Tara Randel - The Wedding March

Held at the Cypress Pointe Country Club, the town elite made an appearance at the flashy reception. Dressed to the nines, everyone tried outdoing each other. Cassie had let her soon-to-be stepmother talk her into a short emerald-colored dress with a sheer lace covering and high silver pumps. She’d have been happier in a casual dress and sandals instead of shoes that pinched, but Angelica would have fainted on the spot. Even Cassie’s hair bothered her. She reached up to touch the elaborate style.

“Quit fussing,” Lauren hissed, smoothing the skirt of her navy dress.

“I feel like a mannequin in the department store. No one wears their hair like this. And don’t get me started on the time spent at the salon. Three hours? On hair?”

“It’s better than your usual braid.”

“Hey. I like my braid. It keeps the hair out of my face.”

“At least the hairdresser hid that dreadful pink streak you insist on. It’s not appropriate for a beautiful event like this wedding.”

She liked the pink streak. Or any color streak that gave her pizzazz. As a popular music artist, she’d developed her own standout look, regardless of family opinion.

“Suck-up,” Cassie muttered under her breath.

“What did you say?”

“You look lovely,” she answered.

And Lauren did. Both sisters shared a light skin tone, but their hair color differed. Cassie’s, a light sandy brown, hung long and straight, while Lauren’s, a warm ash, was cut at her shoulders, much more fashionable than Cassie’s. Lauren had acquired the conservative gene, which seemed to have skipped Cassie. And while the sisters resembled each other, that was where the similarities ended. Especially with regard to this wedding.

“Thanks. I want Dad to be proud.”

That was never going to happen, but Cassie didn’t express her opinion. How many times had she tried to earn his approval, only to be shot down? She and Lauren argued time and again over the subject of their father and never made any headway. Today wasn’t going to change the impasse.

Angelica came up behind them, her arms circling their waists, catching the tail end of the conversation. “Robert is over the moon. Both of his daughters here for the happiest day of his life.”

Cassie bit the inside of her cheek. She liked Angelica, she really did, but sometimes the older woman didn’t have a clue. Maybe it was better like that.

“Now, girls, your father would like you all in a picture together. He’s waiting by the windows.”

Normally, the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the lush golf course. For the wedding festivities, however, a huge cutout fairy-tale castle obscured the idyllic view. Light emanating from the early spring evening snuck in beside the garish photo spot. Cassie sneaked a peek. Honestly, the palette of orange, purple and deep blue streaking the sky, hues only an artist could have conjured, would have been a much more appropriate backdrop for a wedding, but Angelica wanted a “fun” background for guests to take commemorative pictures. Hats, feather boas and masks were scattered on the nearby table for the guests to don in their photos, which were digitally printed out seconds later.

As Angelica stepped back, Lauren grabbed Cassie’s hand and pulled. “C’mon. We can’t keep him waiting.”

Cassie allowed herself to be tugged along. If she had her choice, she’d make an excuse not to be photographed, but Robert loved being the center of attention. Tall, his brown hair immaculately cut, his shoulders straight and steady in a custom fitted tuxedo, he was used to commanding the room. A symphony conductor, he moved audiences with his dramatic flair for interpreting musical scores, touching the hearts of listeners. Tonight, his command included the wedding guests and his daughters.

“Here we are,” Lauren said as they arrived. She hurried to loop her arm through his. Cassie hovered a few feet away.

Robert held out his other arm for Cassie. “Well?”

She shuffled to his side, begrudgingly taking his arm.

“You could look a little more excited, Cassandra,” Robert spoke from the corner of his mouth. “Even when you were a child I never could get you to smile.”

Pasting on a fake grin, Cassie returned with, “Better?”

Flashes of light blinded her as the photographer snapped pictures, but she continued to hold her smile. Before long, Angelica joined in. One big happy family.

As soon as the photographer signaled he was finished, Cassie beelined to the ladies’ room to compose herself.

Compose. Hah. Like she needed to be reminded that she should be in California writing music for her next album, not a couple thousand miles away in Florida, at a wedding she would have missed if her sister hadn’t cajoled her into coming.

“It wouldn’t matter where I am,” she said under her breath as she stood before the wide restroom mirror hanging on the wall over a bank of gleaming sinks. She was having trouble coming up with new music. To be honest, her lack of inspiration scared her. This next project would make or break her career and so far...nothing.

Keep at it, sweetheart. One day you’ll get better.

Her first pop album had been a surprise commercial success. At twenty-three, she’d made a name in the industry with her haunting melodies, her soul-stirring lyrics, her clear voice. Her writing, so pure then, had come from the depths of her soul. Critics had called her work natural and her style heartfelt. The label, thrilled by the interest in their new artist, pushed her back into the studio right away. Caught up in the whirlwind, she went along with the plan to start a second project.

But the label had wanted her to work with new producers, make her music more trendy, they told her. More dance style than ballads and songs with deep conviction, like those on her first record. This time, the music sounded nothing like she’d intended. The process was arduous. There were too many people telling her what to do and how to sound. Because she was so new at this, she went along with the voices of experience. Her manager wanted to please the label. As a result, her second album had tanked.

Could she now be a has-been at twenty-six?

The door opened, drawing Cassie from her morose thoughts. She nodded to a woman dressed in a designer gown, saturated in a cloying floral perfume. Cassie patted her hair again, at a loss as to what else to do. She couldn’t play with her braid since her hair was all curled up around her head and she’d left her clutch at the table so she didn’t have any gloss to touch up her lips with. With a sigh, she stood, staring at her image.

Was she a two-record wonder?

Would her next project be a disaster, too? She knew she should stop thinking like a failure before she even got started, but after the release and disappointment of album number two, she’d lost her mojo. The critics demanded to know what happened to the genuine songstress they’d admired so much, and to be honest, so did Cassie. She’d disliked the music of her sophomore effort. She wanted, no, needed, to get back to basics. She was tired of second-guessing her talent. Fearful of failing again. She hadn’t told a soul, but all the stress had produced a serious case of writer’s block.

She couldn’t write a thing.

And she had to be back in the studio in less than three months.

Keep at it, sweetheart. One day you’ll get better.

The woman came to the sink, eyeing Cassie.

“You’re Robert’s daughter. The musical one.”

She nearly laughed out loud. Right now, she could debate that claim. “That’s me.”

“We’re thrilled to have a man of your father’s prestige as part of our community.”

“I’m so happy for you.”

The woman sent a startled glance at Cassie, not sure what to make of her reply.