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The crowd’s whispers grow louder as people inevitably discuss what I’ve just said.
“I did,” I reply to him. And I couldn’t have done it without Freddy, without his encouragement. “Let’s hope it was enough.”
I turn to find Alberta staring at me, something … different in her eyes. When she sees that I’ve caught her looking, she glances away and clears her throat. Bangs her gavel until the room quiets again. “Well, I suppose now that we have all of the facts, we can vote again for real this time. All those in favor of allowing use of Loveland Winery for the very secret wedding between the prince of Kentonia and his bride-to-be, say aye.”
“Aye,” Burt says.
“Aye,” Simone follows.
Alberta purses her lips and looks at the ceiling. “Aye.” Her voice rings through Rainbow Ice.
The crowd goes wild, whooping and hollering like someone just won a championship sports game.
Frederick takes me around the waist and somehow manages to spin me in the tight space before setting me on my feet and kissing me breathless. I laugh with abandon, and then I’m being tackled with hugs by Lucy, Marilee, all of my new friends.
The cheering is brokered by a new wave of gavel banging. All of our attention swings back to Alberta, who is now standing, towering over us from behind the high-top table. Her eyes swing menacingly over the crowd. “I expect all of you to keep your mouths shut about this event until after it’s over. No one will be going to the press or putting this on Facebook on my watch.”
Well, that, I did not expect. But I toss her a grateful smile all the same.
“I guess the Chloe Effect really is a thing,” Lucy says with awe. “I’ve never seen anyone win Alberta Jenkins over.”
“That’s my girl.” Frederick slings his arm around my shoulders and kisses my temple.
And I’m fairly certain that nothing can top this moment. The only thing that would be better is if I was planning my own wedding to the man at my side.
Yes, we just started dating. But when you know, you know.
Do I hate the idea of declaring to the world we are dating and getting bombarded with the inevitable bad press that will come because of Frederick’s last name? Or letting Felicia Flutterbum ruin my wedding with all of her terrible ideas? Or struggling to explain to my brother, my father, my entire country that what I feel for him is a once-in-a-lifetime kind of love?
Do I wish instead that I could marry him quietly here? To make a life away from the noise and the cameras?
Yes. Of course. To all of it. But Frederick Shaw is it for me—and I will take him any way I can get him.
I only hope he feels as strongly as I do. And that his unwillingness to tell Topher about us earlier today doesn’t mean otherwise.
twenty-two
FREDERICK
Apparently everyone in town is too afraid of Alberta Jenkins to defy a direct order, because twenty-four hours after the impromptu town council meeting, I still see absolutely no evidence online that anyone has gone to the media about Topher and Lauren’s secret wedding.
I’m not sure how it’s possible that an entire town can keep a secret like that, but when I say as much to Jordan as we clear piles of wood and old tools from the patch of land at the edge of the vineyard where the wedding will be held, he just shrugs. “We protect our own here.”
And clearly, Chloe has warmed her way into their hearts in the same way the town has into hers, because there are dozens of people here, helping. A few of the Loveland brothers—Oliver and Nathaniel, mostly, since Malcolm’s off flirting with some women—are directing traffic, giving anyone who wants to do manual labor instructions on where to help out and where to store the various odds and ends that have taken up this space over the years.
Not only do we need to clear the space, but then there’ll be the yard work needed to get it into tip-top shape for Sunday. We have today and most of tomorrow to get that done, since Topher, Lauren, and their mates arrive sometime tomorrow afternoon before we whisk them off for their bachelor and bachelorette parties.
Saturday will be spent decorating and setting up here, followed by the rehearsal.
Then, the wedding on Sunday.
Grunting, I move with a wheelbarrow filled with stray rocks toward a building that’s being used for storage. Jordan’s on my tail with a stack of boards. Once we deposit our items at the feet of the guys who will bring some semblance of organization to what’s being stored and how, I head back out with the wheelbarrow for more. My back aches from hours of labor, and there’s a slight pain at the base of my skull where a constant headache almost always sits, but my muscles also sing with the exertion. I breathe in the loamy scent of the earth, refreshed last night by a spring shower. Thankfully, the forecast for the rest of the week and weekend ahead is clear.
When I can’t take the burn in my arms and legs any longer, I head for the area where some of the ladies have set up a table filled with food and drinks. Tugging off my gloves, I stick them in the back pocket of my shorts, wash my hands and run them through my hair, over my grimy face. Then I snag a water bottle from one of the cool boxes and take a seat on a makeshift barrel chair.
“That was some fine hauling you were doing, man.” Oliver Loveland claps me on the shoulder and grabs himself a drink as well. He takes a long swig as he surveys the field, where we’ve made loads of progress. “You sure you don’t want to come work for us?”
I allow the cool water from my bottle to wet my parched throat. “Nah, mate. I’ve got a job.”
