Lights camera wedding, p.1
Lights, Camera...Wedding?, page 1
Brody couldn’t be pretending to be her groom. That didn’t make sense.
“You look like a million bucks.” His smile could slay dragons. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here to tell you that when you woke up this morning.”
Bea took a step back. Instead of his usual athletic wear, he had on a crisp, pale blue button-up shirt and jeans. The guy had more than his fair share of genetic gifts, and the work ethic to ensure he was still an elite athlete. Normally she didn’t even notice, but with the way he was looking at her—with actual heat in his eyes—she saw him as the rest of the world probably did.
And wow, her bestie could be a hottie when he put his mind to it.
“I don’t under—”
Brushing his thumb across her lips, he winked.
Her breath caught. Her thoughts followed, stuttering, getting hung up on that wink, on his touch.
And then he dropped a quick kiss to her mouth.
She almost fell over.
Rashida held up a hand. “Hang on. You aren’t Jason.”
“And thank God for that.” He stuck out his hand. “Brody Emerson.”
“But you’re—” Rashida squinted at him and then looked at her clipboard “—you’re the best man. Man of honor, rather.”
Brody grinned widely, sucking the whole room into his charm. “Not anymore.”
Dear Reader,
Lights, Camera...Wedding? is a best friends–to-lovers romance as well as a fake-engagement story, both at the top of my list of favorite tropes. I hope you love them, too. Best friends to lovers is particularly close to my heart, because it was the foundation of my own romance. My husband was one of my closest friends before we started dating in fourth-year university. I can vouch for the reality of all the should-we-shouldn’t-we, will-we-wreck-what-we-have, what-do-I-do-with-these-feelings tension that makes these stories so delicious.
Pairing that with the wonderful are-we-going-to-get-caught mystery of a fake-engagement plot and the fun of wedding planning made for all sorts of laugh-out-loud escapades for Brody and Beatrix. They think they know everything about each other. Of course, they have a whole lot to learn about falling in love, especially while pretending to be in love—and while being filmed for a reality TV series, too! When their wedding of convenience reveals real feelings, can they risk their friendship and face past grief to find a lifetime of love?
Brody and Bea’s story finishes the Hallorans’ wedding lodge trilogy, but there are more Sutter Creek romances on the horizon (and a story in a brand-new location, too!). Be sure to visit my website, www.laurelgreer.com, where you’ll find the latest news and a link to sign up for my newsletter. I’d love to hear your own real-life romance tropes—come say hello on Instagram or Facebook: @laurelgreerauthor.
Happy reading!
Laurel
Lights, Camera...Wedding?
Laurel Greer
USA TODAY bestselling author Laurel Greer loves writing about all the ways love can change people for the better, especially when messy families and charming small towns are involved. She lives outside of Vancouver, BC, with her law-talking husband and two daughters, and is never far from a cup of tea, a good book or the ocean—preferably all three. Find her at www.laurelgreer.com.
Books by Laurel Greer
Harlequin Special Edition
Sutter Creek, Montana
What to Expect When She’s Expecting
From Exes to Expecting
A Father for Her Child
Holiday by Candlelight
Their Nine-Month Surprise
In Service of Love
Snowbound with the Sheriff
Twelve Dates of Christmas
Lights, Camera...Wedding?
Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com.
For Rob, still the best friend and partner after twenty years, and the one who knows the answer to that bit of ours I poached for chapter nine.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Epilogue
Excerpt from Expecting His Holiday Surprise by Jo McNally
Prologue
“I’ve made a terrible mistake,” Bea Halloran moaned. Holding one sparkly high heel in each hand, she shook them in the direction of her tablet screen. The device leaned against one of the three massive suitcases she was filling with half her wardrobe.
Brody Emerson’s dry expression filled the screen, his mouth its usual not-another-shoemergency grimace. “Maybe not a world-peace-level crisis, Bea?”
She made a face at her best friend—the person she trusted more than anyone in the world.
Except her fiancé. Maybe.
She’d been joined at the hip with Brody ten times as long as she’d been with Jason, so there was a level of comfort there, an innate, gut-level knowing, that she still didn’t have with the man she planned to wed.
Something to develop over a lifetime. It was okay to learn about one’s partner over the course of a marriage, right?
Brody, on the other hand—no mysteries there. And she’d listened to enough rowing minutiae over the last twenty years to fill a four-inch binder, so she didn’t feel too bad harassing him about her footwear dilemma.
“Two glittery pairs seemed the right call when I was out shopping, but now I’m thinking I should have gone for simple and flat. Black and brown,” she said. “Maybe red for the holiday theme. I’m going on a do-it-yourself wedding show, not Real Housewives of Montana.”
Brody ran a hand through his thick sandy-blond hair and shook his head. “I thought the production company gave you a packing list.”
Somehow, when he reminded her of that, it didn’t chafe her the way Jason’s similar reminder had when he texted her twenty minutes ago.
