The soft sound of wedding music flowed through the quiet
church. A hush fell over the crowd of people gathered to
celebrate the wedding of Alma Blanchard and Julien LeBlanc.
Candlelight gave the tiny sanctuary a muted, dreamy glow.
The groom beamed a bright, loving smile as his bride seemed
to glide up the aisle, escorted by her misty-eyed father.
Alma's older sister Callie, the maid of honor, looked
radiant in a light golden silk dress with a flowing skirt.
She smiled at her sister, her expression full of love and hope.
The other bridesmaid, wearing a similar dress with a fitted
skirt, tried hard not to squirm and fidget. Brenna Blanchard
sent up a little prayer for courage and self-control.
Dear Lord, please don't let me bolt out of this
church.
She couldn't, wouldn't do that to Alma. Alma and
Julien were so in love. They'd been in love since high
school, but circumstances and stubbornness had torn them
apart for ten long years. It was their time to shine.
Brenna could hang on for a few minutes. As long as she
didn't think about her own broken heart and the fact
that technically, she should have been the one getting
married, she'd be okay. Concentrating on the beautiful
arrangement at the center of the aisle, she marveled at how
her sister Callie could take sunflowers, mums and yellow
roses and turn them into something exquisite. And what was
the deal with all the Louisiana irises, anyway? Maybe Alma
had a thing for irises?
Brenna forced herself into a serene pose as she smiled at
her sister. Alma did look lovely in their mother's
reworked wedding dress. Hadn't Callie worn that same
dress on her wedding day? Wouldn't that sort of jinx the
dress because she'd gotten a divorce?
No, this was their
maman's dress. Lacy and
flowing and full-skirted, with a portrait collar. Beautiful.
Brenna's eyes misted over, the ache in her heart still
an open wound. She wished their deceased mother, Lila, could
see Alma now. She'd be so happy.
I'll be happy for you, Mama, Brenna thought now, her
gaze scanning the crowded church. I won't be sad no
matter how much I miss you, no matter how much I wish I
could be the one walking up that aisle.
Brenna had a brief flash of pain, like a thorn from one of
Callie's beautiful roses, as she thought of her
ex-fiance and wondered why she'd had love and lost it.
Oh, wait, according to Jeffrey, her former fiance, she
wasn't good enough for him. He'd never said that out
loud, but he'd shown it, loud and clear. Jeffrey
hadn't said a lot of things, but she'd
found out so much about him too late. Never again would she
be interested in a man who held everything inside or kept
things from her.
Never.
But in her heart she knew she really hadn't loved
Jeffrey the way her mama and daddy had loved each other.
She'd never loved him the way Alma loved Julien.
She'd kind of stumbled upon Jeffrey and decided he'd
make a perfect groom and a good husband.
Not. Maybe the brooding type wasn't her type, after all.
Brenna saw Alma's smile light up when her gaze settled
on Julien, saw the way his grin went from happy to awestruck
to humble with each step her beautiful sister took toward him.
I want that kind of love, she thought as she stood tall and
held her head high. I want someone who will look at me the
way Julien is looking at Alma right now.
Brenna glanced out into the crowd and locked eyes with a man
sitting toward the back on the outside aisle, a man with
dark hair and dark eyes, dressed in what else—a dark suit.
Who's the good-looking stranger? she wondered. And why
did he keep staring at her?
Who's the looker? Nicholas Santiago wondered, his gaze
lingering on the second bridesmaid on the left. The
bridesmaid who looked as if she'd rather be anywhere
else but here.
She had hair the color of the tallow tree leaves falling
outside, a rich golden-hued auburn that only burned brighter
against the creamy gold of her dress. He couldn't see
her eyes, but he'd guess they were a vivid green or
maybe a vivid hazel. She shouted fire and heat, which
probably meant she also liked a bit of drama.
Well, so did he.
But lately, he'd had too much drama. And coming to a
sweet wedding simply because his new friend Callie Blanchard
Moreau had invited him had seemed like a good idea when he
rolled into town a few weeks ago. Now, Nick wasn't so
sure. Too many bad memories.
