by Anthology
We pop the bottle of champagne, and Embry and Sister Mary Margaret get to work on my hair and makeup.
The time comes, and I finally get to let Vera out of her bag. We all release a collective sigh of appreciation as we take it all in. A fitted, lace bodice flows into cascading layers of silky tulle. It’s everything I’d ever dreamed of wearing on my wedding day. But it doesn’t compare to being able to marry the man I’d always dreamed of.
Embry gently slides the dress from its hanger, sets the large skirt in the middle of the floor, and unbuttons the bodice.
She eyes me carefully. "Are you ready for this, M? Like, really ready?"
I take in my surroundings. I’m flanked by my best friend and two nuns in a miniature train compartment, my parents are currently escorting my Manolos safely to California, and I’m about to step into my wedding gown, slip on my Uggs and meet my future husband in a train car to be married by a leather jacket-wearing—and I just found out, motorcycle-riding—priest. None of this is what I’d imagined, and it’s definitely not what I’d planned for. But it’s perfect nonetheless. Because I’m about to marry the one person in the world who is my perfect match.
I nod to Embry. "I’ve never been more ready."
She helps me into my gown and then she pulls on her bridesmaid dress. We stare into the mirror together, eyes shining.
"My beautiful best friend," she whispers. "I’m so proud of you."
Someone knocks on the door and Embry rushes over, sliding it open only slightly. I hear nothing more than whispers until the door slides open, revealing Luke in his tuxedo.
"May I have a minute?" he asks.
"With me?"
He nods. Embry kisses me on the cheek and shuffles the nuns out of the room. "Let’s go, ladies."
Luke approaches, sea blue eyes filled with apprehension. "I don’t want to step on toes here, sweetheart, but you’ve been like family the way you’ve been there for me and Bree. I can’t have you doing this alone, so I was wondering if you’d let me walk you." He shoves his hands in his suit pockets, looking uncomfortable. "Not give you away, and not walk you down the aisle, because, well, I’ve seen the observation car and there’s not much aisle to speak of, but I’ll just walk with you if you’ll let me. Is that weird? Embry said it might be weird."
I can’t help the laugh that bubbles up from my throat. "No, Peaches. It’s no weirder than Brett and I getting married on a train in the middle of Nebraska. I’d love if it you’d walk with me."
That sweet, Southern smile that I know makes my best friend’s knees go weak slides into place on his face. "Well, all right then. I’m ready when you are."
I take one more look in the mirror, then take a deep breath and hook my arm in Luke’s. "I’m ready."
"Oh." He pulls away, digging in his pocket. "I almost forgot. Father David asked me to give you this."
A beautiful rosary falls into my hand, crystal blue beads strung throughout the strand.
"He said to tell you they belonged to Nancy and you’d know what to do with them."
"Something old, something new, something borrowed, and something blue," I whisper to myself while I fight the tears threatening to fall.
I gently wrap the rosary around my hand, and tell Luke I’m ready.
* * *
Luke guides me into the observation car, and I look around. Vincent must have made a killing taking bribes as I notice candles set aglow and rose petals strewn about the floor. But as soon as I see Brett, nothing else matters. I make my way toward him and everything else fades away. But not him—he’s in hi-def, his wide eyes shining as he takes me in.
"You’re stunning, wife," he whispers as I come to stand beside him.
"Not looking too bad yourself, Mr. Parker."
We clasp hands, and Father David begins the most beautiful wedding ceremony I think I’ve ever heard.
"Today is about love. There are many kinds—the kind that shatters the heart, that soothes the soul, the kind that you can’t breathe without—but today we’re here to celebrate the kind of love that brings two imperfect people together and makes them whole. The kind of love that you never, ever stop fighting for."
I fight back tears the entire time, but never look away from Brett. There’s no professional photographer, no videographer, but this is a moment in time that neither of us will ever need help remembering.
The vows come next, and although we both have vows—long vows that we’ve written for the wedding—we decide to save those to share with our family and friends, and opt for one simple phrase instead. Something that encompasses anything and everything we could possibly want to say. Something that covers every eventuality and every promise.
"I will love you."
We say it together as we exchange our rings, Brett slowly sliding the band onto my left ring finger, the finger that was at one time rumored to have a vein directly to the heart.
If it’s not true, it’s the best rumor I’ve ever heard.
Father David pronounces us husband and wife, and Brett dips me, our lips colliding. It’s a kiss full of promise and love, and in this moment, I know we couldn’t have chosen a better way to start our marriage.
* * *
Brett carries me over several train thresholds and then deposits me outside, right into the snow. Turns out Uggs work out pretty well as wedding shoes.
After a hundred or so pictures and a mini snowball fight, we head into the lounge car for cake and champagne. Luke and Embry announce that they’ve found all four of us seats on the next flight out to California, and before we know it, it’s time to pack up and go.
