling his hands into fists, so he slowly eased them open. There was a collective shifting of the audience as they grew impatient with Daisy’s delay. At long last, she tugged the gold-edged ivory card from the envelope.

  “There we go,” she announced, her voice carrying an air of relief. “As I was saying, the winner of this year’s Artist of the Year is...” She drew a breath. “Sawyer Landry!”

  The tension broke as the audience swept to their feet in a standing ovation. Sawyer was a beat behind as the announcement hit him. He’d done it. Artist of the Year
.

  “Come on up here, darlin’,” Daisy exhorted.

  He received several congratulatory thumps on the back as he navigated his way up the red-carpeted runway to the stage. From his peripheral vision, he noticed a montage of his concert performances and various awards ceremonies displayed on the massive auditorium screens.

  The applause rose several octaves as he tossed a wave toward the audience. He felt himself warm to the reaction. It was heady enough to hear a crowd of two thousand fans screaming his name, but having such a strong reaction from his peers, even his idols, in the industry cheering him—that was a rush at an entirely new level. He nearly tripped over his cowboy boots—a gift from Nashville’s premier designer—as he moved toward the podium.

  The audience was still on its feet, hooting and hollering, as he accepted the bronze statue from Daisy.

  “Congratulations, Sawyer,” she murmured for his ears alone as she leaned in to press her cheek to his.

  He hefted the weight of the award in his hand. It was an elongated sculpture with a crystal sunburst radiating from the top. He glanced down to read the description: “An artist of the highest caliber, displaying showmanship and talent, Artist of the Year,” followed by the date and year.

  Sawyer swallowed hard as he read the words, making an effort to keep his emotions in check. He’d done it. After years of living out of a van, playing dive bars and community events, never knowing where his next paycheck would come from, he’d finally reached the top. He raised his head and looked out over the auditorium. The stage lights were too bright for him to make out individual faces, but the applause still rippled on.

  He finally let out a breath and grinned. The sight of his smile set the crowd off once again, and the clapping intensified a few more notches. He raised a hand to quiet them, but it was still several long seconds before the room was silent.

  “I don’t even know where to begin, there’s so many people I need to thank.” He drew a breath. “My band, my manager, Perle, and all the talented folks at Americana Records.” He quickly ticked through his mental list of industry partners, executives and collaborators.

  “My family, especially my parents, for buying me my first guitar. I told you I’d pay you back for it one day, and now I guess I can.” He was rewarded with a rumble of laughter from the audience.

  “I’m especially grateful to my fans. Every single one of you who bought an album or downloaded a single or attended a show—you are what has made this possible.” He laid a hand across his heart. “And I thank you for that.”

  He stopped then, his gaze fixed on the sunburst at the top of his award. He experienced a tug in his chest, as he so often did when he was onstage, staring out at a crowd or accepting an award. In all those times, there was still one individual he had yet to thank.

  She was the one person who had made all the difference in his life and his journey to this stage. But he hesitated to name her. After all, it was unlikely she harbored any fond memories of him after the way he’d ditched her.

  But wasn’t this the moment? The occasion when he was meant to pay homage to those who had shaped and defined him, the ones who had believed when others had withdrawn their support? If that was the case, there was only one person whose belief in him had been unfailing, no matter the hard times. It was his own pride—the recognition that he was the selfish one who had given up on her and not the other way around—that had kept him from voicing her name.

  Well, there was no time like the present.

  “There’s one more person I need to thank. And she may be the most important person of all.”

  A hush swept over the auditorium. With the stage lights blinding him, he could have almost believed he was alone in the room. He drew a breath and closed his eyes, struggling to find the words.

  “Rory, if you’re watching—” he opened his eyes, trying not to wince at the bright glare “—I’m sorry.”

  Saying those two words eased a bit of the ache in his chest. He hadn’t realized what a relief it would be to speak them aloud. It bolstered him to continue.

  “You deserved so much more than what you got. And truth be told, you hold more talent in your pinkie finger than I have in my entire body.”

  If the audience still remained in the auditorium, they had fallen utterly silent—he could imagine he was speaking directly to Rory. Only the faint electrical hum of monitors and amplifiers could be heard.

  “If anyone deserves an award for best artist, it’s you. Because you’re the best artist I’ve ever known or collaborated with. Your faith in me helped me to believe in myself. I dedicate this award to you.”

  Daisy cleared her throat, and a soft guitar riff from the speakers signaled it was time for him to wrap it up. He also heard a faint reverberation from the crowd, a wave of whispers traveling through the room.

  “So, thank you...for everything.”

