There was a scuffling of feet and murmurings as the judge and officers reentered the courtroom. They resumed their seats at the bench. Judge Benning leaned forward to the microphone.
“The board members and I have heard sufficient evidence to persuade us that Harlan Hamilton should be released immediately—as of this moment, in fact—from the Colorado Department of Corrections.”
“All right, Granddaddy!” Emily yelled.
“We are impressed not only with your progress, Mr. Hamilton,” the judge continued, “but also with the caring people who encircle you. And now, for the first time in five years, eight months, you may hug your granddaughter.”
As whoops and clapping filled the courtroom, Marc wrapped his arms around his father.
“Now you’re stuck with your old man,” Harlan joked, a tear spilling down his cheek.
Marc brushed it away. “Lucky me.”
Reporters descending on the table, thrusting forward digital recorders. Behind them, videographers took footage. With a loud squeal, Emily ran up as the deputy removed the handcuffs.
Harlan wrapped his trembling arms around his granddaughter.
Marc looked around the room for Cammie. She stood in the aisle, beaming at him. Wait for me, he mouthed.
“Emily,” Marc said, turning back to his daughter, “stay with your granddad. I’ll be right back.”
“Stay with him?” She laughed through her tears, embracing the old man. “I’m never letting him go!”
Marc looked at Cammie, but she was gone. He slipped past reporters and hurriedly walked down the aisle to the doors. Stepping into the hallway outside the courtroom, he saw her far down the corridor, walking away.
“Cammie!” He jogged after her.
She halted, turned.
He reached her and stopped. “Hey,” he said, catching his breath, “why did you leave?”
“This is yours and Emily’s time—”
“He’s close to you, too, you know.”
She looked over his shoulder. “The vultures followed you.”
He glanced behind him, saw an eager-looking reporter, her cameraman in tow, making a beeline in their direction.
“Then let me say what needs to be said.” He put his arms on Cammie’s shoulders. “I’m sorry I was so full of myself, for saying things that—”
“Shh.” She put her finger on his lips. “We both said things.”
“When I talked about second chances in there, I meant us, too.” He searched her eyes. “Do we have one?”
She hugged her stomach and looked up at him, her green eyes glistening with a look he couldn’t decipher.
“Cammie?”
“I...don’t know,” she whispered.
He plowed his hand through his hair, fighting the urge to grab her, demand a better answer. This wasn’t the way it was supposed to have played out. Today was a day of answers and celebration, but here they were like two people stuck in a past they couldn’t move beyond.
A sick feeling knotted his insides. But maybe it wasn’t too late. Maybe if she knew...
“I love you, Cammie,” he whispered.
“Mr. Hamilton,” said a reporter, sticking a digital recorder between him and Cammie. “Did you think your father, Harlan Hamilton, would be released today?”
A beefy guy with a camera and the distinct odor of beer stumbled, caught himself. “Shit, sorry,” he muttered.
“One of the witnesses,” the reporter continued, “said your father planned to volunteer with the Denver legal community—is that true?”
The cameraman moved, providing Marc a view of the hallway and Cammie walking away.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
DELILAH, DRESSED IN A cream-colored, cleavage-popping caftan, sat on a settee before an ornate gold-framed mirror. Looking at her reflection, she gently placed a gardenia behind one ear.
“What do you think, dear? Too much?”
Cammie and Delilah were in the bridal dressing chamber at the Las Vegas Elvis Chapel. On the outside of the door were the words For Elvis’s Ladies scrolled around a picture of The King in a white jumpsuit and cape, bowing on one knee, looking like a Prince Charming who had naughty on his mind. The inside of the room was decorated with posters from Elvis’s most popular movie, Viva Las Vegas, that showed him and Ann-Margret dancing, kissing, singing and more kissing. Over the speakers, Elvis crooned the heart-wrenching “Wonder of You.”
“Considering where we are,” Cammie said, “it’s a little difficult to say anything’s too much, but I think the gardenia is perfect. Especially as you decided to not wear a veil today.”
