Picture Perfect (Weddings by Design Book #1): A Novel

  “From afar.”

  “Only, not so far today.” I giggled and gave my reflection another glance. “Because I’m going to get to meet him in person.”

  “Looking like you just came out of the ring after facing Muhammad Ali.”

  “That bad, huh?” I groaned and wiped the mascara smudge with my tissue once more.

  “Nah. Just kidding. It’s looking better by the minute.”

  He turned his attention back to the road and began to whistle a little ditty. It took me a minute to recognize the theme song to Stars Collide. This reminded me of Sierra Caswell. If everything went as planned, I would meet her today as well. And again tonight at her wedding rehearsal. This would be a day for the record books, for sure.

  By the time we arrived at Bella’s house, Mama had texted me seven times, Scarlet nine. I had promised both that I would do my best to arrange a private audience with Brock, but I couldn’t be sure that would actually happen. Unless Bella intervened, of course. Then again, she was already doing me a favor by inviting me over to meet him.

  She and D.J. met us on the veranda of the Rossi home, children in tow. The baby’s face lit up the moment she saw me, so Bella placed her into my outstretched arms. Drew knelt down and scooped up Tres, then began to wrestle with him.

  Before long they were laughing so hard that Bella put a finger to her lips. “Shh. Don’t want my family to know what we’re up to out here.”

  “What do you mean?” Drew rose and gave her a curious look.

  “Well, they know something’s stirring, but they aren’t sure what. I just told Rosa to make an extra-special breakfast because we’re having company. She has no idea who or she would’ve flipped.”

  “No way. You kept it a secret all this time?”

  “I can’t believe it, but I did. Nobody around here seems to read the paper or they would’ve known.”

  D.J. chuckled. “I nearly blew it for her last night. Said something about Brock’s scores on Dancing with the Stars and how his travels might affect his ability to perform well this coming Monday night.”

  “Anyway, I don’t think anyone suspects it’s Brock coming.” Bella slipped her arm through D.J.’s and grinned. “They just know we’ve got a surprise for them.”

  I’d just opened my mouth to say, “When is he going to get here?” when a car pulled up in the drive. I watched in rapt awe as Brock Benson—ooh-la-la!—emerged from the driver’s side, then walked around to the passenger side and opened the door. The prettiest blonde stepped out, petite and loaded with energy. She came bounding our way and threw her arms around Bella’s neck.

  “Bella!” The young woman let out a squeal, which frightened the baby, who chose that very moment to spit up all over my new teal blouse. Gag me.

  Of course, Brock picked that very moment to join us on the veranda. I’d prepped myself for seeing that gorgeous face up close, but nothing could’ve prepared me for the real deal. The man was g-g-gorgeous. And taller than I’d expected too.

  I half expected him to turn his nose up at me, what with the mess the baby had made of my blouse, but he did not. Instead, he took little Rosie from my arms and began to tickle her until she cooed with delight. Go figure. Some folks just had the magic touch.

  While I used an old tissue from my purse to clean my blouse, Bella made quick introductions. With my heart in my throat, I greeted Brock and his lovely bride, Erin. After a broad-smiled hello, Brock turned to Drew for a handshake. Drew gave me a funny look and pointed at my shirt. Only then did I realize I’d used the mascara-covered tissue to dab away the baby spit-up. Perfect. Now I had a black eye and a gooey blouse with weird smudges on it.

  The front door flew open and Rosa came out onto the veranda, broom in hand. She waved it madly and spouted several lines in Italian.

  “Don’t strike! I didn’t do anything!” Brock put his hands up in the air.

  Rosa tossed the broom across the railing and into the yard and sprinted—like a much younger woman, I should add—toward him, planting kisses all over his cheeks. She then turned to Erin, giving her nearly as many kisses.

  At this point, the entire Rossi clan spilled out from the house to join us. The noise rose to a deafening level, and I decided to reach for my camera and snap a few photos for posterity’s sake. Hopefully Brock would be okay with it. He probably got enough of that from the paparazzi. But he didn’t seem to mind, so I kept on, catching a great shot of him with Rosie, one sure to melt her mama’s heart.

