Chapter 13
thirteen
IAN
The wedding was in three hours, and I didn’t think I’d ever been this nervous before in my life. Not even during my first stage performance in middle school or my first callback for a shampoo commercial.
It just felt like a lot of pressure. Candace and Mercer were getting married in front of all their family and friends. These vows would solidify their devotion and love. And I was the asshole reading the lines.
God, I was going to puke.
“Hey, look at this,” Brady said, holding up his phone. “You’re both famous. Do you know her? Lindy with the cooking videos.”
“What?” I could hear the strain in my voice as Brady showed me his screen.
“Her channel is called Not Your Aunt Linda’s Kitchen, and she takes regular, everyday food and puts a unique spin on it. Like mac and cheese but with Indian curry and other flavors. Or she makes alterations based on dietary restrictions.”
I watched as a woman, visible only from the elbows down, kneaded bread on a floured workbench. “Oh, so like substitutions for your lactose intolerance?”
“Yeah,” Brady answered, then cleared his throat. “Anyway, she’s great. I love her recipes. Mercer and Wenn turned me on to her channel.”
I’d known that Mercer liked to cook, as well as garden.
He helped Amy Judd in the kitchen quite a bit.
Georgie and I had been invited to Sunday dinner last week, and Mercer had made a salad from lettuce he’d grown himself.
It was the best lettuce I’d ever had in my life.
And the salad dressing I’d watched him create—honey lime cilantro—had been out of this world.
The other amateur chef in the mix was Wenn Hawthorn.
He was a groomsman and Mercer’s friend from Asheville.
I knew the pair had met through their shared photography hobby.
Actually, Wenn might be a professional photographer.
I wasn’t sure. The guy was quiet. He wasn’t unfriendly or anything, just not a sharer.
He sat alone on the sofa in the suite we’d been given by the event coordinator.
His big body took up most of the small piece of furniture.
I was a tall, muscular guy, but Wenn might actually be able to take me in an arm wrestling match.
He was broader, where I was lean, and carried himself like he’d been in the military.
But so far, he’d mostly kept to himself.
“I’ll text you her handle.” Brady clasped me on the shoulder and lowered his voice. “Watch her latest one with bacon bourbon brownies. It might help you relax and take your mind off the ceremony.”
I met Brady’s gaze. I’d thought I’d hidden my nervousness from the group, but apparently my acting skills weren’t what I’d hoped.
“It’s gonna be fine,” he told me quietly. “You’ll do great.”
I watched as my friend ambled away to join Wenn across the room. They started talking about some contest on Lindy’s page, but I tuned them out.
Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath.
Instead of the brownie video, I pulled up my text thread with Joan.
We mostly used it for logistics regarding our early-morning runs and Georgie’s visits.
She wasn’t a big texter and didn’t believe in sharing memes like a normal person.
But I needed a distraction, and I didn’t think a cooking video was going to cut it.
Me: What’s the vibe over there? How’s the bride?
I was surprised when her response came through a moment later.
Joan: Well, she’s not drunk, at least.
I smiled, remembering how we’d worked together to wrangle the women the night of the bachelorette party. Since I’d had to cart a sleeping Candace in my arms, Larry had insisted I carry the rest of them, too. It had taken a while, but they’d all eventually made it into the SUV.
Me: Always a plus before a wedding.
Joan: I meant, she’s not drunk yet. Mac just opened another bottle of champagne. She said it’s for mimosas, but she forgot the orange juice.
Me: Can you get some food in them? We ordered some pizzas from Apollo’s. They should be here any minute.
Joan: That’s a great idea.
The wedding was happening at the old train station in Kirby Falls. It no longer serviced train cars or passengers, but it had been renovated into a beautiful event space. The bride and all her ladies were situated in a suite very similar to ours on the opposite end of the hallway.
My thumbs hovered uncertainly. I didn’t want to admit I was nervous. Mostly, because I didn’t want Joan to think I was incompetent or to worry about a potential disaster at the altar today.
She was the fixer in her family. If the farm needed something, she made it happen. She was a leader, and her family looked to her as a result.
I didn’t want to be one more thing Joan had to deal with. A calamity waiting in the wings.
Before I could decide what to type, I heard voices in the hallway, then a loud thump, followed by feminine giggles.
“What’s that?” Brady asked, noticing the commotion as well.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I’ll find out.”
