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guitar, and it started right on cue.
Poppy lined up in the walkway between the ancient fallen gums that doubled as pews. Ruby moved into place behind her. Then Lena and her father began to head his way. Lena looked so beautiful, so fragile, but she wasn’t fragile at all. She was the keeper of his heart and she held it with the same strength and determination that she brought to everything else.
‘Breathe,’ prompted his brother and Trig remembered to breathe.
And then Lena was upon him, with Poppy and Ruby beside her as her father moved away.
‘Dearly beloved,’ began the celebrant, and Trig felt himself relax a fraction. This was real. It was really happening.
The thrum of a fast-moving speedboat reached his ears. A really fast-moving speedboat. The celebrant frowned and glanced towards the river.
‘Dearly beloved,’ he said again, only now just about everyone’s attention was turned towards the river, including Lena’s. Trig looked too as the speedboat came into view from around the bend. He narrowed his eyes, because the boat looked strangely familiar. As in almost exactly the same as the one he’d arrived in except that the one he’d arrived in was black and this one was red.
‘Trig,’ said Lena, in a voice that was nowhere near calm. ‘Is that maniac driving the boat Jared? Because it sure as hell looks like Jared.’
It was Jared, Trig decided. And Trig was going to kill him. ‘Did you know about this?’ he barked at Damon. ‘Did you know he was on his way? And you didn’t tell us?’
‘No!’ Damon held up his hands. ‘No. Not my fault. Or my doing. You were the one who texted him the invitation.’
‘Did any of you know?’ Trig’s voice was dangerously calm.
But the answers all came back no.
‘Could be his evil twin,’ said Damon helpfully.
‘You wished him here,’ Poppy told Lena solemnly, right before she dissolved into helpless giggles.
Matthew turned to the crowd and held up his hands. ‘We’re taking a five-minute break, people.’
Lena’s father came to stand with them and so did Seb. Trig drew a steadying breath. Five minutes wasn’t so long. And then he’d be married. He watched in tight-lipped silence as Jared kept that boat at full throttle until cutting the engine at the very last minute and swinging the craft in behind Trig’s. Jared missed the other boat by at least an inch.
‘And you wanted him here why?’ murmured Ruby.
Excellent question.
And then Jared climbed from the boat and strode confidently towards them. Only his eyes gave him away, because they were pleading and wary and long past exhausted. An angry graze ran the length of his face. The less said about his jeans and filthy T-shirt, the better.
‘You didn’t RSVP,’ said Lena tightly. Lena looked as if she was about to cry.
‘But I did get here.’ Jared silently pleaded with her for understanding before turning his battered face towards Trig. ‘Honoured to be your groomsman, man. Did you really think I was going to miss this one?’
‘You stole my boat. My other boat. Lena’s boat.’
‘Pity he couldn’t have stolen a suit to go with it,’ muttered Ruby.
‘I don’t believe we’ve met,’ said Jared, straightening fast, his eyes straying to Ruby’s big belly.
Damon stepped up and offered the introductions. ‘Ruby, Jared. Jared, Ruby. Ruby’s my wife.’
‘You did manage to miss that one,’ offered Ruby.
‘I’m Seb,’ said Sebastian, shrugging out of his jacket and handing it to Jared, who got with the programme fast and slipped it on. ‘I’m here with Poppy. We’re not married. Yet.’
Jared’s eyes grew sharp fast. He held out his hand and Seb shook it. Hand crushing ensued.
‘This isn’t at all how I imagined this would go,’ said Poppy, leaning forward and frowning at both Jared and Seb.
‘Never assume,’ offered Jared.
‘Trig?’ Lena’s voice wobbled, he could hear it wobbling and the notion that she might be having second thoughts focused him the way nothing else could.
‘What do you need?’ Behind him, Seb and Lena’s father melted away and his groomsmen fell silently into line, first his brother then Jared and then Damon.
‘Can we ignore them and get married now?’ Her voice still wobbled.
‘I’m ignoring them. I can’t even see them. There’s only you.’ He closed his fingers over hers and brought her fingers up to his lips.
The celebrant smiled and started again. ‘Dearly beloved...’
Five minutes later, the friends and families that had gathered beneath a big old redgum tree by the banks of a lazy river cheered, clapped, whistled and hollered with delight.
As first the bride and then the groom said I Do.
* * * * *
TESSA RADLEY loves travelling, reading and watching the world around her. As a teen Tessa wanted to be an intrepid foreign correspondent. But after completing a Bachelor of Arts degree and marrying her sweetheart, she became fascinated by law and ended up studying further and practicing as a lawyer in a city firm.
A six-month break spent travelling through Australia with her family re-awoke the yen to write. And life as a writer suits her perfectly—travelling and reading count as research, and as for analysing the world…well, she can think “what if?” all day long. When she’s not reading, travelling or thinking about writing, she’s spending time with her husband, her two sons or her zany and wonderful friends. You can contact Tessa through her website, www.tessaradley.com.
For my mother, grandmother, aunt, children, Anne, Trish, Carol, Fi, Meredith, Lissa, Linda, Barb, Rosie and Jo.
Thanks for all your support.
One
How had it all gone so horribly wrong?
Rebecca Grainger wrapped her arms around her stomach, nausea welling up. If she could only stop thinking about it, then maybe the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach would subside. The wedding was her priority, Rebecca told herself. Focus on that. She’d already been paid for arranging it—in full—the cheque flung at her last night.
Last night. That kiss. No, don’t think about last night.
Concentrate on the wedding. An Asteriades event. A desperate glance swept the tables laden with glittering silver cutlery and Baccarat glasses, the slim crystal vases each bearing six glorious long-stemmed white roses on the tables.
Naturally she’d had unlimited resources at her disposal, and no expense had been spared for Damon Asteriades’s wedding. The vaulted ballroom ceiling of Auckland’s San Lorenzo Hotel had been draped in soft white folds of fabric to give the dreamy, romantic mood of a bower. Garlands of ivy and hothouse white roses festooned the walls, filling the ballroom with heady scent. Brass wall-mounted sconces held torches that added an intimate glow, while the vast room had been heated to allow women to show off an astonishing array of flimsy designer gowns even though the winter air blew cold outside.
In the centre of the otherwise empty dance floor, Damon Asteriades performed a graceful manoeuvre,