  Bella loaned me a clean blouse, and then we all spent the next hour eating more food than should be allowed by law and talking about the upcoming day—both the Dickens event and tonight’s wedding rehearsal.

  I secretly worried that the paparazzi would show up at the wedding facility this evening, especially if they got wind of the fact that Sierra was already tucked away at Bella and D.J.’s place, but I did my best to press those fears away as I nibbled on my breakfast. Not that I could eat, mind you. What girl could actually eat in the presence of Brock Benson, megastar?

  Turned out, as Bella said, he was a pretty regular guy. A guy who really liked Rosa’s cooking, from the looks of things. He scarfed down a huge breakfast, then leaned back in his chair and rubbed his stomach.

  I wanted to say so many things—to compliment him on his dancing, for one, and to tell him how much I loved his character on Stars Collide. Still, Brock didn’t appear to be the sort to talk about himself. Most of his conversation was about his after-school facility for children and on how cute Bella’s babies were. Go figure.

  By the time we wrapped up breakfast, I felt a little foolish for being so starstruck. Drew asked me to help him take photographs of the parade, so we stopped by my studio to grab a few more things. By the time we got to the parade site, my attention had shifted back to where it probably should have been all along—on Drew.

  “Bless you for that,” I whispered as we worked our way through the crowd to the spot where the parade would kick off.

  “For what?” he asked.

  I gave him a little kiss on the cheek. “For letting me get away with acting so silly. Brock is a great guy, no doubt about it. But I’ve already got the greatest one in the world.”

  Drew stopped in his tracks and turned to face me, a smile lighting his face. “Thank you.” In spite of the crowd, he swept me into his arms and gave me a kiss sure to convince me that I needed to look no further for love. Saints preserve us, could that boy make me swoon, or what?

  “When this weekend is over, we’re going to focus on the two of us,” he whispered. “Okay?”

  “Of course.” That idea sent a little tingle down my spine. Seemed like I spent a lot of time tingling these days.

  We found the Rossi family a few minutes later and settled into our places at the street’s edge, hoping to get some great shots of Brock leading the parade. Moments later my parents arrived, and my mother’s nerves were clearly frayed in anticipation, from her wild-eyed look and the strange job she’d done buttoning her shirt.

  “Have I missed Brock?” she asked.

  “No.” I pointed to her buttons, suddenly realizing that I wasn’t the only one in the family who got a little discombobulated when stressed. “He should be coming soon, though.”

  Mama glanced down and gasped, then started fixing her buttons.

  “You like my costume?” My father pointed to his crazy getup, and I laughed.

  “I can’t believe they let you in here dressed like a leprechaun.”

  “Hey, leprechauns were around during the Victorian era.” He started to tell a story about Grandpa Aengus, but a cheer from the crowd surrounding us drowned him out.

  Seconds later my sister arrived with her husband. I gave Deidre a hug and introduced her to the others, then watched as Brock—now dressed à la Dickens, complete with top hat, Victorian suit, and cane—climbed aboard the horse-drawn carriage that would lead the parade. The women, including Mama and my little sister, screamed so loud I thought my eardrums would bur
st. Brock looked our way and flashed a smile, then gave a little wave. Ordinarily, my heart would’ve skittered into my throat, but I was too busy looking at Drew to make sure he caught the shot on his camera. He had a better zoom than I did.

  The music kicked off just as Corinne arrived, breathless and red-cheeked. She squeezed in next to my mother, who grabbed her hand and released a girlish giggle. Behind her came the three Splendora sisters, Twila leading the pack. The women had apparently taken the “come in costume” part seriously. Surely they would win the prize for their over-the-top regalia.

  The horses let out a loud whinny as they pulled Brock’s carriage forward. Brock waved to those who’d gathered along the sides of the street, his face all smiles as he noticed Twila, Bonnie Sue, and Jolene. All around me, girls let out squeals in abundance. Well, if you could call the women in our little group girls. They yelled loudest of all. I glanced at Erin to see how she was taking this. Not too badly, from the looks of things. She hollered right alongside them.