"You guys ready to do this all over again?" Bree jokes.
We all laugh, but Brett wraps his arms around me from behind and drops a kiss on my neck before grinning like a fool and saying, "Anywhere, anytime."
"Anywhere, anytime," I say, smiling back.
Just as we finish saying our goodbyes, exchanging email addresses with Father David and Sister Mary and giving hugs all around, the train’s PA screeches loudly and the conductor clears his throat.
"We’ve just received word that the obstruction on the tracks has nearly been removed. We will be back on route within the hour."
"You guys sure you don’t want to stay on to your destination?" Vinny asks, raising an eyebrow.
"I think we’re finished with trains," Brett says, taking my hand and waving to everyone as we step off the California Zephyr.
"Maybe for now," I call and wave back at them.
Brett looks down at me in shock.
"What?" I shrug. "Never say never."
We walk hand in hand away from the train, and Brett pulls me close to his side. "You know," he says in a low whisper, his lips brushing my ear. "There’s always the Mile High Club."
THE END
About R.E. Hunter
R.E. Hunter is the bestselling author of The Disclosure Series. A native New Yorker, she lives in Austin, Texas with her husband, their crazy kitten, and terror of a puppy. She spends her days writing angsty romance and chasing happily ever afters. When not writing, you can find her on the beach with a glass of wine and a book in her hand.
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Other Books by R.E. Hunter
If you enjoyed Morgan and Brett’s story, see more of them in The Disclosure Series.
Undone (Disclosure #1)
Unbroken (Disclosure #2)
The Disclosure Series Box Set (with bonus material)
A Parisian Holiday
By Jade Eby
Note to readers:
This short story features charac
ters from my first novel, The Right Kind of Wrong. However, it can be read and enjoyed as a standalone.
When Kara Pierce and Vince Gage get sent on assignment to Paris, they can’t believe their luck.
Until they get stuck there, two days before Christmas.
Kara just wants to go home but Vince has other plans.
Stranded in the city of love, the two decide to go on one last adventure with their last remaining hours there.
Because sometimes it’s not where you are that matters, but who you’re with.
Chapter One
Fate Pulls You in Different Directions
Clint Eastwood
We're in Paris, in the middle of the 6th arrondissement two days before Christmas—and now, we're stuck here.
"Stay one more week, you said," Kara squeaks out, her face reddening. "It'll be a nice romantic and fun vacation, and we'll be home before Christmas, you said."
I grimace. To my credit, how was I to have known that a snow storm would close down the airport?
"Well, I was wrong on the getting home part. But how is being in Paris with your stunningly handsome boyfriend not romantic? And we did need a real vacation—not a let’s-go-to-a-foreign-country-and-work-the-entire-time kind, either."
If looks could kill, I'd be six feet under with concrete poured on top.
She's that pissed.
"C'mon, babe," I say. "It's not the end of the world. We're in Paris! We have another twenty-four hours to stuff our faces with pain au chocolat and hoity toity wine."
She paces back and forth, rubbing her forehead and then flopping onto the couch.
"You're right. I just don't think Charlie and Grams are gonna make it much longer. I wanted to spend Christmas together before…"She says the words solemnly, letting the rest of them slip away because we both know what comes next.
I sit down on the couch next to her and pull her to me. She tries to hold it in, the disappointment that she's going to miss possibly the last Christmas with her grandparents, but she can't fight it.
Rubbing circles into her back, I enact a silent promise to make it up to her. To make up for the fact that this is all my fault.
And I know just the thing.
I've had it for three months, waiting for the "right time," only to learn that those moments come unannounced and pass by just as quickly as they appear.
Maybe there's no such thing as the "right time."
Who knew white gold and diamonds could control a man so much?
Asking Kara to marry me has been on my mind every minute since we arrived in Paris.
It was in the back of my mind when we stood side-by-side, looking up at the Eiffel Tower. When we stepped inside the Louvre and the chill of culture swept down on us.
And just about every time we stopped to catch our breaths when the big, wild city of Paris took it away - I wanted to ask her.
But I hadn't.
And now I know why.
Fate was giving me a chance to fix my screw up.
* * *
Outside, the crisp air bites at my cheeks and nose. We figured the Parisian airport had been hasty in their decision to shut down flights. Premature fear of snow, we thought.
But as Kara and I walk hand in hand along cobbled streets, the snow steadily falling, we realize maybe the people calling the shots weren’t so crazy.
"I don't buy it," Kara says as our shoes leave imprints in the virgin flakes dusting the lane. "In Iowa, if we got four inches of snow with this temperature, people would be wearing their shorts and sunscreen. This is nothing!"
I laugh. "They're Parisians, not Iowans. Kind of like Californians. You know how needy we are. How incapable of change we tend to be."
