First Chapter

Pre-Order HERE

Chapter One

Lily’s feet automatically stepped in time to the music after all that rehearsing, or maybe it was in time to her heartbeat. She could hear the room turn to look at her as she came down the aisle, that rustle of suits and dresses, but she couldn’t look at any of those people. She focused only on Deacon.

His nervousness manifested in extra-straight posture, and he seemed even taller than usual. She knew him well enough to know that this particular smile wasn’t his relaxed grin but his anxious mask. The fashionable suit was a tiny bit too stylish for him to look comfortable, but the pictures were going to be gorgeous.

What was she doing, thinking about photos? No one was going to want photos of this disaster.

Walking to the front of the room took about eleven years, but when she made it, she stopped in front of him. As he looked down at her and smiled, all nerves and anticipation, she put her hand on his arm and leaned up to whisper in his ear.

“Dahlia asked me to tell you something,” she said. And then her words dried up.

How exactly had she arrived here?

And what exactly did Dahlia think she was doing?

After what felt like eternities but was probably no more than a minute, she pulled her eyes from the gorgeous orchid pinned to Deacon’s tuxedo and looked into his face. His expression was filled with concern. Did he know? Could he guess?

Anyone could guess, Lily thought. This leap off the traditional track was perfectly in line with all things Dahlia. Expect the unexpected and all that.

The sound in the room changed: the whisper that had become a buzz was turning to a mutter. She realized she still had her hand on Deacon’s arm and dropped it down to her side.

What were her lines? Only minutes ago, Dahlia had stood with her in the bride’s room, holding so still, her nose practically touching Lily’s, and listened to Lily repeat the words.

“Dahlia sends her regrets, but she needs to follow her heart, and if you look around,” Lily winced and her voice went softer, “you’ll see that among all the flowers in this beautiful venue, you can’t find a single Dahlia.” The rehearsed statement came out of her mouth without any of Dahlia’s spontaneity, sounding not only stiff and formal, but cruel. Shaking her head, Lily tried again, her own words this time. “I’m sorry, Deacon. Dahlia’s gone.”

She watched him take in her words, a little line forming between his eyebrows. His mouth opened and then closed again. Of the million things he could be thinking, she wished she could guess the one his mind was trying to land on.

His eyes darted around the room and finally he spoke. “She left? The wedding? Her wedding? Our wedding?”

That burn in the back of her throat meant Lily was about to cry or throw up, and she very much wanted to do neither. She nodded.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated, but she wasn’t sure she’d made enough sound to be heard.

Breathe, she told herself. Just for a second.

Was that a gulp? A sob? Oh, no. Was Deacon crying? Here? In front of everyone? When she dragged her eyes up to meet his, she was relieved to see that in fact, he was trying to stifle a laugh.

“Lil,” he said, and gave a tiny shake of his head. “This is really happening, isn’t it?”

She wasn’t ready to laugh.

“Looks like it.” The heat searing her neck suggested that at least her reflexive body functions were still happening. Blushing was the most normal thing right now. “Is everyone staring at us?”

His eyes swept the room again. “Exactly everyone. Yes.” Another breath of a laugh escaped him, but this one sounded tired. “Jilted? Is that the word for what just happened to me?”

“That is precisely the word.” Lily wasn’t sure how he could stand there and chat with her about semantics while his wedding was falling apart, but a huge part of her appreciated it. Being the messenger was the worst. The absolute worst. Well. After being the jilted. And somehow his question made the moment seem completely normal.

“I probably need to say something to everyone.” He looked at her, question on his face. “Right?”

She understood all too well, from years of friendship, what his subtext was asking. “Right. Yes. You. You need to talk. Not me.”

He nudged her. “I know. I was teasing. Okay, well, wish me luck.”

She didn’t have time to say another word. He moved around her and stood at the front of the aisle and smiled at the crowd. The whispering hushed when he waved. It wasn’t so much a “command the room” wave as a simple “hello, there” kind of thing. A little girl a few rows from the front waved back.

“Friends,” Deacon said, then cleared his throat and said it again. “Friends, I thank you for coming today. It looks like we have a slight change of plans for the main event.”

How was he supposed to do this? Poor him. More than half the people in the place were there because they loved Dahlia. He couldn’t say, ‘hey, people, my flaky fiancée ditched me, isn’t that a shame?’ This was a delicate balancing act, even for someone as diplomatic as Deacon.

“Our leading lady seems to have changed her mind.” He paused for the gasp and buzz that he must have known were coming. Lily watched Dahlia’s mom, Aunt Camellia, go pale beneath the little pink hat perched on her perfectly sculpted hair. It happened fast— if she hadn’t been watching, Lily might have missed it. Within seconds, Camellia was recomposed and had settled a slightly amused expression on her face, as if this is what she’d expected to happen all along.

To be fair, she may have expected this all along. She knew Dahlia as well as anyone. As well as Lily did.

Deacon was still talking to the crowd. Lily refocused on his words somewhere around “we’re all here, and the party is prepared. You’re welcome, all of you, to stick around for the evening. Let’s dance. Let’s eat. Let’s celebrate our friendship.”

Aunt Camellia took that as her cue to stand up and take Deacon’s arm. She added her invitation to his with the proper sprinkling of formal amusement and Charleston charm. Uncle Benson, who’d been standing this whole time where he was told to stand, came alone down the aisle, shook Deacon’s hand, and kissed his wife on the cheek. If he said what he was thinking, he said it quietly into Camellia’s ear. Nobody would have heard him anyway. The gathered crowd had foregone decorum for full-tilt discussion, the proper title for society gossip.