  He tipped the award in acknowledgment and then moved toward Daisy, who was waiting to direct him off the stage. There would be a crowd of reporters wanting to interview him. Applause followed him into the wings, and he heard the ceremony’s host segue the proceedings into the next performance.

  Sawyer paused at the hallway that led to the press area and looked down at the award he held in his hands. Though he felt relieved at having finally recognized Rory after all this time, a weight of grief still hung over him. Most days, he was too busy to acknowledge it, but in moments like this, the truth hit him full force.

  No matter how many albums he sold, concerts he played, or awards he won, he wondered if he would ever shake the regret of letting her go.

  * * *

  RORY CALLAHAN TRIED not to fidget as the scones were passed.

  It wasn’t that she was bored or having an awful time, she was just uncomfortable. High-tea luncheons weren’t really her type of scene, especially when she’d been forced to dress in a frilly pink sundress and strappy heels thanks to Paige Worth’s stringent dress code for the bridal shower. She tried to slip off the tight heels, but her best friend, Erin, nudged her gently in the side.

  “Stop moving so much,” she whispered in an aside. “Paige is shooting daggers.”

  Rory frowned and stopped working one open-toed shoe’s heel against the other. She slid a glance in Paige’s direction and caught her fellow bridesmaid glaring in disapproval.

  “Well, it’s ridiculous,” she hissed back at Erin, her Irish accent more pronounced with her exasperation. “Why do we have to dress up in these fancy frocks anyway? Harper doesn’t care. In fact, I’m sure she’d have been just as happy having the shower at the Moontide, like I suggested.” She looked in her soon-to-be sister-in-law’s direction. Harper was smiling graciously. If she was unhappy with the choice of venue, she didn’t show it.

  Beside her, Erin’s shoulders slumped. “That’s what I would have preferred, too,” she acknowledged, “but Paige insisted. And as the matron of honor...”

  “I know, I know.” Harper’s sisters were sharing the role of matron and maid of honor, and that meant that whatever Paige wanted trumped anything Rory or Erin suggested. Tessa, as the maid of honor, occasionally spoke up to veto her older sister’s ideas, but on the whole, Paige was the one running the prewedding events.

  “The Moontide would have been a lovely choice,” Rory continued, trying to keep her voice low so as not to be overheard by the other shower attendees, “and I’m sure Aunt Lenora could have used the business.”

  Aunt Lenora was Erin’s great-aunt by marriage, and the proprietress of the bed-and-breakfast in Findlay Roads, the Moontide Inn. Erin and her young son, Kitt, lived there while her husband, and Lenora’s great-nephew, Gavin, was deployed overseas in the army.

  Erin didn’t reply, and Rory guessed she’d decided to say nothing if she couldn’t say anything nice. Rory bit her tongue and tried to do the same. Harper was about
to become her sister-in-law, and it was no good to start things off by complaining about Harper’s oldest sister.

  “All right, everyone!” Paige, positioning herself in the center of the room, clapped her hands to draw the group’s attention to her. “Now it’s time for another bridal-shower game!”

  Rory stifled a groan. After pin the ring on the groom, when she’d nearly choked on a macaroon at the blown-up photo of Connor used for the pinning, along with bridal bingo and shower charades, she’d had her fill of wedding-game antics. But Paige wasn’t done yet.

  “I’ve saved the best for last.” Harper’s older sister was glowing with excitement. Rory had never been one of those girls who became giddy over weddings, even less so in the past couple of years since her breakup with her longtime boyfriend. But over the last two hours, she’d concluded that Paige’s enthusiasm more than made up for her lack of it, where matrimonial mayhem was concerned.

  “Tessa is passing around your cards right now.”

  As one of Harper’s bridesmaids, Rory already knew what was coming. Both she and Erin had been given the shower itinerary during one of Paige’s bridesmaid meetings, which occurred on a weekly basis now that the wedding was only three weeks away. So it was no surprise when Tessa handed her and Erin one of the scavenger-hunt cards, but still, Rory deflated a little.

  Tessa paused to squeeze Rory’s shoulder in encouragement. Rory straightened. Tessa was keenly observant and definitely the sweeter of Harper’s two sisters. But still, Rory didn’t want to seem sour, especially as a member of the wedding party. She’d just have to make the best of Paige’s bridal-shower scavenger hunt. Tessa moved on to the next table.

  “As you can see,” Paige continued with her instructions, “you have a list of items for our bridal scavenger hunt. Some items are easier than others.”

  Rory scanned the list she’d be sharing with Erin.

  A piece of candy.

  No problem there. Erin always carried some in her purse, to appease Kitt when he got antsy.