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ChapterOne
“Can I get a more serene look?”the wedding photographer asked.
“Sure. Let me just grab a piping bag and fill some pâte à choux.” Grace Giordano laughed. The billowing of whipped cream inside the flaky crust, the scent of sugar and butter, the swirl of tempered chocolate…yeah, that would get her serene real quick. “Sorry, but I’m literally walking down the aisle in twenty minutes. I don’t think I can fake it.” She held out her hand. “Look, I’m shaking.” But she’d try. She closed her eyes.Serene, huh?She tried to think of her honeymoon, but the only images that came to mind were the glorious pastries she hoped to find as she wandered the streets of Paris.
“Ooh, that’s good. Hold on to that expression right there.” The woman fired off some shots. “You must be thinking about Ian because you’ve got this dreamy look.”
Well, not exactly.
Grace tried to hide her smile. Is it bad that I’m dreaming of whipped cream and not my fiancé?
“Okay, hang on.” The photographer lowered her arm. “Let me change my lens, and we’ll get a few more.”
Turning to face the mirror, Grace barely recognized the woman staring back at her. The fancy updo, the elaborate make up, and her great-grandmother’s high-necked, long-sleeved wedding gown (that I’m wearing in summer!) made her look like a bride in one of the antique photos hanging in her parents’ living room.
Most days, she wore leggings and Renzo T-shirts, and her only make-up came in the form of flour dusting her cheeks.
What does serene even mean?A woman at peace with herself, who was exactly where she wanted to be, living the life she’d always wanted.Hm. She was marrying the boy from down the street, she worked in the family bakery she adored, and she’d lived in the same neighborhood all her life except for college.
What could be better than that?
She stuck a finger under the collar of the dress. “I must have the neck of a linebacker because this thing is way too tight.”
The photographer looked up from her camera bag. “You have a lovely neck. Now, come on. Give me a smile that says you know all the delicious things Ian will do to you tonight.”
“You do know Ian and I have been together for fifteen years, right?” She regretted the words the moment they came out. “Oh, that sounded bad. I love him. I do. I only meant we’ve been together so long—”
The woman held up a hand. “Been married thirty-three years. I get it.”
“Oh, wait. I know exactly how to get the expression you’re looking for.” She grabbed her phone off the dresser and sorted through her playlists. When she found the right Lorelei Calloway song, she hit play.
No matter how many times she heard it, this song had the power to change her emotions. From the very first note, the haunting melody stirred her, and the romantic lyrics made her swoon.
The photographer lowered her camera. “Oh, I love this one.”
“I know, right?” Holding her bouquet, Grace turned back to the mirror and let the poignant melody carry her away.
And then, she started singing along.
“Are you kidding me?” The photographer gawked. “You soundjustlike her.”
Yep. And Grace had capitalized on it. “Believe it or not, I used to sing in a tribute band.”
“Actually, you know what? You look like her, too.”
“Biggest compliment ever.”
“Oh, gosh. Look at the time. I have to do the mother-of-the-bride shots. You want to text your mom, get her back here?”
“Sure.” She’d left to pay the chamber trio a while ago. Something must’ve distracted her. “Let me grab her.” Setting the bouquet down, Grace headed for the door.
“Hurry. Showtime’s in fifteen minutes.”
Still humming the song, she headed down the hallway, the layers of her satin and lace dress swishing with every step. She followed the voices and found her mom and the cellist at the top of the stairs.
“That’s not possible,” her mom said. “I have more than enough in my account.”
Owning a bakery meant her parents worked twelve hours a day six days a week. The fact that it was a family business, employing all the aunts, uncles, and cousins, meant money was tight at the best of times.
