Stealing the Groom (17 page)

Chapter Seventeen

Two days later, a bright and sunny Saturday in June, Amelia waited with her sisters and Noah in a small room at the back of the little white church where her grandparents had married.

She didn’t feel any butterflies in her stomach this time.

Now here it was, finally ready to begin, the first day of her forever with Chad.

“You look beautiful,” Ann said, admiring Amelia’s wedding gown.

“Hold still.” Abby fussed over the veil that had been their grandmother’s, arranging it one more time.

“Will you stop?” Amelia laughed. “You’ve been fidgeting ever since we arrived.”

“That’s because she knows she’s next,” Noah said with a wink and a nudge.

Abby clicked her tongue. “You can stop that kind of thinking right in its tracks, Grandfather. I’ve been there, done that, and while I’m happy for Amelia and Chad, I have no intention of ever walking down the aisle a second time.”

When a knock sounded on the door, Abby twisted the handle and pushed the door open.

“I believe I’m to escort you down the aisle?” a familiar voice said. Nick stood framed in the doorway, an innocent expression on his face.

“No,” Abby said with a frown marring her face, “Eric is escorting me down the aisle.”

“Noah changed the arrangement,” Nick said, offering Abby his arm.

“Big mouth,” Noah muttered.

Abby gave him a murderous glance, then stiffly accepted Nick’s arm and allowed him to lead her from the room.

“So I guess I’m escorting you?” Eric said.

Ann accepted Eric’s arm. “This is my lucky day.” With a wink, she allowed Eric to lead her out.

Amelia exhaled slowly.

Almost there. In mere moments, she would be Chad’s wife, and she couldn’t think of anything that sounded more amazing.

The first poignant notes of the wedding march began and Noah steered Amelia to the door, tears springing to his eyes. “With your sunny disposition, you remind me so much of your grandmother. She was a lot like you, you know.”

“Thanks, Granddaddy.” She leaned forward and kissed his cheek. “You ready to do this?”

“Been ready, honey. This day’s been a long time coming.”

As they entered the rear of the church, Amelia couldn’t speak past the emotions clogging her throat. White roses were grouped at the ends of the pews and decorated with flowing white ribbons. In one corner the piano played softly, but Amelia didn’t have eyes for any of the decorations.

Chad waited for her at the altar. His blue eyes, as limitless as the Atlantic Ocean, were filled with a love as vast.

She floated down the aisle, barely registering when her grandfather lifted her veil, pressed a kiss to her cheek, and joined her hand with Chad’s.

The minister began speaking and Henry stood up. “Excuse me, but you are a
real
minister, aren’t you?”

The minister’s eyebrows raised. “Yes, I am.”

“Good. Just checking. Er…carry on.” Henry settled himself again and gave Chad a sheepish grin.

The minister shook his head and then picked up where he’d left off.

His words filled the air around Amelia, but she could see only Chad, hear only his heart as it joined with hers.

“You may kiss the bride.”

Chad bent his head and just before he pressed his lips to hers, he whispered, “I’m going to like our plan C.”

The minister smiled after they ended the kiss and said, “I present to you Mr. and Mrs. Chad Walker.”

The crowd cheered and Chad and Amelia walked down the aisle out into the sunlight where a limousine waited. Stopping on the front steps, he kissed her and said, “Today I feel like the richest man in the world.” He smiled down at her and gently wiped away the tears glimmering at the edge of her eyes.

“Good. We’ll need those riches to go on all of the adventures I have planned,” Amelia said.

He smiled that slow, sexy smile of his. “No skydiving.”

Grinning up at him she said, “Deal.”

Leaning close so that his lips grazed her neck, he whispered, “Falling for you was adventure enough.”

Their laughter echoed through the crowd as they climbed into the car and drove away.

* * *

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Acknowledgments

I would like to acknowledge the following people for their impact on my life:

Toni, my wonderful sister. I admire and love you deeply. I could never measure all the ways you’ve touched my life.

All the writers who constantly share their knowledge with others. Your help is appreciated.

Audrey Higgans, great poet, great writer, great friend who pulled an all night editing session and was still sane the next day.

Marry Wing, my lifelong friend who knows how to laugh and love. From the early years to college and back, your friendship has been amazing.

Judy Maurice-Steigert for the long talks, the coffee, and the joy you radiate.

Nicole Resciniti, agent extraordinaire, who works so hard on behalf of her clients. You are truly one of a kind.

Marisa Cleveland, for the chance. I will never forget that.

The gang at Seymour Agency for all their hard behind-the-scenes work.

Finally, Shannon Godwin. You have the ability to work wonders. I am amazed by your talent. Thank you!

