The Wedding Report

by Daria White

  “Andrea? Are you there?” He asked.

  “Hey, Babe. We finished shooting for today, so we’re out celebrating.” She answered.

  “Can you talk? I can barely hear you.”

  He heard rustling along with an “excuse me” before the noise died down. “How about now?”

  “That’s better. How did it go?”

  “Amazing!” She shrieked.

  Lance chuckled at her excitement. “That’s great.” Passion for her work. His chest swelled with pride. “When do you think you’ll be wrapping it up?”

  “Well… I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that. There’s talk of another shoot in…”

  “Where?”

  “Rome, Italy or Paris, France. They’re still working out the details.”

  He shut his eyes and exhaled. “I thought we agreed no more modeling gigs before the wedding.”

  “I know, but I talked with the director and his schedule is so hectic—”

  “You realize our wedding is in a month? I’ve only been able to reserve the venue because you said that was the best day for you. I can’t plan this wedding alone.”

  She sighed. “Does it matter who plans it as long as we’re together?”

  “I thought you’d want some input, at least.”

  “I do, but this gig is huge. Come on, Lance. You know this is important to me.”

  Andrea had told him before how she wanted to break from her mother’s shadow. Within the first month of them dating, Andrea had told Lance that she didn’t want to be known just as Shannon Hall’s daughter. Lance had seen a few of her mother’s movies. His future-mother-in-law had talent, but his wife-to-be wanted to make a name for herself. Now that she’d found her niche, she couldn’t let it go.

  “I get it.”

  “Do you?”

  He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I support your career, but it’s not just you anymore.”

  “I know that.”

  Silence muffled with faint music.

  “Andrea?”

  “Sorry, what were you saying?”

  He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ll call you tomorrow after the reporter shows.”

  “That would be great.”

  “Cool.” He hung up since she wasn’t paying attention to him.

  Chapter 6

  Manicured hedges framed the entrance as Chantelle drove along the long circular driveway. Cutting the engine, she stepped out of her rented Chevrolet Malibu. She took in the outwork stonework patio. She lifted her chin, shielding her eyes from the sun despite her sunglasses, to see the expansive balcony. Then her eyes diverted to the flower garden and fountain. Approaching the wide steps, she came to Lance’s front door.

  Moment of truth. She had enough pep talks in the car, on top of Mary Mary’s song “Go Get It.” It pumped her blood, but did nothing for her prickling skin. Rolling her shoulders back, she fluffed her hair. How would it look if she dashed back to her car now? Did Lance’s home have cameras?

  When she lifted her chin and spotted one, she rolled her eyes. He did. The man was rich. He came from money and his career was skyrocketing. Chantelle shut her eyes. What did she look like standing outside his home, bouncing on her toes? She had to get a grip.

  She knocked, wetting her lips. Step one complete. This was just another interview. Blowing out her cheeks, she forced a smile when a middle-aged woman opened the door.

  “May I help you, dear?” she asked.

  “Yes, my name is Chantelle Woods. I’m from The Wedding Report and I’m here to interview Lance Taylor.” She extended her hand.

  The woman bobbed her head and returned the handshake. “I’m Dottie. Mr. Taylor has been expecting you. Come inside.”

  Chantelle adjusted her crossbody purse, and Dottie led her into the foyer. The entryway was open with high ceilings along with the expensive marble floors under her heeled feet. Leather along with furniture polish flooded her nostrils, while designer pieces and paintings decorated the space.

  “Give me a second.” Lance descended the curved stairway. He stopped fiddling with the cuff of his buttoned down dress shirt once he locked eyes with her. “Chantelle? What are you doing here?”

  She inched closer, hearing the click of her heels on the floor. “I’m the reporter.”

  His lips parted, but he didn’t respond yet. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he inched closer to face her. “I don’t remember them mentioning your name.”

  She didn’t answer.

  Lance squinted his eyes. “Why?”

  “I’m here for the story.”