Standing behind Delilah, Cammie checked out her reflection in the mirror. She wasn’t “showing,” but the sexy red dress was so tight around her middle, it was difficult to breathe normally.
Delilah closed her eyes and took a sniff. “The gardenia is so fragrant. When Frankie kisses me after we’re pronounced husband and wife, he’ll smell its sweetness.” Her heavily mascaraed eyes popped open. “Does it clash with my perfume?”
Cammie leaned in closer. “No, the flower’s scent is so light, it’s a lovely mix of fragrances.”
Because of the popularity of June weddings, especially those taking place on weekends, the only time available for Delilah and Frankie’s Sunday wedding was at 9:00 a.m. Twenty minutes from now. Delilah didn’t care—“Let’s make it a wedding-and-brunch!”—and Frankie liked a morning wedding, so they could enjoy a leisurely drive to their honeymoon spot, the historic Hotel del Coronado in San Diego.
Delilah met Cammie’s eyes in the mirror. “Can’t believe I’m so nervous!”
“It’s your big day.”
As Delilah held up her hand, several gold bracelets jingled softly. “Look, I’m shaking!”
“No one will notice. Maybe the Elvis minister will sing ‘All Shook Up’ to get your nerves to settle.”
Delilah laughed, her nose doing the bunny-twitching thing. “We asked him to sing ‘I Can’t Help Falling in Love with You,’ for our first dance.”
“There’s a dance?”
“A one-song dance after we’re pronounced husband and wife. It’s part of the Burning Love package. We also get a video of the wedding, that lovely rose bouquet...and other things that I forget.” She clasped her hands together. “I’m so nervous, I just blanked on my great-aunt’s name!”
“Care for a little more comfort in your coffee?”
“You were a dear to bring the Frangelico, but no, thank you. Another dose of comfort and that poor Elvis will have to carry me down the aisle.” Delilah admired her platinum manicured nails. “I don’t mind Elvis escorting me, but I wish...”
Cammie thought of Peter. “Wouldn’t that have been nice.”
“He would have looked gallant in his dress blues.”
“Walking proudly down the aisle with you on his arm.”
“If wishes were horses...” Delilah took a sip of her coffee.
“I have no doubt he’s watching from above.”
“Or over the webcam,” Delilah said lightly, setting down her cup.
“The wedding’s being broadcast live?”
“Part of the Burning package.”
“Burning Love.”
“Right. They give you a web address.... Where is that...” Delilah looked around the dressing table. “Here it is.” She handed a piece of paper to Cammie. “It’s printed there. Plug that URL into a browser at nine o’clock, and voilà, it’s the Delilah and Frankie nuptials.”
“I’ll send it to Val so she can watch—she’s at work today, but she can sneak a peek on her phone.”
Cammie retrieved her smartphone and tapped some keys. While putting the phone back into her purse, it rang.
“That Val’s fast!” Delilah said
with a laugh.
“No, it’s not Val,” Cammie murmured. “It’s Marc. He’s trying to connect with me on Skype.”
“What’s that?”
“A phone-video connection.”
“Answer it, darling. He’s been calling you nonstop since you left Denver a few days ago, and you never answer.”
“But the wedding starts in fifteen minutes.”
“Then tell him you have to make it brief and you can talk more later. Put the poor man out of his misery—he’s trying so hard to resolve things with you.” Delilah opened a compact and dabbed some sparkling powder on her cleavage.
Cammie walked to a corner of the room and pressed a button on her phone. Marc’s face appeared on the screen. Same clean-cut look he’d had in court a few days ago, although she caught shadows under his eyes.
For a moment, he stared at her as though paralyzed. “Cammie,” he murmured.
Seeing him, hearing his voice—she swore she could feel her pulse thrum in her temples, her wrists, the back of her knees.
“Hi,” she whispered.
“I’m glad you answered because I didn’t want to surprise you.”