About the Author

Sonya Weiss
is a freelance writer and ghostwriter. Her writing began in grade school when she would write on any scrap of available paper. She loves creating stories where happily ever after is just the beginning.

www.sonyaweiss.com

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Find your Bliss with Robin Bielman’s

Kissing the Maid of Honor

Kissing her best friend’s brother never felt so right…

Luke didn’t see the point of learning choreographed dance steps, but it made his sister happy, her smile and laugh contagious, and he found himself enjoying even his missteps.

His partner didn’t hurt matters, either. Paired with the beautiful maid of honor, he gave silent thanks for his new role as best man. If he’d had to watch Sela dance with someone else, he might have gone insane.

A disconcerting thought he decided not to examine too closely.

“Remember, the basic step is one of the most beautiful of the rumba. So if nothing else, stick to it, and the dance floor will be yours,” the instructor said.

Luke peeked at Sela out of the corner of his eye. The slight imperfections in her profile made it the most fascinating he’d seen. With his photographer’s eye he imagined shooting her face from different angles and in different lighting and had a feeling every single one would spark beauty to a thousand different beholders. She might be a girl from his hometown, but there was something about her that was worldly.

She turned her head, catching him in the act of staring. He darted his attention away.

“Now let’s step into the closed position once again and begin,” the teacher said.

At first they moved rigidly, fighting the natural rhythm of their bodies like they still needed to battle to keep things normal. But as the music continued, their moves melted into a fluid sway of hips and torsos and Luke couldn’t think of anywhere else he’d rather be.

“Close your eyes and feel the movement. Let the music guide you,” the teacher said softly as she wove around the dance floor.

Luke waited for Sela to shut her eyes. Christ, she was pretty. The woman made scrubs look sexy. But it was what she had on the inside that suddenly made his mouth drier than the Sahara Desert.

Her eyes fluttered open. “You can wipe that smug look off your face. You’re not that good of a dancer.”

“No?” Without missing a beat, he spun them around, their steps in perfect tandem. An invisible string kept them in harmony. The flush of Sela’s cheeks kept energy humming through his veins.

Her eyes narrowed and her lips pursed, and Luke imagined she’d much rather have a sword in her hand so they could fence instead of move with each other.

“You know what they say about show-offs, don’t you?” she said.

“Tell me.” He twirled them away from the others, his fingertips increasing the pressure on her shoulder blade.

“They’re compensating for something else. Usually something small.” Her gaze dipped below his waist as they both stepped back.

He laughed, a little more carefully than he had in the kitchen. For the second time in the last hour she’d done what few women could—raise his hackles in the most engaging way.

“Sweetheart, there’s nothing small about me,” he whispered when they came together. “And if you need proof, I’d be happy to show you.”

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Find your Bliss with Ophelia London’s

Falling for Her Soldier

She fell for the nice guy, but will she fall for the real guy?

There wasn’t much eye contact with the tango, but Ellie couldn’t stop herself from peeking up at Hunter, expecting to find him all clench-jawed. But he was peering down at her, that anti–Fred Astaire gaze that made her core tighten, then burst into spasms.

His locked frame was suddenly not so locked, and he took her hand, linking his fingers through hers. Her breaths were becoming more and more shallow, reacting to his touch. A moment later, he moved his hand to her hip, where his other hand had wandered. He pressed his forehead to hers, like this morning, slowly box-stepping her to the rhythm of Elvis.

She held on to his elbows, letting herself be led, feeling her heart pounding as Hunter’s hands curled around her hips. And then, as naturally as how they moved to music, he tilted his chin and pressed his lips to hers.

It was like she’d been holding her breath for an hour and could finally breathe. She didn’t realize how much she’d been waiting for this moment until they broke apart, inhaling in unison, in perfect timing. His hot, firm mouth covered hers again. He slid his arms around her back, holding her so tightly against him that her back bowed and her arms fell loose at her sides like she was floating, being swept away. His breath on her skin shot delicious shivers through her limbs.

When her knees buckled, she didn’t think, she grabbed him around the neck, tasting his sweet mouth, never wanting the kiss to end.

He led her backward, still in rhythm, though Elvis’s voice had died out. Her back hit the wall and he leaned into her, pulling away from her mouth to smoothly maneuver to the side of her neck. Ellie sucked in a breath and tilted her head, giving him free access to whatever he wanted while she slid her fingers over the sides of his hair.

A tiny corner of her mind knew what she was doing might technically be against the rules—so many rules—but she couldn’t stop. He was so much fun and gorgeous, and man alive was he a good kisser.

Slow-slow-quick-quick-slow
went her heart.

“Damn, I love the tango,” he whispered, tickling her ear.

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