"Please come, Nicholas," Callie had said.
"Weddings are a good way to meet people. If you're
going to be here for a while, you need to meet everyone. And
we'll feed you. Alma insisted on cooking most of the
food for her own wedding. You might even get a mention in
Mr. Son-nier's 'Ain't that Good' column
because he'll be here covering the wedding to help
promote Alma's gumbo. You know, he's helping her to
mass-produce it and sell it all over Louisiana. She hopes to
expand in the next couple of years."
Callie was a talker, but the woman knew her flowers. And
he'd need her help once he got the old Dubois estate,
known around here as Fleur House, renovated for his picky
client. They'd been good friends since he'd first
come to Fleur a few months ago to check out the old
antebellum mansion and purchase it for his secretive boss.
Nicholas had remembered his mother's birthday, and
Callie had helped him wire some flowers to her back in
Texas. After they'd talked about the renovations at
Fleur House and how he needed help decorating it, Callie had
mentioned one of her sisters was an art expert. And that the
sister would be at the wedding, of course.
So here he was, being courteous, being neighborly, by
attending a quaint little wedding in a simple little church
on a crisp fall Friday night.
And a good thing, too. He really wanted Callie to introduce
him to that fidgety, adorable redhead and he sure hoped she
was the sister who knew her art.
Brenna checked her lipstick and turned to head back in to
the reception. The church fellowship hall was beautiful.
Callie had outdone herself with the fall theme. And irises
everywhere. She must have forced those to bloom this time of
year, or found some that rebloomed in the fall. Callie could
do anything with flowers. She'd managed to make this
big, plain white room turn into what looked like a fall garden.
Shaking her head, Brenna rounded a corner and ran smack into
him. The one she'd named Tall, Dark and Dark.
"Oh, I'm so sorry." He grabbed her by both arms,
holding her steady while she stared up into those
well…yes…dark eyes. "I should watch where
I'm going."
"I'm okay," Brenna said, touching a hand to her
upswept hairdo. "Nice reception, isn't it?"
How dumb could she be? Did he actually care about the reception?
He gave her a once-over. "Very nice."
Brenna hoped he didn't notice the blush popping out over
her freckles. She did not blush prettily.
"See you later maybe?" He waved a hand in the air
and Brenna immediately noticed his expensive gold watch. So
like Jeffrey's.
That turned her off enough to start walking away. "I
should get back."
"Hey, don't leave in such a hurry."
He had a bit of an accent. Hispanic maybe. That would
explain the hunky dark good looks.
She turned, smiled at him. What would it hurt to flirt with
a nice-looking man? He wasn't wearing a wedding ring
and…neither was she. She needed to stay in practice,
didn't she? But she couldn't find the courage to
have her heart stomped again.
"I have bridesmaid duties." She thought hard, but
couldn't remember exactly what those duties might be.
"Very important job," he said, coming to stand with
her while they gazed out on the crowded room. "The first
being, of course, to stand around and look gorgeous?"
Brenna giggled. "You're not serious, right? I mean
that's a line, isn't it?"
He grinned and the brilliance of it sizzled the paint on the
walls. "Did it work?"
Well, she was laughing. That was something new. But Brenna
didn't want to laugh. So no flirting, no laughing. And
nothing left to say. Awkward.
"Oh, good, you two have finally met each other."
Callie twirled and pranced toward them. "Brenna, this is
my friend Nicholas Santiago." She smiled at him, then
touched a hand on Brenna's arm. "And this is my baby
sister. I think I mentioned her to you. She's home for a
while from Baton Rouge."
The man gave Brenna another one of those smoldering looks.
"So you're the little sister. Wow."
"That's me," Brenna said, smelling a setup.
"Wow. Nice to meet you, Nicholas."
"Nick," he said, taking Brenna's hand. "I
was about to introduce myself. Once we got out on the dance
floor."
Brenna bristled. "I didn't say I'd dance with
you."
"But you will," her bossy sister said, pushing her
toward Nicholas. "Don't be rude to my friend."
