Eleven
Twelve
Epilogue
“I’m sorry.” Briana Harper interrupted her business partner in the middle of their weekly meeting. “Did you just say we’ve booked the Missy Kline and Ian Lawson wedding? The Missy Kline and Ian Lawson?”
Natalie, the wedding planner and office manager, looked up from her tablet, her brow furrowing in mild irritation at Bree breaking her flow. “Yes,” she said with a heavy sigh. “What’s the big deal with that? We have plenty of celebrity weddings.”
Bree shook her head and returned to tapping absently at her own tablet. “I’m just surprised, that’s all.” That wasn’t all, but she wasn’t going to tell her best friends and business partners that. One of the most important rules at From This Moment was to remain professional at all times. It didn’t matter if the ring bearer knocked over the wedding cake, a guest spoke up during the dreaded “if anyone has any reason why these two should not be wed” moment or the groom was your ex-boyfriend. So Bree kept her mouth shut.
“They’re all over the magazine covers at the grocery store checkout lines,” Gretchen added. “I don’t know how you could’ve missed it. Apparently she’s pregnant, too.”
“I guess I’ve been eating too much takeout,” Bree muttered. Pregnant. The bare-midriff pop queen was going to have Ian’s baby. For some reason that bothered her. A lot. How could she have missed this news?
Natalie flung her dark brown hair over her shoulder and continued on with her Monday morning briefing. When Natalie was focused on the job, there was no room for joking around or unnecessary drama.
Each Monday, the four owners of From This Moment met to discuss new clients, business issues and the previous weekend’s wedding.
From This Moment was a one-stop wedding venue that catered to the discriminating Nashville bride. Anybody who was anybody got married at their facility. In just six short years, college friends Natalie, Amelia, Gretchen and Bree had gone from being nobodies with a dream to members of the Nashville business elite.
Together, they were a powerhouse of wedding perfection. If they couldn’t do it, they knew someone who could. Anything the bridal couple wanted, they made it happen. No request was too complex, and they built a reputation on that. That, and a policy of strict confidentiality.
Natalie was right; they did have their fair share of celebrities marry here. Missy Kline was just one more star they could add to their roster of famous clients, but Bree couldn’t care less about her. She was far more interested in Missy’s groom—Nashville music producer and owner of SpinTrax Records, Ian Lawson.
Once upon a time, Ian had been the center of Bree’s universe. They had met as freshmen at Belmont University in Nashville and for more than a year, they had been inseparable. He had been the sexy coffee shop musician with the long hair in his sleepy eyes and the smile that could charm her panties off. When he’d played his guitar and sang to her, all was right in the world. And then he had stopped playing and everything went wrong.
“Bree?”
Bree’s head snapped up. The other three ladies were looking at her. She’d obviously missed something. “Yes?”
“I said,” Natalie repeated, “will you be able to do the engagement portraits this Thursday and still be back in time to cover the rehearsal dinner for the Conner wedding on Friday?”
Now it was Bree’s turn to frown. “Why wouldn’t I be back in time? It only takes a couple hours for an engagement shoot.”
“The bride wants to do the photo shoot at the groom’s cabin in Gatlinburg.” Amelia repeated the detail Bree had missed.
“That should be fine.”
“Okay, good.” Natalie made a note. “I’ll get you the address of the cabin. Plan to arrive around noon.”
That was that. Once Natalie noted something in her tablet, it was virtually signed in blood. There was no getting out of it now. Bree would finally come face-to-face with the man who had haunted her thoughts and dreams for the past nine years.
And his new bride.
“This is not good.”
As though the universe had heard Ian’s words, the tires on his Cadillac Escalade skidded on a patch of ice. He corrected the truck’s erratic movement and steered it back into the lane and away from the deep ditch on the side of the road. Gripping the leather steering wheel with white-knuckled tension, he cursed and silently thanked his assistant for making sure he left first thing this morning. Any later and he might not have made it.
The snowflakes were growing increasingly difficult to see through and were collecting along the side of the road. On the freeway from Nashville toward Gatlinburg, the weather had changed from rain to sleet to an icy slush. Now, in the heart of the Smoky Mountains, it was one hundred percent snow.
And a lot of it.
At the bottom of the hill that led to his mountainside community, he backed up slightly, put his SUV into a lower gear and started accelerating up the incline. Slow and steady, he made it up and around the long, winding curve to his driveway at the very top, then pulled into the garage.
Ian grabbed his bag from the passenger’s seat and stepped out. He walked to the door to his cabin, pushed a button and watched the snow continue to fall until the garage door closed and blocked out the inclement weather he hadn’t planned for.
He should’ve known this would happen. It was just one more thing in a string of screwups that had plagued his life the past few months. He knew that he should think of them as happy accidents, but he couldn’t help but feel trapped by his circumstances. This weather was no exception.
Ian never came to the mountains in January or February. The weather was always too unpredictable this time of year. Living at the top of a mountain was luxurious and the view was incredible, but you could only benefit from it if you could get up there. He wouldn’t be here now except that his fiancée, Missy, had insisted they take their engagement photos at the mountain house. Against his better judgment, he’d agreed.
Ian set his bag on the granite countertop and glanced out the bay window to the valley below him. It was a sea of white out there. At this rate, the few inches on the ground would easily reach half a foot or more. “No accumulation of note.” He snorted after mimicking what the man on the news had said last night. Missy had left from Atlanta, so maybe the weather was better from the south, but likely it wasn’t. He was pretty sure Missy wouldn’t be able to make it up the mountain in her little Jaguar.
And the photographer... Who knew what kind of car he or she would be driving. If this storm had surprised him, it had probably surprised everyone.