But Mercer was already on his way to the door.
I didn’t realize Brady could move so quickly; he shot across the room and wedged himself in between Mercer and the door, practically shrieking, “What if Candace is out there? You can’t see the bride before the wedding!”
Mercer sighed. “That is an antiquated tradition.”
“I don’t care. Get back. Ian and I will check it out.”
“Good Lord,” Mercer mumbled, but he took a step away and let Brady and me shuffle through the doorway.
We made it into the hall just in time to see Mac and Bonnie stealing our pizzas from the delivery driver.
“Hey!” Brady called. “Those are ours!”
“Not anymore!” Mac hollered at her boyfriend.
The women cackled and took off at a run, black satin robes billowing behind them.
They slammed and locked the door to their suite before we’d even made it halfway.
“They told me you’d tip,” the driver said when I rushed past.
I couldn’t help but laugh as I backtracked and pulled a fifty from my wallet.
Brady was yelling through the door when I caught up.
Pulling out my phone, I typed, You know, that wasn’t actually an invitation to steal our food. I was implying that you could feed your bridesmaids yourself. Maybe order your own pizza.
Joan: Oh. See, now, I didn’t take it that way at all. Sounded like you were offering.
I grinned.
Well, I’d wanted a distraction. I wasn’t thinking about standing up in front of all the Judds’ friends and family and making a fool of myself now.
Negotiations over the pizza were led by Joan and me.
Brady and Mac were pretty worthless in that department.
They mostly yelled insults through the door before Mac had stomped out to shout in Brady’s face.
They’d ended up making out in the hallway while I retrieved three of the five pizzas I’d ordered.
Joan rolled her eyes at her brother and walked with me back toward the groom’s suite.
Her hair, makeup, and nails were done, but she wasn’t yet in her dress.
Just like the rest of the women, she wore a silky robe that said “Maid of Honor” on the back.
But with her long legs, it looked short as hell.
I worked very hard to keep my eyes from drifting down over all the inches on display, and was proud of myself when I partially succeeded.
“You don’t need to be nervous, Ian.”
I glanced up in surprise. “I’m not nervous. I’m fine,” I lied. “Just like memorizing a script. A walk in the park.”
Joan gave me a look that clearly said, Cut the shit. Then she came right out and said, “Cut the shit.”
“How’d you know I was nervous?” I wondered, coming to a stop and leaning against the wall opposite the door to the suite.
Joan matched my casual pose, but her gaze—intense and unwavering—focused on mine.
“Because. I know you.” She said it so easily, so matter-of-factly, but there was nothing simple about it.
I didn’t know what to do with that sort of faith, that sort of steadfast confidence.
I know you.
I wasn’t sure if anyone else in this world could say the same. Somehow, this woman I’d met only a couple of months ago knew me better than anyone else.
I had employees and a team. I had people I paid to be in my life.
My assistant, my agent, my manager, my trainer, Sophia, and Darren.
But there weren’t friends—people I trusted with who I really was, deep down.
Dorian Masters had plenty of colleagues.
People he grabbed drinks with, caught up with, or saw in passing. But none of that was the same.
I realized I was staring down at the lid of the pizza box when Joan wrapped a hand around my forearm and squeezed. “If Candace didn’t want you officiating, you wouldn’t be. My sister is a people pleaser, Ian, but I am not. If she’d truly been unhappy, she would have asked me to let you down easy.”
That startled a laugh out of me. “Like her enforcer?”
Joan shrugged, but I could see amusement in her eyes.
“That’s how she ended up with the flowers for her bouquet that she actually wanted.
Not the ones Margaret wanted to sell her.
It was also how she got the cake frosting she preferred, even though it’s a bitch to make.
My sister isn’t great at being honest if she thinks it’s going to ruffle feathers, but I don’t have a problem telling people the truth.
I may not be the warmest sister. I don’t sit around and gossip or do spa days like she probably wants.
But I do make sure my family is happy, and that includes Candace getting the wedding of her dreams. If she couldn’t work up the nerve to demand it for herself, I’d gladly do it for her. ”
I nodded, remembering my thoughts from earlier. Joan the fixer. Joan the trusted leader. It seemed that maybe I knew her the same way she knew me.
Smiling, I teased, “You would have broken my heart and kicked me out of the wedding if Candace had asked you to?"