  “They couldn’t send someone else? Why you?”

  His words stung. Sucking her cheeks in, Chantelle fixed her stare on him. “Because I’m an employee at The Wedding Report who has proven her writing. I have my master’s in journalism—”

  He held up his hand. “This won’t work, Chantelle, and you know it.” He stalked off, but she followed him through the living room to the kitchen.

  A shiny black-handled kettle rested on the stainless steel stove. A rack of metal pots dangled overhead, and Lance reached for what looked like his coffee mug on the island. Chantelle tapped one foot on the tiled floor.

  She’d worked too hard and risked too much for her current position. Could she profile him and his fiancé with no hard feelings? “Lance? I can get past the fact that we—”

  “I’m marrying another woman in a month, Chantelle. I don’t want my ex following me around. Would you want me following you? It’s asking for trouble.”

  His ex? That’s all she was? All the time they’d spent together. The long conversations they had on the phone. He’d told her he was in love with her. At eighteen, she’d thought they’d be high school sweethearts. Chantelle wrung her hands together. This wasn’t the time for reminiscing.

  With a grim face like a carved mask, Lance didn’t take his eyes off her. He was different. This was not the boy she knew in high school. He had changed. Better to know now than later. Perhaps it was a good idea to leave Delta Heights.

  Chantelle squared her shoulders. No surrender. She had a job to do. “I understand, but we’re adults. My boss assigned this story to me because of my history with this town. Delta Heights’ own celebrity is getting married. They want to know the details. I’m here to do that.”

  “So you can keep this professional?”

  She cocked her head to the side. “I am.”

  He sipped his coffee before answering. “I’ll think about it.”

  That wasn’t what she was expecting to hear. “What?”

  “You heard me. Now I have another important business meeting so I’ll be in touch. You haven’t changed your number, have you?” His voice had a hint of sarcasm.

  “No, have you?”

  “No.”

  She swallowed the snarky comments threatening to escape her lips. “I understand your concern, but I’m on a deadline.”

  He bowed as a gentleman would before a queen. “I wouldn’t dream of making you wait.”

  She ignored the sarcasm in his voice. “Can you give me a time frame?”

  “I’ll let you know,” he said.

  Chantelle narrowed her eyes. “Fine. I’ll see you around.” With that, she walked to the door. Stalking to her car, she plucked at her suit jacket. Who did he think he was? Just because he came from a wealthy family didn’t give him the right to… she sighed.

  Perhaps someone else should profile the wedding. Was there too much bad blood between them? He’d won her heart at eighteen but had also broken it. Sliding into the driver’s seat, she pulled out of Lance’s driveway. She didn’t plan on visiting the cemetery this soon, but today Chantelle made an exception.

  ***

  Lance didn’t believe her. Not one bit. He couldn’t work with her. She was as beautiful as he remembered. Plus, all he saw was her tear-stained face he’d left her with all those years ago. Forever imprinted in his memory.

  Shaking his head, he filled his thermos with coffee.
He couldn’t be late since he missed last week. Lance asked his mother to come with him, but she refused as always.

  Losing a child wasn’t easy, so he never questioned his mother’s reasons for not visiting his little sister’s grave. Where was his father? The man never slowed down, always looking for the next deal, and expected Lance to do the same.

  He grabbed his jacket and briefcase and proceeded to his 2018 Cadillac CTS. He’d stop on the way to purchase flowers for his sister. Though she was only fourteen, she loved yellow roses. Driving down the Main Street in downtown Delta Heights, he bypassed the parked cars. Light posts with hooks held flowerpots, while sapling trees spaced along the sidewalk.

  Parking in front of the flower shop, he spotted the planters filled with colorful flowers and trailing ivy. Lance straightened his tie. If only he could live in the heart of town. Though many in his graduating class wanted to bolt after graduation, he loved the community. He inhaled fresh flowers and greenery once he stepped inside, and he heard the suction of the display case door.

