“Kristin, those things were so tiny, I’m not surprised she lost hers,” April said, rushing to the bridesmaid’s defense. “Why in the world you thought it was a good idea to buy everyone a single pearl to commemorate the day completely escapes me.”
Kristin let out a long, labored sigh, so loud it was likely heard at the altar. “Because everyone knows pearls signify fertility if you wear them in your shoes during a wedding ceremony, and I want to have lots of children.” April just looked at her. If Sam were a smart man, he would already be out the front door and looking for a cab to take him a million miles away from here.
“That doesn’t mean everyone else does.” April said slowly, already planning to lose hers accidently on purpose.
“Suddenly I’m glad I can’t find mine,” Brenda, the bridesmaid who had just been given the lecture, muttered under her breath.
“I don’t understand why everyone can’t just do their jobs and cooperate a little more,” Kristin—remaining firmly in meltdown mode—said into her hands. April just smiled at Brenda, the two of them sharing what might possibly be the only lighthearted moment of the entire day, week, or black hole of a month.
“Kristin, what are you yelling about?” Their mother, ever the picture of calm, cool, and collectedness in her blue silk suit and Jimmy Choo heels, walked into the room and closed the door—her thin lips pressed into a disapproving line.
And as Kristin started to cry about the benefits of fertility pearls and Brenda and the other bridesmaids looked anywhere but at Kristin, April swallowed her frustration and quietly left the room. She needed air. Of all the places she wanted to be in this moment, cowering on the receiving end of one of her sister’s tantrums wasn’t one of them. There was really only one place she wanted to be.
Back in the hallway with Jack.
April pressed a hand to her stomach, thinking surely she had come down with a strange bug or something. Because . . . the hallway with Jack? Anywhere at all with Jack? The idea was ridiculous at best, horrific at worst. She’d been furious with Jack Vaughn for three years now. It wasn’t like she could just give that up in less than a week’s time and suddenly develop some sort of odd kinship with the man. And kinship wasn’t even the right word. Affection was closer to it—no. She decided then and there to stick with kinship. It was safer. Accurate. The most correct way to describe how she felt.
She was totally lying to herself.
Still, the wedding was getting ready to start, she had a pearl to dispose of, her feet already hurt, and she hadn’t seen Jack in ten minutes or so.
It had been the longest ten minutes of her life.
This had been the longest hour of Jack’s life.
Weddings just weren’t his thing.
Not the one-by-one parade down the aisle. Not the endless words about love and faithfulness by the pastor-for-hire— or in this case Kristin’s pastor because she actually went to church here. Not the candle lighting or the vows or the mind-numbing words of encouragement spoken throughout by assorted unknown family members. Since when did family members speak? No, none of this was particularly his thing.
He glanced up at the stage, his gaze landing once again on April’s slender form. Okay, maybe this wedding offered one thing.
April. April had definitely become his thing.
Truthfully, he shouldn’t even be here. He needed to be at the reception hall getting his band ready to perform. Instead he sent them on ahead, unable to bring himself to leave while April was still here. Besides, he was invited. And who was he to turn down a kindly offered invitation by the bride?
A man who was learning to have a thing for weddings, that’s who.
Throughout the ceremony, Jack hadn’t stopped staring at her. At the way she stood proudly at her sister’s side, taking charge of the veil, the bouquet, the ring, the everything. At her figure in that form-fitting dress. At her eyes—the way they shone with unshed tears. As mad as she’d been only an hour ago when she marched up to him right before the ceremony started, he didn’t expect the emotional side of her to come out. Then again, every chick he’d ever met cried at weddings. Obviously she was no exception. But something about her tears tugged at him.
Maybe because it was easy to imagine her crying those same tears after she discovered he had stolen her lyrics. Partial lyrics or not, it was time he finally stopped lying to himself. They were hers. Rightfully hers. And on the back of her creativity, he’d made millions.
All week he’d worked to convince himself that pocketing her napkin years ago wasn’t a serious offense, rationalizing that someone needed to have the courage to make good words like hers available to the public. April hadn’t had the guts; still didn’t have them or she wouldn’t be working in the same bar wearing the same apron and singing the same nightclub ballads.