Page 95 of Full Mountie

“Yes!”

“Do you guys have any food in that suite?” he calls after me as I skip away.

“Yes!”

“Eat some of it?”

“Maybe!” But he’s right, so when I get back to the room I carefully nibble on a bagel.

It’s not that I’m drunk. It’s that…now that today is here, I’m really excited for my boss. And his beautiful bride. The love in the air is palpable. Gavin’s speech at the rehearsal last night made me weepy in the best way.

Okay, I might be a little drunk.

I spread some cream cheese on my bagel and slide my champagne flute away. Thanks, Tate, but that’s enough of that for now.

Since we flew across the country for this wedding, this is the first time Ellie’s had a chance to meet the make-up artist, and it takes some back and forth until she’s happy with her look. It’s important to her that she still look like herself, and when they finally spin her around, she totally does.

A magical fairy version of herself.

Her dress is stunning, a V-neck, wide-skirted swirl of blush chiffon, a warm, glowing paleness that’s definitely not white—because that’s Ellie, non-traditional to the core—but still completely bridal. Like the inside of a shell, and she’s the pearl in the centre.

Her hair is up in loose curls spilling out of a twist, and she has the most amazing not-quite-a-tiara worked into the do. It’s a spray of rhinestone and pearl flowers on a branch, delicate and ethereal looking.

She gleefully spins around, her fingers tucked into secret pockets she’s quite proud of.

Pockets are a big deal. I get it.

“Do you have something blue?” Her mother frets.

Ellie takes her hand and replies in quiet French. “I don’t need superstitions to bring luck to my marriage, Mama.”

“It’s the way to do things.”

She just smiles.“It’s time to go, yes?”

In a nod to tradition, Ellie’s going to travel to the wedding site with her parents. Over the last two days I’ve seen them be polite to each other, but they’re not close. Her parents are sweet, but very traditional.

I wonder how many times over the next hour the something old, something new worry is going to come up again.

Sasha and Ellie exchange a wordless look, then we head down to the lobby, Hugh escorting us before he goes back up to get Ellie. He doesn’t need to do this, but today there are exceptions being made. Chivalrous ones, really, not for security reasons.

Romance is in the air.

He waves for our car. Max is already at the wedding venue with Gavin, so we have a hired car to drive us. Violet sits in the front, and Sasha and I pile into the back.

When we arrive at the parking lot for the Sea to Sky Gondola, we’re stopped by an RCMP guard, who checks our names against a guest list before allowing us in. Most of the wedding guests are coming up to Squamish from Vancouver on a couple of hired coaches, mainly to avoid an annoying and totally unromantic choke point here as they check credentials. According to Lachlan’s carefully timed out schedule, that convoy would have departed Vancouver at quarter to nine this morning, and should already be here, with guests on their way up to the lodge at the top of the mountain.

Our driver pulls up to the front doors of the striking wood and glass structure called Base Camp. He helps Violet out first, then opens my door. Sasha is about to open her own door when a bright red sports car—something flashy and low slung, totally impractical—tears into the lot.

It didn’t actually come close to our car, but she scoots away from her door and slides across to get out the passenger side all the same.

“I didn’t realize Ellie had invited any jackasses,” she mutters, and I cover my mouth, trying to stifle a laugh as I peer past her to check out who it is—and gauge just how awkward this is about to become, because whoever it is, we’re probably riding up the gondola with them.

A silver pickup pulls in, too, and I try to run through the guest list in my head, figuring out who would be driving themselves. Gavin’s family and other guests who live somewhat locally. But even people in Vancouver would meet the buses at the Fairmont Vancouver, so they can hitch a tipsy ride back at the end of the afternoon.

The identities of both mystery drivers soon becomes clear as they get out of their respective vehicles and meet in the middle of the parking lot to shake hands.

The speed demon is none other than Tate Nilsson.

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