  I didn’t whoop or holler—snapping photos was the order of the day. Thank goodness Brock didn’t care if I shot them from the front, back, side, or otherwise. So when I happened to catch a really goofy moment of him high-fiving a juggler, I snapped it.

  Scarlet arrived wearing her Let Them Eat Cake apron atop a weird hot pink and lime green Victorian dress. Typical colorful Scarlet. She scooted into the spot behind me just as Brock’s float passed by.

  “Oh, I can’t believe I missed it!” She groaned. “I was busy baking samples for you to give Brock Benson. Left them at your studio. Hope you don’t mind that I used the key you gave me awhile back.”

  “Not a bit.” Though I rather doubted I’d be going to the studio anytime soon, and I suspected Brock Benson would never taste those cake samples. Still, I would help spread the word about her business, no problem. When things slowed down, anyway. Right now I had bigger fish to fry. Er, bigger cakes to bake.

  As the parade moved forward, I got as many photos as I could of the various carriages and floats as they passed by me. The Victorian costumes took my breath away.

  Turning, I caught a glimpse of Drew in my lens. I saw the sparkle in his expression, the pure God-breathed joy radiating from his bright eyes, the zeal for life. I began to click shot after shot, knowing that he didn’t realize I was catching him in action.

  As I paused to glance at one of the photos, the truth poured over me like water rushing over the shore. Brock Benson, awesome as he might be, couldn’t hold a candle to the amazing, godly man in the photo I now stared at. Brock might be a superstar—he might even be a hot, hunky superstar—but he wasn’t the guy for me. No, to find the man God had dropped down from heaven just for me, I needed to look no further than three feet to my right.

  23

  High Society

  May your troubles be less

  And your blessings be more

  And nothing but happiness

  Come through your door.

  Irish blessing

  When the parade ended, I could hardly wait to spend a few hours with Drew. I clutched his hand in mine, photographer no more. For the first hour we walked the Strand, the place where I’d done business for over a year. Seeing our little island all done up in its finest, offering pomp and circumstance worthy of the British Empire, made me proud to be a Galvestonian.

  I had always enjoyed the Strand, but never so much as during the Dickens event. Costumed vendors peddled their wares—many of them tantalizing my taste buds with their delicious scents. From rolling carts and street stalls they called out to us, begging us to have a sample of this or that. I had a little of this and a lot of that. Talk about a feast for the eyes and the stomach! Sweets in abundance. Candy-covered apples. Caramel pecan apples on a stick. Yum.

  We stopped in the children’s area to watch as the little ones frolicked and played. To our right, D.J. helped Tres climb aboard an elephant for a ride. The youngster squealed with pure delight. Or was that terror? Hard to tell with so much going on around me. Several of the Rossis’ older children played in the fabricated snow yard, joining an overly made-up Scrooge for a wacky Dickens-themed scavenger hunt. Pure joy radiated from each face. Well, joy mixed with red cheeks from the heat. Who could’ve predicted temps in the upper seventies this close to Christmas?

  At two o’clock we paused to enjoy the Victorian Bed Races down Mechanic Street, cheering on the participants and laughing when the team dressed in the Ghost of Christmas Past attire took the prize. When that ended, we headed to the main stage near the middle of the Strand, where I heard angelic voices ringing out in perfect three-part harmony.

  Drew gave my hand a squeeze and smiled. “We’re right on time.”

  He waved at Brock and Erin, who stood near the stage, surrounded by paparazzi, of course. As we approached, Brock managed to convince the reporters to hightail it. He then gestured to the Splendora sisters and smiled.

  “This is going to be the highlight of my day,” he said. “Three of my favorite ladies, dressed to the nines and singing their hearts out. The last time I saw them, they were doing the same thing, only at a Renaissance-themed wedding.”

  “No way.”

  “Yep. My best friend’s wedding, to be precise. At Club Wed. They brought the house down then, and it looks like nothing’s changed.”

