The Chesapeake Diaries Series 7-Book Bundle: Coming HOme, Home Again, Almost Home, Hometown Girl, Home for the Summer, The Long Way Home, At the River's Edge (153 page)

Funny, though
, she mused,
that I’d be a bridesmaid for Dallas MacGregor in her wedding to Grant, since Dallas and I spent our high school years vying for his attention
. Dallas, of course, had always won, and if Brooke had hated her with all the might of a scorned teenager back then, these days, she’d grown to love Dallas like a sister. No one, Brooke had told Jesse, was happier for Dallas and Grant than she herself was.

Strings played softly in the smaller of the two ballrooms, where rows of chairs had been set up to form a center aisle covered with a white cloth runner that led to a wooden arch covered with white roses, orchids, hydrangea, and stephanotis. The ends of the rows were draped with white tulle gathered in waves and held together with huge bunches of lavender roses and white baby’s breath. The Hollywood elite sat elbow to elbow with the local guests, and everyone
stood when the strings announced the arrival of the bridal party and the back doors opened.

Berry Eberle, the bride’s great-aunt, walked down the aisle proudly on the arm of her beau, Archer Callahan. They were followed by the groomsmen: the best man, Gabriel Beck, the town’s chief of police and the groom’s best friend; Clay Madison; Cameron O’Connor; and the bride’s son, Cody. The bride’s two-year-old nephew, Wade’s son Austin, toddled along behind Cody and waved to everyone he knew.

Then came the bride’s attendants: Laura Fielding, whose comeback as a star had been orchestrated by Dallas when she selected Laura to star in the debut film of Dallas’s film company, served her old friend as maid of honor. The bridesmaids followed, all dressed in shiny silver satin and carrying lavender and white roses: Steffie, Vanessa, and Paige Wyler, daughter of the groom, headed up the aisle in front of Brooke. Her eye caught Jesse’s in the crowd, and his wink brought a smile to her face.

Then the music changed, and the bride stood in the doorway wearing a long fitted dress of silver sequins with a high neck and low back that shimmered with her every move. In her arms she carried a bouquet of white flowers and trailing ivy. She walked up the aisle on the arm of her brother, who would soon celebrate his own wedding in this very room—after a suitable change of decor at the instruction of the wedding planner, of course.

The ceremony was performed by Archer Callahan, who was a justice of the peace as well as a retired judge, and was short and very sweet, both the bride and the groom promising to love, honor, and cherish—though
not to obey—every day of their lives, in this world and in the next.

Next came a cocktail hour in the inn’s solarium, which was decked out in more roses and orchids and clouds of white tulle. Brooke shared a glass of champagne with Jesse and nibbled on a few excellent hors d’oeuvres before having to disappear upstairs to change the accessories that would outfit her for Steffie’s wedding.

She marveled at the transformation Lucy had orchestrated, turning the small ballroom from white sophistication to a celebration in red in a very short amount of time. The white runner remained, but was strewn with red rose petals. Gone were the yards of white tulle and the white-and-lavender bouquets at the ends of the rows. In their place were cone-shaped vessels covered in red, green, and white tartan fabric that held the red-and-white bouquets of roses, ivy, and branches of holly. The arch that previously had sparkled in silver and white was now festooned with red and white flowers and streams of tartan ribbon. Everything was bright and cheery and smacked of the holiday season, just as Steffie had wanted.

Grant escorted his mother, Shirley—the mother of the bride—to her seat, then joined the groom and his groomsmen at the right side of the arch. Next to Wade stood Grant, the best man, Beck, Clay, Cameron, and Cody. A trumpet sounded to alert the guests to rise and the bridesmaids—Brooke, Dallas, Paige, and the bride’s married cousin Kristin, with Vanessa as maid of honor—began their march. They wore the same silver satin gowns with a difference: the wide
sashes at their waists, their high heels, and the ribbons wrapping their bouquets were all done in the red, green, and white of the MacGregor tartan. Even Dallas had added the tartan accessories to her wedding attire. They looked, Brooke had quipped, like an advertisement for Scottish shortbread.

The bride, dressed in a white silk dress with a wide skirt that was gathered on one side, entered on the arm of her father, George Wyler. The same wide sash of tartan plaid circled her waist and her shoes matched those of her attendants. She carried white roses interspersed with red holly berries and trails of ivy. On her head she wore a short veil held back with a crown of white rosebuds. She was breathtaking, and as Brooke had told her moments before the doors opened, Steffie needn’t be worried about walking in the shadow of her famous sister-in-law.

Judge Callahan performed the second ceremony as well, this one slightly longer than the first. When the judge pronounced Wade and Steffie husband and wife, the bride raised her bouquet over her head and hooted to the applause of their guests.

A second cocktail hour not being needed, the guests followed the wedding party into the large ballroom, where the decor wowed everyone. Tall leafless trees in silvery planters lined the room, their branches draped with tulle and tiny white twinkling lights—Steffie’s “fairy lights.” The tables were covered alternately in red or white with the opposing color overlay, and centered with tall vases of curly willow spray painted with a glittery silver paint. From the branches hung tiny lanterns that flickered like fireflies, and around
the bottoms of the vases were smaller vases filled with white orchids and red roses.

“I can’t believe Lucy was able to pull this off,” Brooke said to no one in particular as the wedding parties stood in the receiving line.

“Neither can I.” Vanessa slid into line next to her. “It’s mind-blowing. No mortal could have arranged this. Let’s start a rumor that Lucy’s an alien.”