“Surprise me?”
There was some jostling of the image, then Uncle Frankie’s face appeared.
“Can you see me, Camilla? I can see you.”
“What...?”
“You look lovely, my figlia. Don’t point this thing at my bride-to-be because I don’t want to see her before we say our vows.”
Cammie looked at the closed door to the bridal dressing chamber, back to Frankie’s face. “Where are you?”
“In the other changing room—I think they call it the Elvis Grooming Room or somethin’. This place, what a kick! Del and I wanted a good time filled with laughter and that’s exactly what we’re getting.”
“Marc is here?” she rasped.
“Yes, but let me explain...”
Cammie looked at Delilah, who was fussing with her hair, then turned her attention to Frankie, who was explaining that Marc had called yesterday, that the guy had been frustrated because Cammie wouldn’t answer his calls, and that in the course of their conversation Frankie “just happened to mention” that he and Del were getting married this morning and if Marc “just happened to be” in Vegas, he could join the festivities.
Cammie lowered the phone. “Did you hear any of that?” she said to Delilah.
Delilah was spritzing hair spray on her frothy hair. “What, dear?”
“Did you know Marc’s here?”
Delilah set down the hair spray can. “Here—as in this chapel?”
“Yes.”
“Oh!” Delilah clapped her hands. “He’s chasing you, my darling!”
“So you didn’t know?”
“No! But I do know this—if you keep running, at some point that man’s going to give up.”
“But...I haven’t made any decisions yet!”
“And you think this is about using your brain?” Delilah stood, a vision of chiffon, cleavage and champagne hair. She crossed to Cammie and ushered her to the door. “You need to listen to your heart. Now, go talk to that man, and while you’re at it, ask if he’ll walk me down the aisle.”
Reluctantly, Cammie exited the room and looked across the foyer at the door marked Elvis’s Grooms and Best Men under a picture of Elvis in a black leather jacket.
The door opened and Marc stepped out.
The breath rushed out of her lungs. From the ever-present speakers, Elvis started singing the song “I Want You, I Need You, I Love You.” The schmaltzy, agonizing delivery almost made her laugh, but the lyrics—a lover questioning, then expressing eternal devotion—went straight to her heart.
Their stares locked and held. The distance between them blurred and for a surreal moment, she was again locked in his arms, heard his heated murmurings in her ear, tasted the salty sweat on his skin.
I want you, I need you, I love you.
As though awakening from a dream, the world sharpened, came back into focus. He wore the same navy blue double-breasted jacket as the other day, which set off those startlingly blue eyes. A curl of his chestnut hair hung like a question mark over his brow.
He stared at her with such intensity, for a moment she wasn’t sure if he was glad or mad to see her.
“Cammie,” he finally said, closing the space between them.
He stopped short, close enough that she could smell that apple cologne and see the shadows under his eyes. He looked troubled, off-center, just like the first time he’d arrived unannounced in Vegas.
“Is everything okay?” she asked.
“Sure,” he murmured, his eyes searching hers.
“Harlan?”
“Dad’s great, considering. He’s seeing a doctor next week.”
“Emily?”
“She’s staying with us this summer, and maybe next school year, too. Her mother isn’t happy with the idea, but you know Emily once she’s made up her mind.”
Cammie smiled. “Watch out world.”
He scratched the stubble on his chin. “Didn’t get a chance to shave. Caught a red-eye flight, which got grounded in Arizona due to a storm, then finagled a connecting flight that landed less than an hour ago. I tipped a cabbie to break the speed limit to get me here on time.”
“You? Breaking rules?”
He smiled, the look in his eyes softening. “Weren’t you listening in court when I talked about the value of that gray middle ground?” He turned somber. “Cammie, I’ve been thinking about you. Us. I think we should—”
An Elvis lookalike strolled up to them, swiveled his hip and struck a classic Elvis pose—half-lunge with one hand pointing into the air. Despite the midnight-black dye job and costume-rental gold jacket, for a crazy instant, he actually looked like the real deal.