Lily imagined her phone, tucked into the tiny beaded clutch in the bride’s room, was positively blowing up by now. Every memory of every time she had to make excuses and take the heat from one of Dahlia’s crazy exploits rushed into her mind and made her skin itch.

She felt a hand on her back and turned to see Deacon, his smile not quite reaching the level of sincerity. “You okay?” he asked.

“Sure. You?”

He made a sound that was either a laugh or that puff of air that meant someone just knocked the wind out of him. Or both.

“Dance with me,” Lily said.

“Yeah. That’ll fix this.” The smile grew a fraction less forced.

She took his hand. “Can’t make it worse, right?” As they walked through the French doors into the William-Aiken House, Deacon smiled and waved at everybody.

He went to the DJ, leaned in, and said something into his ear. Lily tried not to hear a couple of jokes from old men in suits about him not waiting long to move on to the next one, but when she let go of Deacon’s hand, he grabbed her fingers tightly.

“Don’t you dare make me do this alone,” he whispered as he slid his arm over her shoulder. He danced in little bounces, without moving his feet. Poor guy couldn’t dance at all. His only discoverable flaw.

She wrapped her arm around his waist and squeezed. Laughing up into his face, she said, “As maid of honor to the dearly departed bride, I vow to stay by your side as long as you want this party to go on.”

He stopped “dancing” and dropped the fake smile. “Thank you.”

She nodded.

“I mean it, Lil. Thank you. As long as you’re here, I can do this.” He gestured to the party, or maybe it was some kind of dance move. Whatever it was, Lily kept her arm around him. “Just stay close so nobody can ask me deep and personal questions. I might need to keep you here forever.”

If only the music would blast a little louder, she thought, it could drown out the thoughts in her head. Thoughts like I’d like to throttle Dahlia. Like How does a person walk away from her own wedding? Like I’m so glad he wants me to stay close.

She knew it might look odd to some of the guests, maid of honor snuggled up to rejected groom. She was sure people were telling themselves and each other all kinds of stories. And she had a decent idea of the kinds of stories those might be. But Deacon was her friend, and if her friend needed her to stay close to him on his night of heartbreak, she’d stay.

She looked at him as he bounced and swayed and smiled. He didn’t look heartbroken at the moment.

He looked amazing.

Lily gave herself a mental slap. Confident. That’s what she’d meant. Deacon looked confident. In control. Like he could handle this. Seconds later, Kailey Pinckney glided up and stood in front of Deacon with huge, damp eyes. Lily watched with that kind of slowmotion horror as Kailey’s perfectly manicured hand reached out and stroked the lapel of Deacon’s suit. “I’m so sorry about today,” she said, her words coming out so slowly that it seemed to take forever for her to get to the part where she was asking him out at his failed wedding reception. “If you want to talk, I’m in town all weekend. Maybe we could meet for coffee? In the morning?” Deacon’s shocked expression didn’t dissuade her. “Or, if not coffee, maybe breakfast at The Palmetto?”

Lily could feel Deacon grasping for her hand. Squeezing her wrist. Silently pleading for help. She wondered what she was supposed to do. Trip her? Knock her over? Remind Deacon of some very important plans he had for the first day of his honeymoon?

Lily caught his glance. His eyes were bugging out.

He was so clearly uncomfortable that Kailey removed her hand from his chest. “You’ve got my number. Please, I’d love to help.”

How could she make those kind and generous words sound so distasteful?

Kailey walked away, swishing through the path she created in the dancers. Men stumbled out of her way exactly as she must have planned.

Deacon subtly turned his back. “Did she just . . .” he began.

Lily put her hand over her mouth and tried to keep the laugh from reaching her eyes. “Oh, she really did.”

Pushing her hands through her hair, she breathed out, “Wow.” She shook her head. “Just goes to prove that there are reasons for every stereotype.”

“And I’d like to thank you for being absolutely no help at all,” Deacon said, a little laugh in his voice.

Lily shook her head. “Are you kidding me? She’s terrifying.”

“Please. You’ve got at least eight inches on her.” He spun in an awkward little move that ought to scare away any other hovering debutante vultures.

“Oh. Thank you for clarifying that my job here tonight is to literally fight off the masses of women who are lined up to take Dahlia’s place.” Lily immediately wanted to swallow the words back.

Deacon stopped dancing and stood quietly for a moment. Hands in his pockets, he looked up into the sky and then back at Lily. Shaking her head, she tried to say something apologetic, but no words would form.

“I know. It’s fine. How about some food?” Deacon said, his fingers grazing her back and directing her to the tables. “I hear it’s both fancy and expensive, two of the words least likely to describe anything that will fill me up.”

“I promise it will be delicious, and if it doesn’t fill you, I’ll go get you a cheeseburger.”

“Deal.”

Lily felt a hand on her arm. “Lily?”

“Oh, hi, Mom,” she said, leaning down to kiss her mom’s cheek.

“Hello, Ms. Iris, Mr. Sinclair,” Deacon said, a lifetime of manners rising to the surface. “How’s the party?” Lily’s dad chose to give her a hug instead of answering Deacon.

“Oh, honey,” Lily’s mom said, reaching her hand up to Deacon’s face, “you don’t have to pretend for me.”

Deacon leaned down and stage-whispered in her ear, “No, actually I do. I’ve got to keep this act up for at least another,” he checked his watch, “two hours and twenty minutes. Good thing I’ve got Lily here to help me.”

Lily felt the kind of gratitude that comes from someone allowing themselves to be rescued.

“Come on,” Deacon said, putting his arm around Iris’s shoulders. “Let’s go eat.”