Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Keri
Thank goodness I tucked extra tissues into my clutch for the wedding ceremony.
The officiant signals for the guests to rise as the music swells.
The giant doors of the massive country club ballroom open to reveal Roxy and Adam.
Adam leans in, whispering something that makes Roxy throw her head back and laugh.
I glance at Justin standing at the end of the aisle.
His hands shake as he clutches a white handkerchief, tears streaming as he waits for his beautiful bride.
Adam is drop-dead gorgeous in his borrowed tux that fits him like a glove.
His hair is pulled back from his face and tied in a ponytail at the nape of his neck, revealing his smooth, chiseled jawline.
Roxy looks like she belongs on the cover of a bridal magazine, her mermaid gown accentuating her curves.
Her dark hair is twisted into a classic chignon, gorgeous dangling diamonds hanging from her lobes.
The earrings were a wedding gift from Justin, delivered to the bridal suite thirty minutes before the wedding.
Thank goodness Adam was there to capture her joy, his camera clicking away.
Adam winks at me as he passes. I palm my heart and swoon. He hands Roxy off to Justin, the two men shaking hands. Quietly, he joins me and picks up his camera. His hands tremble when he links his fingers through mine.
“Good job,” I whisper.
“Thanks.”
He kisses my temple before we sit back and enjoy Roxy and Justin’s ceremony. She’s playful and romantic. Justin is emotional and serious. But somehow it works. They belong together, and I’m prayerful they’ll have a long and prosperous marriage.
We all stand in a rush of excitement and jubilation as they are officially announced as husband and wife.
We clap our hands among shouts and whistles from the crowd.
The wedding party follows the newlyweds out of the ballroom while the rest of us are ushered into an adjacent room for cocktails and appetizers while the ceremony room is transformed into the reception space.
Adam and I hold hands, waiting for our turn at the bar. He greets a few folks with quick nods but stays close. I know he’s uneasy with his agent, Dan Combs, somewhere in the crowd. Secretly, I hope the man couldn’t make it.
“Champagne?” Adam asks me.
“Yes, please.”
“Two champagnes,” he says to the bartender, holding up two fingers in a peace sign.
After letting go of my hand, Adam passes a crystal flute of bubbly to me. I look up at him and smile. “To true love.”
“True love,” he repeats.
We clink our glasses. I’m about to sip when Mrs. Dirk interrupts.
“I’m so sorry. I need to borrow Adam for one second. Do you mind?”
I shake my head. “I don’t mind at all. Is everything okay?”
“Yeah. What’s up?” Adam asks.
Mrs. Dirk palms his arm. “Justin has requested a favor. He wants his right-hand man to capture their first dance.”
Adam raises his eyebrows at me and grins. “I’ve been promoted to right-hand man, huh?”
I nod excitedly, knowing this is progress.
“What about the other photographer, Mrs. Dirk? I don’t want to step on any toes,” Adam says.
“I can assure you, you won’t be stepping on any toes.
As far as I’m concerned, you can both take photos of the first dance.
All I know is that Justin said your photos will be better, and he wants you ready to do it.
” She turns and points to a young woman holding a clipboard near the door.
“Miss Penny will talk you through the timeline and where she wants you to shoot from. It will only take a minute.”
Adam hands off his champagne to me and palms his camera. “Okay. I’ll be right back.”
Mrs. Dirk and I watch Adam walk over to Miss Penny. They disappear into the adjacent ballroom.
Mrs. Dirk turns to me. “Thank goodness for Adam’s extraordinary talent. I have a feeling I’m going to want a copy of every single photo he takes tonight.” We both titter. She’s not wrong.
“And you, my dear, look amazing.” She takes a step back and eyes my gown. “Who designed your dress? Valentino? Gucci? Although this does look like vintage Oscar de la Renta to me. I can tell by the intricate embroidery. It’s perfect for you.”
I’m floored. Mrs. Dirk thinks my gown is from a famous designer. I stutter as I try to respond gently. “Thank you so much.”
“Oscar is well known for his glamorous expressions of femininity. My friends and I were all commenting on how gorgeous you look tonight.”
“Well, I hate to break it to you, but it’s not an Oscar de la Renta gown.”
She seems shocked, her eyes mapping my cerulean dress from top to bottom. “It’s not?”
