Page 89 of The Beat Match

“Whose house is this?” she asked, dazed.

Vivian clutched her hand tightly. “A friend of Sarah’s. And no more questions.”

“But—”

“No buts.” Rosanna appeared from around a corner, as stunning as ever. “You’re officially kidnapped. There’s no worrying or questioning. There’s only smiling and enjoying.” She held up a white dress.

Annie screamed.

Rosanna winced. “You broke my eardrums.”

“How did he—”

Rosanna tutted and raised her hand. “Is she always this bad at following instructions?”

Vivian linked arms with Sarah. “We usually let her ramble and check back every few seconds to make sure she’s breathing while she’s talking.”

“You’re all traitors,” Annie said, unable to tear her eyes away from the fashion masterpiece. It was the exact dress from one of her scrapbook pages, layered lace, fitted and feminine with a tiny train. Immaculate. Romantic perfection.

Suspicion dawned, giddy delight that her favorite man had scoured her books for inspiration, pored over the pages, and had created her perfect wedding.

“He’s amazing,” she said, a fresh wave of emotion shaking her voice.

“He loves you so much.” This from Rosanna.

“His research skills would make him a killer private eye.” Sarah.

Vivian kissed Annie’s cheek. “Now shut up and let us work.”

Twined wild flowers were woven into Annie’s braided hair, like ones she’d plucked on a Central Park picnic Wes had once surprised her with. The girls changed into dresses in varying shades of green—like her eyes, Vivian mentioned on a sigh. Weston had apparently been quite specific on the tones. Bowls of salt and vinegar chips were brought in for them to munch on, alongside fancy appetizers only Wes would choose. Both their worlds colliding.

That man was more than a prince. He was frustrating and irritating and amazing and handsome and talented and smart and the most thoughtful man in the world. Having this beautiful day imagined by him was better than stressing over choices, worried she’d forget the smallest detail.

When she saw the rooftop garden, as whimsical as any floral dress she’d ever worn, more tears welled. Flowers smelling of sunshine spilled over stone pedestals and sprouted from every inch of the architecturally stunning deck. An arch of wild flowers stood at the far end, poetic in its simplicity.

Marjory had even brought Felix. She kept wiping her eyes, while muttering, “I always knew it.”

Annie’s new acquaintances were milling with Weston’s. He’d made his own friends recently, part of his mission to live a fuller life. They wore lovely suits, praised her beauty and kissed her hand. One massive man towered over the rest. Brick Kramarov. Heavyweight boxer and Weston’s spokesperson for their new Parkinson’s treatment. He hugged her kindly and leaned his head down. “I wish you two nothing but the best.”

Annie glanced behind him, looking for Brick’s plus one. “Is Isla here?”

Brick’s face shadowed. “No, she…” He swallowed heavily. “I haven’t told her about working with Weston on the Parkinson’s drug yet. The timing has to be right.”

Brick’s sadness hurt Annie’s heart. He was a pile of goo packed into the body of a warrior, and his pain was palpable. Annie hadn’t met Brick’s love interest, but he spoke of her often, even confessing that his spokesperson offer was a way to win back the love of his life. Annie hoped his plan worked.

A man stole Brick’s attention, talk of boxing taking over, and Annie’s favorite piano student, Joyce, gave her a hug and patted her cheek. Pierced and tattooed DJ friends interrupted, offering their congratulations. A motley crew for her and Weston’s kaleidoscope life.

Then there was Rosanna’s father, standing to the side, chatting with Victor S. Aldrich.

If you’d asked Annie nine months ago if Weston’s father would attend their wedding, she’d have laughed herself silly. Then she would have checked for a hidden camera. Fast friends they were not. There were no warm family dinners or engaging phone calls. His name was nowhere on her emergency contact list. But they had an understanding.

Victor had shockingly thanked her for nailing Duncan to the wall and solidifying the merger. There hadn’t been enough evidence to convict the creep, but he’d been fired, his reputation ruined. Aldrich Pharma had since thrived. She wasn’t sure where Duncan had slinked off to, but he’d be lucky to get a job flipping burgers. The last she’d spoken with Weston’s father, after his grudging gratitude, she’d thanked him for having such a wonderful son and had told him, unequivocally, he’d only meet future grandbabies if he thawed his frozen heart.

They made eye contact across the decorated rooftop. Victor nodded stiffly. She replied with a wide smile. The corners of his lips twitched briefly, as though reciprocating the gesture, or maybe he was passing gas, then he returned to his conversation.

She glanced toward the sky and silently thanked Weston’s mother for teaching her son how to love, regardless of his father’s stony nature. She thanked Leo for being a great big brother and teaching her to be strong and happy and for bringing Wes into her life.

She searched the rooftop for the man of the hour, but he was nowhere to be seen. Another handsome man approached her with a woman on his arm. Annie had never seen him before. She’d have remembered those thick eyelashes and his dashing sweep of dark hair. The woman on his arm, however, was familiar: the freckles dusting her nose, that strawberry blond hair, her hesitant yet curious gaze. Something tickled Annie’s memory, a younger version of this woman, with pigtails poking out of her head.