Page 1 of Chasing Clouds

EVERY LITTLE GIRL dreams of her wedding, that one magical day with endless arrangements of sweet-smelling flowers, family and friends, and a big white dress with a skirt so gauzy and beautiful it’s meant to be twirled in, as if she were a princess. Music will play, birds will sing, and at the end of the aisle will wait a tall, dark, and handsome man who is so in love with her he’ll have tears shining in his eyes.

That’s the dream, right?

After all these years, my dream has become my reality, and today is the day.

Today is my wedding day.

A cool breeze drifts across the bare skin of my shoulders, I shiver, and goose bumps race down my arms. My eyes flick to the left, where one of the side entrance doors to the church was left open, letting in the southern February winds. The sunlight from beyond the door looks luminous and inviting, unlike in here, which is cloaked in darkness and shadows. The foyer is empty and still, with only the sounds of the organ playing from behind the two white wooden doors that will soon open and forever cement my fate.

I spent most of the morning quietly by myself, which is how I wanted it. No one understands—how can they? This is supposed to be the happiest day of my life, but what they don’t realize is . . . it’s not.

I take a deep breath and let my eyes fall shut. The smell of pine wood fills my senses, reminding me just how old the church is and what my getting married here means to my family. Built in the mid-1700s, it’s one of the oldest churches in Savannah, and for more generations than I care to remember, my family has celebrated births, marriages, and the passing of life here within these walls. Just like all the other expectations bestowed upon me, there was never a question about where I would be married, just to whom.

Well, maybe not even that. Patrick has been their choice for years, and they slowly groomed him to understand what it means to be part of the Whitley family in Georgia as they pushed him my and Clare’s way.

Swaying my hips back and forth with the distant weight of hundreds of ancestors’ eyes, I focus on the rustling of my skirt as it swishes around me, the boards groaning under my feet.

“You don’t have to do this.”

Startled by her voice suddenly breaking the silence, my head shoots up and my eyes lock onto Clare’s. The concern and worry etched in her expression and the tension in her posture pull on my heartstrings. Even with as close as we are, she’s another person who doesn’t understand. I do have to do this.

“Yes, I do.”

“No, Camille.” She shakes her head frantically and takes a step toward me as my eyes sweep down over her and the pale blue strapless bridesmaid dress she wears. She’s so beautiful, just like I knew she would be, and I feel the sting of the tears welling in my eyes. “I don’t want this for you. This is not the life you were meant to have.”

Letting out a deep breath, I reach for her hand and squeeze. A warm buzz tingles my fingers, and it’s so familiar and comforting I find the strength I need to continue—to not walk away. She has to see that I’m doing this for her . . . for us, two halves of a whole that split apart and became the mirror image of the other.

“You’re the one who always says our destiny is written in the stars.” I smile at her. “This is my destiny.”

“And you always respond that the stars don’t move, we do. Therefore, you could just walk away. I’m begging you to please walk away. You’ll never be happy with him.”

“It’s not about being happy, you know that. It’s about being loyal to our family and doing our duty. We all play a role, we always have, and it’s time I step into mine.”

Her frown deepens, and her shoulders sag forward. She’s making me feel as if I’m letting her down, when the truth is I owe her this.

“Camille, this moral responsibility to our family is not you. It never has been, and there’s a difference between loyalty and being coerced. Please, I’m begging you, don’t marry him.”

Before I can respond, the organ stops, and Clare’s hand tightens around mine. The panic that fills her flows into me, and my heart starts racing as I think about her words. She thinks I’m being coerced? That’s the same as being bullied or threatened—is that how other people see it, too? With our eyes locked onto each other, she parts her lips as if to say something . . . but then the doors sweep open and she drops my hand.

No!

My fingers instantly cool and my ears burn to hear her unspoken words. What was she going to say? I need to know!

Her chin trembles, but she pastes on a smile as she slowly turns and walks down the aisle.

“Please—wait,” I whisper.

She hears the pleading in my voice and glances back but doesn’t say anything else. The muscles in her face suddenly relax, her concerned eyes seem to warm, and for the first time ever I’m unable to decipher her thoughts. Her expression has done a complete one-eighty, and she looks almost happy, content. Given the conversation we just had, I don’t understand. I’m confused.

What just happened?

Does she know something I don’t?

With a wink and a small smile, she turns around and walks forward. I follow, stepping into a scene that’s my childhood dream brought to life.

The foyer is no longer drafty and dark. Golden light is pouring in through the stained glass windows that line the perimeter of the church, illuminating it and making it almost magical. The air is delicious with scents of honeysuckle, orange blossoms, and roses, and the classical melody of Mendelssohn slowly makes its way past the thrumming of my heart. The string quartet, the flowers, the candles . . . all of it is just so beautiful.

“Camille, it’s time.”