  Sure enough, the crowd clapped and cheered as the ladies sang. Still, I couldn’t get over the fact that Brock knew the three Splendora sisters. And boy howdy, did they ever look fine in their Victorian costumes. Twila in deep-green brocade, Bonnie Sue in vibrant red, and Jolene in the prettiest shade of eggplant I’d ever seen. I caught shot after shot, knowing there would be plenty of good ones for their website. My favorite was the close-up of Twila’s feathered hat.

  When the show ended, we took to the street again. I kept a watchful eye on the time, knowing we had to be back at Club Wed at six for the rehearsal. Oh, but I didn’t want this to end. We now tagged along behind the Rossis and Brock and Erin as they browsed the shops. The paparazzi trailed us all the way.

  Bella sidled next to me. “I know everyone dreams of being a superstar, but I couldn’t live like this.” She shuddered. “Surrounded on every side? I don’t know how they do it.”

  “Me either.” Give me my privacy any day.

  “Hey, speaking of superstars, I wanted you to know that I got a text from Sierra. She and David are here.”

  “At Dickens?” I glanced around, wondering if I would recognize her.

  “Yeah. They’re incognito. I think she’s wearing sunglasses and a hat and scarf. Over gray sweats and tennis shoes, I mean. She said no one would recognize her. But she’s having the time of her life. Said to tell you thanks for the suggestion about the funnel cake, but now she wonders if she’ll still fit into her wedding dress.”

  I laughed. “Cool.”

  As I thought about the fact that Sierra cared enough about me to share something like that, a wave of contentment rippled over me. Well, that and a hankerin’ for a funnel cake, which I purchased at the next booth.

  I nibbled on the tasty delight as Her Majesty Queen Victoria paraded by, surrounded by her guard of Beefeaters. Okay, so it wasn’t the real Queen Victoria, just someone dressed up to look like her. Still, as she made her way by in a fabulous horse-drawn carriage and greeted us, her royal subjects, I almost felt I was in the presence of royalty. Then again, I pretty much was. Brock and Erin garnered even more attention from the people surrounding us than the queen herself.

  We passed the street musicians and paused—well, my father paused, anyway—when we reached the bagpipers. This, of course, led him to a rollicking good story, complete with thick brogue, about Grandpa Aengus. Mama and Corinne were too busy looking at the Victoria-themed crafts and jewelry to pay him much mind, though. I did my best to smile and encourage him as the story poured out. If I wanted to pass on these tall tales to my children, I needed to pay attention.

  Children? Hmm. Where that came from, I had no idea.


  Ahead of us, Brock and Erin walked hand in hand, pausing at the various shops to take a peek in the window. I couldn’t help but notice when they stopped in front of my studio.

  Erin turned my way with a smile. “This is it, Hannah? Your place?”

  “Yep.”

  “Very cool. Can we go inside?”

  “Of course.”

  I hadn’t planned to show off the place just yet, though. With so many recent shoots, the studio wasn’t at its finest. Complicating the situation further, a crowd of people thronged around us as we made our way inside. Drew managed to stop them before they entered the place by handing out a bevy of Scarlet’s cake samples and putting up the CLOSED sign. Before long I was safely inside with Drew, Brock, and Erin, talking about the various photographs on the walls.

  “I just love this one.” Erin stood in front of a photo of a newborn baby boy. I’d posed him in the sweetest position, curled up and wearing feathery angel wings. Her eyes misted over. “Brock, what do you think?”

  “I think . . .” He stared at the photo, then back at her, his eyes now twinkling with mischief. “We’ll have to come back in about seven months and let her do the same for us.”

  “W-what?” I stared at Erin, who broke into a broad smile.

  “You won’t tell anyone, will you? We’ve been trying to keep it a secret.” She giggled. “Our producer doesn’t even know.”

  “And if the powers that be at Dancing with the Stars find out, everyone on the planet will know. You know it will hit the news in a hurry.” Brock shrugged. “Still, it’s going to come out sooner or later.” He quirked a brow. “Literally.”

  This got a laugh out of all of us. With dreamy eyes, Erin began to share her excitement about the baby. It was all so sweet, so girl-next-door, so non-Hollywood, so . . .

  Tick-tock, tick-tock.

  Oh no. There it went again.