When Girlfriends Chase Dreams (47 page)

“My pleasure,” she says, patting my hand.

“You turned out to be a real-life Franck Eggelhoffer.”

She guffaws. “I only wish I could have been here sooner for you to spare you all the trouble and expense.”

“It’s the end result that matters.” I take in a deep breath and smile. “And everything’s a dream.”

Allison answers her crackling walkie-talkie, makes a concise exchange, then looks to me and says, “Conner’s just around the corner. Back facing you, ready for you to walk up and tap him on the shoulder…the left one, so when he turns the photographers can get both of your faces.”

“All right.”

She squeezes my hands, wishes me congratulations, and gently adjusts a lock of my hair. “He’s all yours, Claire.”

I turn the corner, trying so hard to keep my breathing steady, but it’s so difficult. It’s almost impossible, my nerves are quivering and the butterflies are flitting about so crazily.

Omigod. This is happening! This is happening! I thought I was nervous to see Conner at the park, and I mean, that was
getting married!
This is a first look. But still, it’s so exciting, it’s so overwhelming, and it’s
so
emotional.

I swallow, trying to dissolve the lump in my throat, but it won’t disappear. As I take one step closer, and then another, and another, closer to Conner, the photographers snapping left and right, the butterflies and nerves sort of coalesce into a feeling of what I’m pretty sure absolute bliss and peace of mind feels like. I’m immune to the pains of the world. There’s nothing more important in my world right now than the man who’s about to turn and face me and no doubt smile that warm smile of his.

I raise my hand to meet Conner’s shoulder and sigh as I tap it. He turns, and I look up into his eyes. I was wrong. It does feel like that night at the park. Staring into his eyes, knowing that we’re going to pledge our love to one another—it’s amazing. It’s the most unbelievable feeling I’ve ever had the pleasure to feel. I can marry this man once, twice, even five times, and I know I’ll still have those butterflies in my stomach, those emotions of pure joy and contentment, and that wide grin that I can’t stop myself from making.

“Claire,” Conner says. There’s a lone tear in the corner of his eye, and only when he breaks out into his broad grin does it let loose and fall down his cheek. “You’re gorgeous.”

It’s such a rapturous moment, I can’t hear or feel myself speak. Have I said anything? I don’t know. I’m just so happy and lost in his gaze. So I say, “I love you, Conner.”

He puts his arms around me, pulls me in close, and we have a kiss that’s shared with as much passion and love as that very kiss we had in the park after the officiant said we were husband and wife.

The photographer, Sandy, and his assistant, are shooting wildly from all angles. Only after Conner and I share another minute or two of looking at each other, taking in the moment, being together before the real hoopla of the wedding ensues, do the photographers suggest some fun poses.

“We have the initial, real-emotion shots,” Sandy says, snapping away. “They’re amazing, by the way, folks.” Some more snaps. “Now let’s do some fun poses. Conner, spin her around. Let’s get that dress flowing… There we go, there we go. Now let’s do some dip and kiss… That’s it… Have fun…”

Fun is exactly what we have! I am
so
happy I listened to Allison and chose to have a first look with Conner. Screw the old tradition of waiting to see your bride until at the end of the aisle, or once the veil’s been lifted. You know, I read somewhere that that tradition was only set because back in the day men received a dowry from the father’s of the brides and weren’t supposed to see the face of whom they were marrying because, well, they might then not want to marry her, despite the hefty sum of the dowry. Like if she was a real dog or something. I don’t know for sure; maybe I’m getting my facts wrong.

Conner,
and
the girls, actually, say that I often get my information wrong or twisted. I’m sure they’re right, and probably on this one, too. But anyway. The whole keeping myself hidden from the
love of my life
before the biggest moment
of my life
seems kind of silly.

“Show time again,” Allison says, coming up from the rear. She and Sophie have been fluffing the skirt of my gown for a while now. It got a little green stain and slightly wet from the grass during the first look, but I don’t care.

Allison brought out this stain-removing pen that’s especially for wedding gowns and sensitive material, and Sophie even brought out a hair dryer and blasted cold shots of air on it to speed up the drying process. I laughed the whole time, telling them that they didn’t need to bother. Everything was perfect, anyhow.

“You ready?” Allison asks. She takes a quick peek out the small window in the church doors. “On the other side of this door is your husband-to-be.”