He straightened and flashed a half-cocked Elvis grin. “Hey, you two lovebirds, it’s almost time.”
He even sounded like Elvis.
“We’re not Delilah and Frankie,” Cammie explained. “I’m the maid of honor and he’ll be walking the bride down the aisle.”
“Thought she wanted me,” faux Elvis said, flipping the lapels of his jacket.
Wow, this is really going to be a Viva Las Vegas experience, Cammie thought. But the silliness was exactly what she needed. Lately everything had felt too heavy, and it was a welcome change to be lighthearted and playful, which was obviously what Delilah and Frankie had in mind when they’d picked this place.
“I’d be honored to walk her down the aisle,” Marc said.
“After the ceremony, the newlyweds will have their first dance,” Elvis said. “I’ll sing. After a few moments, you’re welcome to join in. The dance, not the singing.” He winked. “Okay, let’s get this show on the road because the wedding is starting in—” he lunged into another Elvis pose and pointed at a wall clock “—five minutes.”
As he swaggered away, Marc smiled. “Wish Harlan could see this. He’s a big Elvis fan.”
“Yeah, but was Elvis this schmaltzy?”
“Sure he was. Haven’t you ever seen videos of him entertaining? He was like Dean Martin, always cracking up and schmoozing with the audience.”
Cammie handed him the piece of paper. “There’s the web address—send it to Harlan and Emily and tell them they can watch the wedding. I should go check in with Delilah, tell her it’s almost time.”
“I’ll be here, waiting to walk her down the aisle.”
Moments later, Cammie stood in front of Delilah, adjusting the gardenia.
“You’re a beautiful bride.”
Delilah smiled. “Thank you. How’d your talk with Marc go?”
“He’s going to walk you down the aisle.”
“The man flies all
the way out to Vegas to see you, and the two of you talk about me? Darling, I need to give you some man lessons.”
There was a knocking at the door, followed by the Elvis minister singing the refrain from one of the real Elvis’s hits, “Until It’s Time for You to Go.”
Delilah’s eyes sparkled. “I love this chapel!”
“Yes, it’s almost like being at Graceland,” Cammie muttered. She lifted a white-rose bouquet off a table and handed it to the bride. “Here we go.”
The older woman sniffed as she hooked her arm through Cammie’s. “Today’s the most wonderful day of my life.”
They stepped into the foyer. Marc stood there, handsome in his blue suit. He extended a hand to Delilah.
“And he’s in dress blues,” she murmured, taking his hand.
Elvis started warbling “It’s Now or Never.”
“I believe that’s your cue, dear,” Delilah said to Cammie.
She began walking down the green-carpeted aisle to a small stage with white Ionic columns. An elderly woman and a young girl—Delilah’s relatives—sat on one of the benches in the audience, the two of them sniffling and smiling. Frankie, wearing a tan suit, blue shirt and a champagne-colored tie, stood to one side of the stage, rocking slightly on the balls of his feet, a habit Cammie knew meant he was anxious or happy. Today, probably both.
Elvis, his gold jacket shining under the lights, stood in the center of the stage. It wasn’t until she got closer that she realized he was actually singing. The guy was good—could probably work as a celebrity-dealer at the Cave if times got tough in the chapel business.
Elvis pointed to where Cammie should stand.
Marc escorted Delilah down the aisle, and she took her place opposite Frankie. Marc stood behind him.
After the music faded, Elvis the minister took a dramatic pause.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, looking at the video camera pointed at the stage, “we are live from Las Vegas with Delilah and Frank, who are sharing the greatest day of their lives as they become husband and wife. Please hold hands, Delilah and Frank.”
Delilah handed her bouquet to Cammie, then took Frankie’s hands in hers.
“Today we come together as Delilah and Frank make promises of holy matrimony to each other, to promise to love and respect each other as they travel together for the rest of their days.”
The Next Right Thing (Harlequin Superromance) Page 29