“Sort of,” she said. “They didn’t go as far as stiletto color.”
She deposited the shoes in one of the overflowing cases and picked up her packing list. The paper shook in her hand, blurring the neatly typed suggestions for what she’d need during the next two weeks. The minute Jason had complained about her teeny executive functioning weakness to one of DIY I Do: Times Two’s ever-helpful production assistants, the PA typed up a guide to everything Bea could possibly require during filming that production wouldn’t supply. Holiday-themed wedding planning clothes. Outdoor apparel suitable for Montana in the winter. Fancier attire for the rehearsal, preferably in Christmas red and gold to match the wedding’s theme.
The wedding dress Bea had to make herself to meet the criteria of the show, but that wasn’t quite finished.
She winced at the screen.
Brody’s show of faux agony faded into seriousness. “You’ve got this, Sparks.”
A silly nickname, but better than her family’s usual “endearment” for her, Bumble. Way better to be a flash of light, a fire starter, than a bumbling mess.
Except for those times where I’ve proven the latter.
Getting Posy, her florist shop, off the ground had made her keenly aware of details in a way she’d never forced herself to care about before. So far, she’d rocked the wedding plans. Yeah, there were still a hundred things to complete. But that would just give the crew more things to film once she was in Sutter Creek at her sister’s wilderness wedding lodge, DIYing it on camera.
She couldn’t bumble that. Not her wedding, or anything that would follow.
And as always, Brody’s encouragement revved up her self-confidence.
“Yes, coach,” she teased. He was a former Olympic rower—former gold medalist—and the current coach of the men’s team at a Seattle university. He probably muttered pithy motivational wisdom in his sleep. He’d definitely sprinkle it on his Corn Flakes if he lowered himself to eating simple carbohydrates for breakfast.
He’d never teased Bea about being more of a dreamer than a planner, but her gummy bear habit was fair game.
“What about you?” she said. “Are you done packing? I made your boutonniere today.” She’d never considered anyone else as her attendant—she couldn’t get married without Brody being the first person at her side. He’d happily claimed the role of man of honor.
“You make boutonnieres this far out?”
“It won’t wilt. It’s nonperishable.”
“Ah, yeah. Because of Mr. Marrying-a-Florist-but-Doesn’t-Like-Flowers.”
“Brody...” she warned. Someone staunchly opposed to getting married really didn’t get a say in the marital plans of others. Brody had never hidden his thoughts on falling in love and getting married, which kept the questions about why the two of them had never tried dating to once or twice a week instead of constant. “We’ve been over this. I’m more than floral arrangements. And he and I don’t need to have the same interests to get married.”
Jason had announced early on in their relati onship that he wasn’t a flower guy. She tried not to be too hurt, since it was her literal livelihood, albeit one she’d only fallen in love with a couple of years ago and recently decided to turn into her career. It had taken her a while to find her place, which meant no end of grief throughout her twenties. But turning thirty, moving to Seattle, meeting Jason, starting her business... Her life was finally starting to fit into the Halloran family mold of working one’s ass off at a purposeful job and pairing up with someone for the ride. Having a family eventually, too. Her sister was head over heels for the game warden in their close-knit Montana hometown, and her brother and his wife were raising the cutest twins to walk the earth. In marrying Jason, Bea would finally fit in.
Bea knew the look on Brody’s face well. Equal parts “Anyone wanting to get married is asking for it” and “Are you sure you want to make a lifetime commitment to that guy?”
She wished he was in the room with her so she could crumple her packing list and flick it at his head.
He rubbed his face with both hands and mumbled something she couldn’t catch. Nor was she going to ask for clarification—she could guess at the sentiment.
“No raining your anti-marriage propaganda over my big week,” she ordered. “You promised. I’m going to need you in my corner—over text, anyway—until you make your way home on Wednesday.” Brody would participate in the filming, but only on the night before for the rehearsal and the actual day.
“I am always in your corner.”
“I know. I’d be a mess without you.” No. She needed to stop thinking like that. She could clean up her messes herself.
“I take it Jason’s working late?” Brody said. “He’s not helping you pack?”
“I didn’t need him to.” She managed to still her hand enough to glance from the beginning to the end of the list. “I think I have everything.”
Most certainly inaccurate. She always forgot something when she traveled.
Time to break that streak.
“If you forget something, I can bring it with me,” he offered.
“Thanks, but I need to appear competent from moment one. When Jason and I step off the plane tomorrow, the cameras will be on. I’ll need to be put together in a way I’ve never managed before.”