“I was born ready, Allison,” I say with confidence.

“All righty then.” She depresses a button on her walkie-talkie and says, “Cue music.”

The beautiful sound of the string quartet playing Pachelbel’s “Canon in D” commences, and the bridesmaids begin to file, one by one, out the door.

I duck back to the side with Allison, so as not to be seen by the guests. I’m so eager, though, I just want to burst out through the doors, run up to the altar, and get this show on! I want to get married—for the second time—and I want to get on over to the gorgeous Chanfield Manor so I can party, celebrate, and eat a piece of cake that I’ve been thinking about since my meager breakfast.

One more fluff of the dress, a quick look-over of the veil, and Allison hands me the most gorgeous bridal bouquet I’ve ever seen. It’s a cream bouquet of roses and hydrangea and lisianthus, and it has some soft and fuzzy, mint-green leaves in it, with some cute little frosty-looking berries, small sprigs of blue and pink flowers that add only a hint of extra color to tie in with the wedding theme. There are even some flecks of gold glitter on some of the frosted berries. Wow. It’s perfect! I try not to squeeze the base of the bouquet too hard; I’m so nervous—but so very excited!

“Ready?” Allison looks at me with a big grin. “And you ready, Dad?”

I look at my father, whose arm is linked in mine, and he’s smiling. He doesn’t look sad—Dad’s not the crying type. If I’m not mistaken, he said at Maggie’s wedding he was happy to unload her because he never thought she’d break her granola ways and get married.

“I love you, Dad,” I say, causing him to turn his head to me. His brow is furrowed, and he has a very serious look about him. “You okay?”

“Definitely.” His look turns stoic.

“Thank you for this dream wedding, Dad. I don’t think I’ve ever really thanked you properly.” I inch closer to him. I squeeze his arm around mine, careful not to put much pressure on my healing (yet brace-less) wrist. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” he says with raised brows, looking through the door window. “I’m just happy you didn’t decide to have a damn hippie wedding like your sister. Never seen so many beards, long hair, and reefer-puffing kids in my life.”

“Oh, dad,” I say with a roll of the eyes. Mags’s wedding wasn’t even a hippie wedding, surprisingly. With no reason to argue, I just pat his hand and say, “I love you.”

“You know Buzz didn’t make it.” Still furrowing his brow. “My lawyer friend, Buzz? Great guy. Really great guy. He’s not here.”

I shake my head and smile. “Don’t worry, Dad. There are still two hundred other good friends and clients of yours here.”

“True, true.” His brow is still tightly knit, and he seems to be doing a headcount of his list of personal friends and colleagues through the tiny window.

Then, suddenly, the music changes to Wagner’s “Bridal Chorus.” It’s time!

“Okay,” Allison says. She gives me a thumbs up. “It’s all yours!”

I nod, and then the doors swoosh open. Everyone’s standing—oh, wow! There is a
sea
of people. I didn’t know that a crowd nearly three-hundred-strong looked so large.

Okay. Swallow. Smile. Breathe. And…walk.

Oh! There’s Conner. Still looking so handsome in his beach-sand-colored suit. And the bowties really look great on Conner and all the guys! Wow. And Daniel and George are actually standing up there, looking rather dapper. Chad’s even removed his lip ring, like I asked. Oh, and the girls! So beautiful…

I lock my eyes with Conner’s and can’t help myself from wanting to lean in and up for a kiss the moment I stand next to him.

The ceremony, much like that of the one in the park, seems to whizz by in a big blur, and I can’t really remember or concentrate on what the pastor says. I know that if it’s my cue to say “I do,” someone will nudge me out of my dreamlike state and tell me it’s my turn.

“The rings?” the pastor asks, looking to Conner. I come to, tightly holding onto my bouquet.

“Oh,” Conner says, probably also off in la-la land like his fellow pea in the pod. “Right.”

I look around the stage, wondering where Schnickerdoodle is. I can’t spot him, so maybe he didn’t learn his trick after all. I look to Chad.

Then, a shrill whistle. It’s Conner. Then comes the light tinkle of bells, and I turn around to face the crowd. There’s Schnickerdoodle at the end of the aisle, trotting our way with a blue pillow tied to his back, bells ringing with each little trot of his.

The crowd gasps, and I can’t help but clasp a hand over my mouth and shriek in delight and surprise.