"I…uh…"
But it was too late. They were suddenly moving across the
dance floor to the tune of a Cajun-inspired waltz. Brenna
glanced around and saw her sisters smiling and waving.
She'd deal with them later. Her daddy, Ramon, waved to
her from where he sat with Julien's friend Tebow and
Tebow's mother. He'd been hanging out with that
woman way too much lately.
"You have such an interesting family," Nicholas
said. He wasn't looking at her family, though. He was
looking down at her.
"Yes, they're very colorful and ever so helpful."
"You have a cute Southern accent."
Still looking at her.
So she stared back. "You have a different kind of
accent."
"I was born in Mexico but moved to Texas when I was a
teenager."
He said it with a thickening of his accent.
Me-he-co. She almost missed a step.
"How did you wind up here?"
He laughed at her deliberate smile. "Good question."
Then he whirled her around again. The man smelled like a
fresh rain out on the sea. So good. No, not good. Not good
at all.
Brenna pulled in her flaring nostrils. "Well,
what are you doing here?"
"I'm an architect. I'm here to oversee the
renovations on the Dubois house. We've been working on
it for a month or so now. Just about finished with the
inside."
"Fleur House." That got Brenna's attention.
"Oh, I love that house. I used to go past there and
wonder what kind of art was inside those old walls. I'd
decorate it inside my head. I always heard Mr. and Mrs.
Dubois had quite a collection at one time. Of course, I
never actually got to go inside the house."
He gave her what looked like a teasing glance. "Callie
tells me you have a deep appreciation for art."
"Appreciate. Yes, more like a passion. I make my living
from selling it," she replied. "I work in a gallery
in Baton Rouge." Or at least, she had. "Budget cuts
have forced me on an indefinite layoff, however."
He nodded, inclined his head toward her. "Brenna
mentioned that to me. It's good to know. I might need
some help with the renovations. My employer will expect some
world-class pieces and I could use a hand picking them out.
I know what I like, but he has very refined taste and a big
wallet to back it. And although he told me to sur
14
Sweetheart Bride prise him, I need an expert."
He winked. "I think you'd be perfect."
Brenna scanned the room for Callie. So she could murder her.
"What a coincidence. Because I know my nosy sister
wouldn't dare put you up to dancing with me just so we
could discuss art, now would she?"
He actually looked confused and then he grinned. "No. I
wanted to dance with you
before I knew you were
Callie's sister." Leaning close, he said, "I
have to admit, I was hoping you were the art expert,
however. I saw you fidgeting up there by the bride. You
obviously don't enjoy weddings."
Brenna wanted to explain exactly why she didn't enjoy
weddings, but that would be rude. "I'm very happy
for my sister, but weddings give me the hives."
"Oh, I see. You're not ready to settle down."
"I'm just not ready to settle," she said on a snap.
"Hmm, someone is bitter."
"Very."
"I'm sorry." He whirled her around the floor,
bringing admiring stares from the onlookers. "If it
makes you feel any better, I've been burned a few times
myself."
"It should, but it doesn't." She didn't want
to be mean, but this man was annoying. But easy on the eyes
while he was being annoying. His suit looked expensive. His
hair glistened like wet ink. And those eyes—part pirate
and part heartbreaker.
Brenna was pretty sure she heard sirens and warning bells
going off inside her head.
"I won't tease you anymore," he said, turning
serious.
She changed the subject. "And as far as getting my
advice on art?"
"I'm a businessman, Brenna. I need an art expert.
Your sister was thrilled to tell me about you and how
talented you are, but if you're not interested—"
"I am," Brenna said, wishing she could climb into
the wedding cake and never come out. "I mean, I'm
always interested in acquiring good art. But my expert
opinions don't come cheap."
"I'm willing to pay you a fair salary," he said,
giving her one last glance. "I enjoyed our dance. But if
you'll excuse me, I have to get back to work."
"On a Friday night?" Brenna said, more to herself
than him. She had actually begun to enjoy talking to him.
"Every night," he replied. With a wave and what
seemed like a dismissal, he turned and left.
And Brenna realized the music had stopped.
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