I hold back a nervous laugh. “Nope. It’s a Clayton original.”
Her brow furrows. “Clayton? Is he an up-and-coming designer?”
Unable to hold back, I let out a goose-honk laugh and startle Mrs. Dirk. “I apologize,” I say, biting my lip to stifle another sound. “Clayton is a she. Mrs. Bonnie Clayton, my grandmother.”
“Oh!” She clutches the pearls hanging from around her neck, shock registering on her face. “Well… I must say, your Grandmother Clayton is very talented.”
“Thank you.” I tip the champagne flute to my lips and take a swig. “I’ll let her know.”
Mrs. Dirk offers me an overzealous smile, clearly uncomfortable pegging my grandmother’s creation as an original Oscar de la Renta gown. “I’ll… see you at the reception, dear.”
“Okay,” I squeak. I watch her wave to friends across the room and walk toward them, clearly eager to leave.
Why does this wealthy woman make my pulse race and my palms sweat?
And why in the world did I just say I’d let my grandmother know that Mrs. Dirk thinks she’s very talented?
My Grandma Clayton has been dead for years.
Nerves take hold as I tip back the champagne and drain the glass, trying to steady my racing thoughts.
Adam stays gone longer than a few minutes.
I busy myself sipping from his champagne and trying hors d’oeuvres from waiters in white jackets.
I especially like the bacon-wrapped dates and mini lobster rolls.
I chat with some guests from the night before.
Just as I head to the bar for a third glass, Adam reappears.
“Where have you been?” I ask in a rush of breath.
He seems energized and holds up two fingers to the bartender. With our fresh drinks in his hands he says, “Come over here. I’ll give you the condensed version before the reception starts.”
We huddle in a corner where he hands me my champagne. “I don’t even know where to begin,” he says.
My frown is instant. “You met Miss Penny, and she gave you the rundown on Roxy and Justin’s entrance into their first dance as husband and wife, right?”
“Yes. Yes, of course. That was easy and took two seconds.”
“But you were gone for a lot longer than two seconds.”
He takes a sip of bubbly and tucks a loose strand of hair behind his ear. “On my way back, I ran into Dan Combs.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “Oh, boy.”
“No, it was fine. Not what I wanted to hear, but it’s something to consider. He suggested ways I could make money from my nature photos. But it’s not what you’re thinking.”
“What do you mean?”
“He said I should look into diversifying my skills to land partnerships for camp sites or national parks with my landscape photography. Or maybe look into content creation.”
“Content creation? Like, for social media? But you don’t even use social media.”
He laughs. “I know, right? I told him as much. For the last two years, he said the content I’ve sent him impacts audiences on social media and YouTube travel blogs, but not in mainstream magazines or ads.
He also said that my photos lend themselves to storytelling and won’t work for the bigger clients I’ve had.
I already knew that. I have no desire to work in mainstream media anymore. ”
“Content creation,” I repeat. I’m dumbfounded that this Mr. Combs man would reduce Adam and his amazing talent to an Instagram post.
“Exactly. I’d simply be a creator, producing and posting my own content online.
Maybe even land a sponsorship or something.
He basically said that if I want to stay in mainstream media, I’d need to somehow incorporate high fashion into it.
I have no desire to go that route again, especially if it means moving back to California.
We kind of left it up in the air. He was apologetic and didn’t want to take up any more of my time here at the wedding, talking business.
I’ll keep in touch with him just in case he runs across any clients looking for photos of majestic mountains or small-town creeks. ” His quiet chuckle is unconvincing.
I’m speechless, reeling at Adam’s extraordinary talent reduced to unseen social media posts. Tightness clamps my chest. He’s too talented for that. What if he reconsiders and decides he needs to move back to California for work? My stomach twists with dread as I frown.
“Keri? I know what you’re thinking.”
“You do?”
He nods and cups my cheek. “You think I’m going to leave you in Heartsboro.”
“It sure sounds like it.”
“Nope. Not in a million years.”
“But even if you run with Dan’s idea, you’d still have to travel and go on more road trips to get your nature shots. Heartsboro is charming and all, but there’s only so many photos you can take of one place.”
He shakes his head, his entire face changing when he smiles at me. “You don’t get it, Keri. I wouldn’t have to leave you. Because you’d be coming with me.”