Her lips curve upward. Finally, something in the last twenty-four hours we agree on. "Well, you’re right about that, my needy-incapable-of-changing-boyfriend. Do you think Rick will let us stay on the Ariel Sky case when we get back? I mean, we did good work while we were here. If I hadn't’ve been so obsessed, we could have caught her red-handed and—"
I stop her mid-walk and place a finger to her lips.
"No. More. Work."
"But…"
"No," I say. "We've spent almost a hundred and fifty days of our year on work projects. We traveled halfway around the world trying to catch a book thief. Work will be waiting for us when we get home, Kara. Let's enjoy the time while we have it."
She frowns and then nods her head slowly. "I hate when you're right."
"I know," I say and smile. "But now we're even for the missing money thing."
She laughs and melts into my side. "You're never going to live that one down. I told you to wear the fanny pack, but nooooo. Someone's ego was more important."
Just last week I'd been dumb enough to stick money in my back pockets. I really didn't believe in pickpocketing. Until it happened a few days ago to me. Unsuspectingly. Like most naïve tourists. I’d fallen into the trap and given Kara plenty of "I told you so" fuel.
I give her a look. "You can't tell me that people take a fanny-pack-wearing tourist seriously. Just... No," I say. "Besides, I'm not that in touch with my feminine side to wear it."
She rolls her eyes. "There's a reason the guides recommend wearing it... as evidenced by the fact that you lost 44 Euros to those pickpocketers that looked so..."
"Sweet? Homely? Accommodating?" I finish for her.
"Exactly. You're a big, sweet, pushover and that's why you have to wear the fanny pack when we travel now. But you're my big, sweet, pushover."
Whipped and out-of-fashion. I'll take it if it means getting to do this with her for the rest of my life.
We walk in silence. The streets are still bustling with people as if the end-of-the day rushers are unaware that they're in the middle of an uncommon snowfall. I wonder how many are aware that there's supposed to be a snow storm coming straight ahead? Will they bundle themselves up tightly and sit around the Christmas tree with their families, waiting for present time? Will they go on with their lives as if nothing is happening?
How many other foreign couples are wondering how they'll get through Christmas, stranded in the city of love?
Chapter Two
We only have what we give
Isabel Allende
The shops and restaurants along Rue Mouffetard are alive with chatter and warm bodies. The interior lights cast a yellowish glow on the snow outside and Kara shivers beneath me.
She draws a heart in the layer of snow starting to form on the café tables.
"I guess even I can’t escape the romance of this stupid city."
"Stupid?"
"Yeah, because it makes you realize how much beauty you forget to see everyday. And that’s just hard on my heart."
I’m not sure how to answer that.
"Hey, want to get un café or a le chocolat chaud?" I ask, emphasizing the minimal French I've picked up since we've been here.
"I thought you'd never ask," she says, pushing open the shop doors.
The first day we were here, we thought what all tourists think - that the coffee and chocolate and pastries would be… different. Or at least more orgasmic in the way they appear in movies. Turns out, they're not so different. But it's being in Paris, drinking an espresso as you watch an entirely new culture around you that makes it different.
Inside, it's warm and friendly and smells like coffee beans and vanilla. It's almost enough to make us forget that the two inches of snow on the ground is just the beginning.
"Un café et un choclate chaud, s'il vous plaît," Kara orders for us. Then adds, "to go!"
The minute we found out we'd be coming to Paris, Kara dove headfirst into brushing up on her French.
I figured she could do the talking for both of us.
We find a spot near the back of the room and sit across from each other.
Kara sips her hot chocolate and looks past me.
"Hey," I say quietly.
She doesn't acknowledge me. It's as if she's not even her
e.
I set my hand over hers. "Kara."
She meets my eyes. "Hmm?"
"You're doing it again."
"Doing what?" she asks, sipping again.
"Getting lost in your own world."
She looks down at the table and shrugs. "Sorry. Just missing home, I guess."
I nod. It's hard for me to miss things I don't have. Like a parent, family and a town to call mine. But I understand because Elaine, Charlie and Jack have become more my family than anyone else. It was all an accident, the way I tripped into Kara’s her life, broke it open and then helped her put it back together.
But she brought me along with her for the ride.
"We will get home," I tell her. "A little later than we planned, but it'll happen."
"I know," she whispers.
I rack my brain trying to figure out how to bring her out of her funk.
An adventure.
I need to take her on an adventure.
One that ends with it being the "right time."
"Do you have that epic map of places with you?" I ask.
She nods.
"Let me see it for a minute."
She pulls out a folded up, worn piece of paper. We drew it together before we left. A complete map of Paris with all the arrondissements listed with what we wanted to see.
I study the map and the places we hadn't been to. The likelihood of most tourist attractions being open in the evening with a snowstorm seems unlikely. I'll have to get creative.
"What are you doing?" she asks.
I shake my head. "Just looking."
"No you're not. That's not your just looking face. That's your I-want-to-get-into-trouble face."
"What's so wrong with that?" I ask, smiling.