  “Good morning, Lance?” Hilda greeted him with a warm smile on her face.

  “I need half a dozen yellow roses, please.” He pulled his wallet out from his back pocket.

  “I know what this is for.”

  Lance paid for the flowers and then stuffed extra cash in the mason jar on the counter. Hilda lost her youngest son, who was in the military. She took donations from customers to help the families of wounded soldiers and those who had lost loved ones while fighting for America.

  “Thank you, as always.” He grabbed the small bouquet.

  Hilda winked at him before he left the shop. Lance played the jazz station on his radio once back inside his car. Chantelle was the reporter? He knew she wrote for a magazine, but Grant didn’t give him the name. He should have dug deeper. Why didn’t he?

  He gripped the steering wheel, but then he loosened his hold. Why did her presence bring a chill to his skin? His chest heaved. Turning into the parking area of the graveyard, he entered through the iron gates. He followed the paved driveway and parked his car.

  Lance cut the engine, grasped the bouquet, and stepped outside. The path clicked underneath his shoes as he made his way to the gravesite. His baby sister. Amelia looked up to him. He smiled to himself, recalling their relationship.

  “Why did you tell him that?” Amelia had asked.

  “He’s not good enough for you,” Lance had said. Deshawn Campbell. Captain of the football team and bad news for his baby sister. He didn’t threaten the guy, but he said enough for the boy to stay clear.

  Amelia had rolled her eyes as he drove them home from school. “I’m not a little girl anymore. I can take care of myself.”

  He nodded. “Sure you can.”

  She had shoved at his shoulder. “I mean it Lance. I liked him.”

  “He’s no good. Trust me.”

  “Why?” She had rolled her eyes.

  How did he explain guys to his sister? “I saw him with another girl. Guys like that don’t deserve girls like you. You deserve better.”

  He parked the car in their driveway. Amelia didn’t move. Instead, she took off her seatbelt and reached for him. She hugged his neck tight.

  Then she kissed his cheek. “You’re the best brother in the entire world.”

  “Don’t let that get around, okay?”

  “Why not?” She hugged him again. “You’re always taking care of me.”

  Lance blinked, staring at his sister’s headstone. Protect her. He had failed that big time. Yet, no one was to blame for her accident.

  Chapter 7

  “I miss you, Daddy.” Chantelle sat on the stone bench in front of her father’s grave. She stared at his carved gravestone: Loving husband and father. Gone too soon.

  She further heard the maintenance crew pruning and sweeping, while the wind rustled through the trees. Birds and small animals chirped and squeaked as the gates creaked when opening and closing for outgoing and incoming visitors.

  “Mom’s doing okay.” Chantelle continued. “She’s happy. I’m still getting used to her having remarried. I need more time to adjust. Though I’m surprised Grant is okay since he… was in the room with you when you passed.” She choked back a sob. “I wish I had been there too.”

  She blew out her cheeks. “Anyway, I wanted to stop by before work gets crazy. I love you.”

  It was better to remember the happy times. Her father was the best man she knew. He’d nursed her broken heart after things crashed and burned with Lance. Chantelle remembered lying in her hospital bed. Lance had left to talk with his parents. They hooked her up to various equipment: an IV, a heart monitor, and a finger clip.

  “How are you feeling?” Her dad had asked.

  A twinge of pain took over her chest. “I’m okay, but...”

  “But what?” Her father raised a thick eyebrow. He repeated his question. “But what?”

  “I know I disappointed you.” She rubbed at her stomach with her free hand, feeling the pain in her chest increase.

  He stroked her cheek with his free hand. “Do you think this changes how I see you?”

  She bobbed her head.

  “It doesn’t Chantelle. I don’t care what you do, you’re still my daughter.”

  “I’m so sorry.” A tear spilled down her face.

  Her father leaned in and kissed her forehead. “I wish I could take this pain away.”

  Chantelle’s body trembled as she cried. How did her life take a turn for the worse?

