by Foster, Lori
Stifling his own smile, the minister said, “I now pronounce you man and wife. Zane, you may kiss your lovely bride.”
Zane carefully lifted her veil.
Tamara looked at him, at his beautiful smile and the naked love in his eyes. She trembled, shook, struggled for breath, and in the next instant she hurled herself into his arms. “I love you so much!”
Laughing, Zane caught her to him and twirled her around.
Olga whispered loudly, “Oh, that girl does me proud,” and Eva agreed.
Being a good friend as well as an assistant, Luna cheered, and everyone else followed suit.
An hour later, they were cutting the cake when suddenly the lights went out. Tamara froze, Zane cursed. A low rumble of confusion drifted through their guests. Then Aunt Eva wailed, “It’s Uncle Hubert!”
The lights came back on as quickly as they’d gone out. “Sorry,” came a low masculine voice from the other side of the room, “I, ah, leaned on the main switch.” Joe, a look of apology on his face, stood next to Luna, her hair disheveled, the bodice of her gown askew. They were in front of a narrow corridor, and they both looked guilty.
Chase rubbed his hands together. “And the curse continues,” he said with relish. All the Winstons—all but Joe—gave a mighty cheer.
Tamara laughed. And to think she’d wanted a normal life. How silly.