Page 87 of Moonlit Hideaway
They both dissolved in giggles as Maggie, owner of the local café, came over to congratulate them.
“That was just delightful,” She hugged Emma, who worked as a barista for her. “Coffee and pie on the house tomorrow, okay?”
The atmosphere hushed suddenly, with everyone turning and pointing toward the direction of the parking circle. A fleet of white stretch limousines pulled up. Sierra watched in surprise, along with the islanders, while the media crew rushed to take pictures.
Several men disembarked first, carrying golden chairs with plush burgundy upholstery.
“Are those thrones?” someone asked. “Who are they?”
“Mafia queens, I heard,” another person said. “Romanski family.”
The gossip would have bothered Sierra a year ago, but everyone knew she was married to that horrid Marco Garrison, and they still loved her. Besides, she was about to take Hank’s name.
She caught his rolling eyes across the circle of hay bales.
“Wow, your mom’s fancy,” Emma said as her mother strutted on the arm of Uncle Tony, her father’s fixer. As expected, she was dripping in silk and furs and elaborate jewelry hanging off earlobes, her turkey neck, and her bejeweled fingers.
The stooges set the golden armchairs before the hay bales on the bride’s traditional side.
“There’s my girl,” her mother’s voice rose at soprano pitch above the hubbub. “Darling, what kind of wedding gown is that?”
“Thanks, Mom,” Sierra laughed. It was still strange to have her flashy mother, Constance Rayne, blending in with the humble locals of Moonlit Harbor. But she was family, and she was glad she’d come.
“Yeah, yeah, you look real pretty,” said a gruff voice behind Constance. Uncle Tony gave Sierra a quick one-armed hug. As always, seeing her father’s old fixer stirred up complicated feelings. But today, she focused on the joy of having family here.
Her half-sisters, alone without their husbands, gave her A-frame hugs. Their husbands were grateful that Sierra had hamstrung Marco enough for them to capture the top spots in the organization, so they forgave her for being the mistress's daughter.
Just then, Hank appeared in the midst.
“Quite a performance from our girls,” he said, sliding an arm around Sierra’s waist. “Although it’s hard to tell which one is better—my daughter or my bride.”
Sierra swatted his arm playfully. “Please, you’re hardly an objective judge where family is concerned.”
“Can’t blame a man for being proud.” Hank’s grin turned impish. “’Course, if you really wanna settle the contest… it’s time for you to take my name. Then I’ll really be in the hot seat.”
As if on cue, Mayor Winston approached the microphone on stage.
“What a fantastic start to our festival!” he announced with a broad smile. “And we have one more extraordinary event to cap off the evening. It is my great honor to officiate the wedding of two beloved members of our community.”
A hush fell over the crowd as all heads turned to Sierra and Hank walking hand in hand onto the stage. Sierra allowed herself a moment to take it all in—the harvest decorations, the smiling crowd, and most of all, the man beside her, whose quiet strength had anchored her through the storms of the past months.
As Mayor Winston spoke about love and commitment, Sierra peeked over at Emma, who was dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. Her mother was already sobbing dramatically into a lace hanky while Uncle Tony looked on with gruff affection.
As the mayor made his pronouncements about the holy institution of marriage and pontificated on the responsibilities of a husband and a wife, Sierra gazed into Hank’s steady gray eyes, taking in every promise from his heart. She spoke her vows from her heart—lyrics composed on the spot, which she’d set to music for the first dance. This good, solid man had shown her the meaning of true acceptance and family. Hank’s vows were simple but deeply moving, promising to stand by her side regardless of the adventures ahead.
As they leaned in for the kiss, an indignant squeal broke through the air. Emma’s pet pig, Oliver, emerged from rooting in the dirt with her veil dangling from his mouth. She hadn’t noticed losing it, but it could have flung off while she and Emma gyrated on stage.
Emma leaped to chase her pig, but Oliver wove through the crowd like a linebacker breaking tackles.
“How dare that pig take my daughter’s heirloom veil.” Sierra’s mother’s complaint turned into a scream when Oliver barreled into her chair, breaking its leg.
Mom, silk dress, and all spilled onto the hay-covered dirt.
“Oliver, no!” Emma screamed, still unable to catch her potbellied pig, who crashed into the makeshift fence separating the petting zoo from the pavilion.
The fencing collapsed, setting free goats and sheep, as well as a donkey. The animals streamed out, attacking the hay bales and grabbing cotton candy from babies.
Finally, Sheriff Davis stepped in with her deputies. They trapped the wriggling pig, allowing Emma to catch him.
