Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 85608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Luckily, there was Blake Holliday filling up all the space and doling out shots. The day should have been merrier than it was. I was glad that Whitley had a task and couldn’t tell the false at all the edges.
Finally, pictures were taken, I walked little old ladies down the aisle to their seats, and there was nothing left to do but for the ceremony to begin.
Whitley met me at the back of the church. When I’d left her, she’d looked nervous, and now, she seemed more than ready.
“Know all the words?” I teased.
She wrinkled her nose at me. “I will get you back for this.”
“Hey, you agreed.”
“Like I had a choice.”
I laughed. “Is it going to be that bad to perform again?”
She paused, as if actually contemplating the answer to that question. Then, she turned her face away from me and shrugged. She released a soft, “No.”
My finger caressed her cheek, and I drew her face back to me. Her eyes were wide with something like desire and concern, all trapped together and rattling around inside her.
“You’re going to be magnificent.”
She smiled. “I know.”
It was my turn to laugh. I released her and then offered her my arm. “Walk with me?”
She slid her hand into the crook of my elbow by way of answer, and we walked down the center of the long stretch of outdoor seating toward the large circular arch on display. People from New York and a full half of Midland were in attendance to watch the momentous occasion. This would seal the Lockes and the Kings together in a way that nothing else could. An old-fashioned sort of bond.
Whitley and I had reserved seats near the front by my parents. I took the inside seat so that she could get up when it was her turn to sing. My mom squeezed my hand excitedly. My dad gave me a reassuring smile. Locke stood at the front of the room in a suit with a similar pink tie with his troop of groomsmen behind him. The band struck up a tune. Everyone turned around in their seats. It was finally time.
The bridesmaids came forward first in their blush gowns that almost grazed the grass at their feet. One by one until Cora was the last. A smile was plastered on her face. Only I could tell that it was false. Cora never smiled like that.
Then, Canon D was played, we all rose to our feet, and Margaret appeared at the end of the meadow in a dress as pure as snow in a full princess motif, complete with a tiara and my aunt’s glittering diamond necklace on her throat. Uncle Richard was at her side, keeping his head held high as he walked his oldest daughter down the aisle.
Words were exchanged at the altar before all assembled. Then, the pastor announced a special performance. Whitley rose to her feet on wobbly legs. They strengthened as she strode toward the band and stood before the microphone.
Her hazel eyes were wide as she surveyed the enormous crowd. For a second, I thought my brave, valiant girl would faint from the pressure. But as soon as the first note came from the band, she entered a trance.
Her body was taut as a bow, and it began to melt as she surrendered to the music. Her eyes fell closed, and her body swayed ever so slightly. As if her very being had been captivated before she even released.
And release she did.
The tune was low and almost haunting. A séance in the middle of a wedding. A call to worship. Her voice was so deliriously good that it felt like swallowing honey.
As the song picked up and the chorus took over, Whitley opened her eyes and met her audience. Her voice rose with her. I was entranced by that voice, unable to look away, and I wasn’t the only one. I could feel the rest of the wedding guests paralyzed by her. My mom’s grip on my hand tightened, and I heard a sniffle. Tears tracked down her face, and Aunt Susannah blew into a tissue in the seat in front of us. Margaret had tears in her eyes at the front of the aisle.
She sounded nothing like my grandmother. And somehow, it was as if she had been reincarnated into Whitley’s voice. Her soul singing through her voice. There was presence in each syllable. A force that I could no more walk away from than the gorgeous woman singing.
I’d thought that I felt something for her before.
I knew I did now.
At the end of the song, the word suspended in silence.
Then, a roar of approval came as everyone applauded her rendition. Margaret rushed forward and hugged Whitley. Whitley looked baffled by the reaction, hurrying back to the seat next to me and sitting down.