“She’d have to be to have done all that,” agreed Kristin. “I’ve never seen anything like this.” She pointed around the ballroom. “It’s spectacular.”

“Have you talked to Stef yet about … you know,” Brooke whispered to Vanessa.

“Uh-uh. Grady and I agreed to wait until she and Wade get back from their honeymoon. He totally agreed with you, just so you know,” Vanessa told her in the same low, confidential tone. “He thinks we need to do the wedding thing.” She looked around the room. “It sure won’t be anything like this one, though.”

“Doesn’t have to be,” Brooke assured her. “Whatever you decide to do, just make sure that all the people you most love are there with you, then you’ll never have regrets when you look back on the day.”

“You’re right, of course.” Vanessa nodded.

“What are you two whispering about?” Steffie leaned behind Wade to ask.

“I just asked Brooke if she thought this dress made my butt look big,” Vanessa told her solemnly.

Steffie rolled her eyes and turned to greet the first of the guests to come through the line.

It seemed to Brooke that the line was endless, as if everyone in St. Dennis were there.

Close enough
, she thought as she glanced down the line. Every face was familiar, from Grace Sinclair to Violet Finneran to Steffie’s two part-time workers and the veterinary assistants from Grant’s animal hospital. Jesse stood next to his grandfather, and Nita Perry, who owned the antique shop on Charles Street, chatted with Luke Haldeman, who’d just bought the boat sales showroom and marina from the estate of the previous owner. Brooke’s mother was deep in conversation with the new librarian and Mr. Clausen, who’d taught American history to both Grant and Steffie in high school and was somehow related to Berry.

We’re all somehow related to one another here
, Brooke mused,
if not by blood, then by marriage, and if not by marriage, then by friendship
. She was glad she’d followed her heart and come home when she did.

And while I’m on the subject of my heart …

Jesse leaned forward to kiss her.

“You look … spectacular,” he told her.

“You’re supposed to say that to the bride,” Brooke whispered.

“I did that, but you look spectacular, too.” He leaned closer to her ear and whispered, “I can’t wait to get you alone.”

“Ditto. Now move along so we can keep the line moving. I’m starving.”

“How can you be starving?” Vanessa frowned. “You ate all that shrimp an hour ago.” Vanessa covered her mouth with her hand. “I shouldn’t have said the S-word. The very thought of seafood makes me want to—”

“I get it. Hang strong for about fifteen more minutes. Want Jesse to get you some club soda?”

Vanessa shook her head and smiled at Hal Garrity, the closest thing she had to a father, as he came through the line with her mother, Maggie, on his arm.

Brooke’s mother was next, and so on down the line, until Brooke was convinced that she’d been right earlier: all of St. Dennis had been invited.

The reception went by mostly in a blur. Brooke danced with Jesse and Curtis, with Clay and with Grady and Grant and Wade and who knew who else, until she was dizzy. Between the band’s sets, she grabbed Jesse by the arm.

“Air,” she told him. “I need air.”

“It’s pretty cool out,” he told her. “You should bring whatever wrap you brought with you.”

“It’s upstairs,” she told him. “I’d pass out before I got it. Let’s just go out on the terrace for a minute.”

She took him by the hand and led him through the lobby to the inn’s bar and beyond to the terrace.

“Wow, look at all those stars,” was the first thing she said when they’d walked outside. The second was, “You were right. It really is pretty chilly.”

He took off his suit coat and draped it over her shoulders.

“Now you’ll be cold,” she protested.

He wrapped his arms around her and drew her in. “Nah,” he said. “I’ve got a hot date tonight.”

“It was a beautiful day, wasn’t it?”

“Amazing that they were able to pull that off,” he said. “Switching everything around that fast, having the reception incorporate the colors and the flowers from both weddings.”

“That was Lucy’s doing. That’s why Dallas and Steffie wanted her to do their weddings.”

“Ah, Lucy. The redhead who made your brother drool.”

“I wish I’d seen that.” Brooke laughed. “I’ve never seen Clay look foolish over anyone.”

“The right girl can do that to a guy.” He rested his chin lightly on the top of her head. “The right girl can make a guy not care how foolish he looks. Take me, for instance.”

“There’s nothing foolish about you, Jess.”

“If things had gone differently, there could have been.”

“What do you mean?”

“If my grandfather had found me lacking and fired me from the firm, I’d have looked very foolish.” He rocked her slowly, side to side. “But I’d have stayed here and faced it, if it meant having a chance with you.”

She leaned back and looked up into his eyes.

“You are the woman of my dreams,” he told her. “The woman I’ve been looking for all my life. I’d stay and face down anything to be with you.”

“Jess …” She was so touched she hardly knew what to say.

“All my life, I was afraid I’d wake up one day and find out I’d turned into my father,” he said. “I’ve always felt him looking over my shoulder, as if he were waiting for me to be like him.”

“From what you’ve told me about him, and from knowing you, I don’t see that happening.” She shivered inside his coat but didn’t want to go inside. There were things they needed to say to each other, and she
knew this was the right time and the right place. “You’re not him. Your grandfather knows it and your brother and sisters know it and I know it. You’re a man that a woman can trust with her heart. A man a woman can trust with her future.”

“You trust me with yours?”

“I do. I never thought I’d say that again, but I do. I never wanted to take a chance again, but I will.”

“You’ll never be sorry,” Jesse promised. “I swear, you’ll never be sorry …”

In her heart, Brooke already knew that. She smiled and drew him closer, and made promises of her own.