DIY I Do: Times Two was a massively popular StreamFlix show, based around the idea that a similar wedding theme could be executed with a large budget or a small one. She and Jason had successfully bid to be the extravagant example, for the special Christmas episode, no less. When it aired, it would boost Bea’s florist shop into the Seattle stratosphere. The business her sister Emma owned with her fiancé would benefit, too. Emma and Luke—Brody’s cousin, incidentally—owned the newly renovated Moosehorn River Lodge, and Emma had plans to turn it into a luxe wedding destination. The producers couldn’t stop gushing about the glam-in-the-woods setting being perfect for an upscale wedding with rustic touches. With StreamFlix as the platform, Bea and Emma couldn’t lose on the publicity front.
Having the production budget cover the ever-inflating wedding bill was a bonus, too, given Bea was strapped for cash after pouring everything she had—and lots she didn’t—into Posy.
“Pardon me for disagreeing,” Brody said, “but I like how you’re put together. Emma and Nora already have the market cornered on Halloran sisters who dream about spreadsheets and day planners. I love how you bring some spontaneity into the world.”
You’re pretty much the only one.
“What plans are you changing now?” Jason’s stiff voice came from behind her.
She jumped, dropping the paper. She whirled to face him. “Nothing’s changing. I’m doing a final check to make sure I have everything.”
“Given you’ve packed half the contents of our condo, I don’t see what you could be missing,” Jason said woodenly.
His undone tie was the only sign he’d been at the office for twelve hours. Otherwise, he was completely put together. His short blond hair swooped precisely to the side; the only creases in his suit were the ones put there by the dry cleaner. Some days, it was surprising he didn’t literally shine, he was so polished. Her opposite, really, which was a good thing. They balanced each other out. She helped him think big and relax, and he helped her focus on a single path.
He seemed unfazed that he’d startled the living bejesus out of her. She was willing to cut him some slack—the mess in the bedroom was tease-worthy, and he’d been completely supportive of her getting-married-on-TV gambit.
She flung her arms around him. “One day closer to getting married!”
He was as stiff as a bundle of wire flower stems.
“What’s wrong?” Had he heard Brody’s dig about him working late?
“We need to talk,” he said, an edge to the voice she’d first fallen in love with two years ago when he’d ordered a milkshake from her struggling ice cream truck and then offered to take her out for dinner that night. Usually, his words came out confident. Tonight, they were plain brisk.
Alarm rang through her. She exchanged a quick glance with on-screen Brody.
Concern filled her best friend’s brown eyes. “How about I leave you two to it? Call me when you get to Montana.” He gave her a little salute and then the Call Ended by Host notification popped up.
She sat on the edge of the bed and played with the hem of her tulle skirt. She hadn’t worn tutu-style anything since she quit her short-lived job as a theme park princess years ago, but she’d found the flouncy garment when she was digging in the back of her closet and decided it might look fun on camera.
Jason’s serious expression, however, was the opposite of fun.
“Did the stock market crash or something? You look miserable,” she said.
His mouth flattened. “I am miserable.”
Her heart caught in her throat. “Why?”
“This!” He waved a hand at the suitcases and the boxes of florist supplies and wedding paraphernalia, ending his gesture with a flourish in her direction.
Uh, excuse me? “What, you don’t like the wedding plans? Or my skirt?”
“It’s not your skirt, Beatrix. It’s...it’s you.”
Her face went numb. She couldn’t have heard that right. Her lips felt like rubber cement, flapping uselessly. “Me?”
He jammed his fingers into his hair. “Crap, not exactly. It’s you and it’s me. Or rather, that we’re so different. I thought we could work with that. But the closer we get to our wedding, the sillier you’ve gotten with preparing for this damn show, I realize we can’t.”
She couldn’t decide which of his words she needed to focus on most. “You think I’m silly?”
He sat on the end of the bed. Not close to her, like he might if he were trying to make things better. Two feet away, gripping the comforter and staring at the floor with the singular focus of a man who’d apparently just figured out he proposed to a person he considered a joke.
The mattress didn’t make a sound as he sat. Pretty sure it had cost more than her aging Volkswagen Beetle. Moving into Jason’s condo had come with a big jump in thread count and a killer view. It never felt entirely like home, which she always thought was her issue, her self-esteem.
Maybe it wasn’t actually home. Had she sensed something neither of them had figured out until now?
“I can’t marry you,” he said.
The staccato syllables dug into her like shrapnel.
“We have to get married,” she said. “We have a contract with DIY I Do. And my shop and the lodge are depending on this—”
“And none of that has to do with us being in love!” Face flushed, he tugged at the collar of his shirt hard enough to pop a button.
Her heart was beating a thousand miles a minute. “Of course we’re in love.”
His gaze collided with hers. “Are we?”
We have to be.
This was her chance to squash her mercurial nature that stopped everyone from taking her seriously. What was more serious than marrying an investment banker?
“Bea.” He reached for her hand. “Be honest with yourself.”
She snatched her fingers away. “Telling myself things is the least of my worries. What am I going to tell my family, our friends, the production crew? And breaking the contract won’t be cheap.”