“You did it!” I say, briefly turning to Conner. He’s snapping his fingers and encouraging our pup to deliver the rings that are placed atop the pillow. “I can’t believe this!”

Schnickerdoodle climbs the stairs and stops right at our feet, smack-dab in between us. He takes a seat and looks up at Conner, who bends down to give him a treat after removing the rings.

The audience is still cooing, and I can’t get over how impressed I am not just that Schnicker completed the challenging task, but that Conner did this. He did this for me.

“Thank you,” I whisper as Conner hands the rings to the pastor. Chad bends down and scoops Schnicker up into his arms.

“Anything for you, Claire,” Conner says with a sideways smile.

“And now,” the pastor finally says. Conner puts his hands behind my head and leans in just as the pastor says, “You may now kiss your bride.”

The crowd erupts into a very loud cheer and clapping. The quartet strikes up with another round of “Bridal Chorus,” and Conner and I walk down the aisle, hand-in-hand, with Schnickerdoodle following eagerly right behind us.

“I love you, Claire,” Conner says, kissing me as we emerge through the church’s doors.

“I love you, Conner.”

Minutes later, accompanied by all the bridesmaids and groomsmen, Conner and I are calmly waiting in a corner of the church’s foyer, awaiting instruction on where the bridal party photos will be shot. I really can’t believe it’s over—the wedding ceremony, that is. It really did all happen in a flash, just like Mom said.

I look at Conner, pulling myself up closer to his lips, lightly gripping his suit jacket. He looks so handsome, even with the touch of pink detail in his ensemble.

“You look really nice, sweetie,” I tell him.

“Dapper?” he asks with a half-grin.

“Very dapper.”

“And
you
, Claire.
You
, Mrs. Whitley, are a sight for sore—”

“Claire!” a voice calls out loudly. I spin around. Allison is charging towards us. “Claire. We’ve got to roll.”

“What? What’s going on?”

“It’s Schnickerdoodle.” Allison abruptly turns down the volume of her walkie-talkie, which is making a cacophonous, tinny sound. “The church is none too pleased with us bringing Schnickerdoodle into the church against their wishes.”

“Fuuuck,” Chad sings.

“Come on,” I say, rallying the small group to follow. “Conner, grab the pooch and let’s hit it.” Conner makes a shrill whistle and, like a pro, Schnickerdoodle springs around the corner, as if from nowhere, and up into Conner’s awaiting arms.

Allison helps usher us to the exit doors, when the pastor and a well-dressed church member whom I take to be the boss around here appear—and they’re making their way towards us.

“Quick, quick!” I cry, pushing Conner out the exit doors.

“See you at the Manor,” Allison calls out, waving her hands chaotically at us. “I’ve got a fire to put out.”

Chapter Thirty

“Phew!” Conner breathes, sinking down into one of the cushioned benches in the garden of the picturesque Chanfield Manor. He brings his champagne flute up to his mouth and takes a bubbly sip, smacking his lips and sighing loudly again afterward. “I did
not
imagine there being this many people here.”

I turn my wedding ring and band—the set that is finally together now—around my finger, admiring their beautiful, sparkly shine in the remaining light of the setting sun. “Allison says two hundred and ninety-eight people are here.”

“Goodness,” I say. Conner offers me a sip of champagne, and I accept. “Not bad stuff, huh?” He points at the glass that’s nearly empty. “Not the Dom we had when getting ready back at the church.”

“You had some luxe champagne, too?” I hand him back the glass.

“Yup. A gift from Chad.”

I survey the grounds. With the weather and garden being so lovely, and with nearly three hundred people in attendance, most of the guests are enjoying the garden during the opening cocktail hour.

“So,
Mrs.
Whitley.”
 
Conner leans in close. “When do we get to dash on out of here for our honeymoon?”

“We’ve got a wedding to enjoy first, mister.” I touch the tip of his nose. “The first dance is coming up. I know how much you
looove
to dance.”

He brings his lips to mine and pulls back when we’re startled by the sound of a camera going off. We both peer to our right and there’s Emily, her hefty piece of equipment hanging from around her neck.

“Sorry,” she says quietly, snapping one more photo. “Can’t help myself. But I
promise
I’m not interfering with the professional guy you hired.”

“The more the merrier, right, Claire?” Conner says.