  “You’ll be okay,” her father had said.

  “I don’t think so.”

  He stared into her eyes. “You’re strong.”

  She was only eighteen. Life wasn’t supposed to be this way. She had her entire life in front of her, but if this was a sign of her future, she didn’t care anymore.

  “You hear me, Chantelle?” Her father’s eyes had widened as if to bring emphasis.

  She nodded and wiped her face. Then Lance had returned to her room. His smile was sad. Her father had left them alone to talk.

  Standing to her feet, Chantelle grabbed her purse beside her. Those days were long gone. The pain had subsided. The cuts weren’t as fresh, but the scars remained.

  Chantelle ran her fingers through her hair. A month would go by in no time. She would do her job. Would Lance agree? If he was over her, why the awkwardness?

  She sighed. It was best to head back to her mother’s house. She could use some more rest from her trip. Then she spotted Lance a few feet away from her.

  Chantelle blinked, realizing who he was visiting. She drew back from her father’s gravestone. Turning her back, she headed for her car, but paused. She couldn’t leave without paying her respects.

  ***

  Lance switched the dead flowers for the fresh roses in front of his sister’s grave. He released a shallow sigh. Fourteen was too young to die. Why his sister? She had practiced her laps over a hundred times. Why did the day she won the competition have to be her last?

  He ran his hand over the polished smooth headstone, feeling the tickle of cut grass underneath his knees. “I’m sorry I missed your birthday yesterday.” He loosened his tie. “Just thought I’d stop by and bring your favorite flowers.”

  “Are you okay?” a familiar voice asked.

  Ripping his eyes away from his sister’s gravestone, he caught Chantelle standing behind him.

  “I didn’t mean to bother you, but I stopped by to visit my dad. I saw you here and…” She stopped. “I’ll leave you alone. I should’ve left.”

  “No,” he said. “It’s fine. Thank you.”

  She bobbed her head, and he gestured for her to come closer. The wind picked up, blowing her loose curls in the wind. She brushed them back as best she could.

  Lance asked. “How are you? You know… visiting your dad.”

  She looked upward and even he detected the change in the weather noticing a grayish cast to the light.

  “I’m okay. Every day gets
easier.” She rubbed her forearms. “If you’re that uncomfortable with me doing this story, I’ll ask my boss to—”

  “No, Chantelle don’t do that.”

  She cocked her head to the side. “You want me to stay?”

  He stood to his feet, dusting off his clothes. “It would have been nice if I knew it was you.”

  “Your fiancé didn’t tell you?”

  “She’s busy with her photo shoot. Her agent was supposed to get back with me, but Andrea is good at staying busy.”

  “You must miss her?”

  Lance cleared his throat. His lips parted to ask how she’d been, but a rain droplet hit his forehead. “Not good.”

  Chantelle used her purse to cover her head as she dashed ahead of him. Lance followed behind her. He heard the gentle patter as droplets hit foliage. His clothes stuck to his skin as rain slid down his collared shirt. He spotted a puddle ahead. How did Chantelle run in heels? He would never know.

  “Oh, no!” She skidded along the concrete of the parking lot.

  Lance reached out and grabbed her from behind by her waist. There was no point in rushing to his car. The rain soaked them.

  “Are you alright?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she breathed.

  “Where’s your car?”

  She pointed to the Malibu parked a few spots away from his car. “I can get there by myself.”

  Lance released his grip at her waist, and for a moment, he recalled how it felt to hold her. He swallowed the lump in his throat and proceeded to his car, making sure she got inside hers. When he reached his, Lance turned on the heater and reached for towels in his backseat. He needed to change clothes.

  He rubbed his chilled hands for a second. When his cell rang, he answered for her.

  “So…” Chantelle said. “Does this mean we’re rescheduling our appointment? I have to fix my hair.”

  He chuckled.

  “I’m serious. This is not professional.”

  “Are you on your way home?”