Small Town Harmony EBOOK

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CHAPTER ONE

Every word of Ezra Falconer’s best man speech was a masterclass in hypocrisy. But he needed to sell this nonsense, starting with “true love” and ending with “happily ever after”. The groom, his younger brother Levi, was counting on him.

So, Ezra pasted on a smile and forced himself to maintain eye contact with the guests gathered on the grounds of Falconhurst, the family estate in Surrey. “Ladies and gentlemen, today we celebrate a journey of love that began in the most unexpected way.”

Inside the marquee tent, an explosion of cream roses and baby’s breath competed with the scent of lavender that drifted in from the gardens. Every lungful of that familiar fragrance—his wife Martha’s favorite—twisted the knife deeper, underscored the sham of him standing here, saying these empty words.

“Marriage often begins like a sailing trip into calm seas.”
His rehearsed speech felt stale and lifeless on his tongue. Here he was, the supposed family expert on marriage, dispensing wisdom while his own wife was goodness knew where.

He’d told her it was a mistake to squeeze in that last concert appearance. Known that it would make it tricky for her to get back to England in time for Levi’s wedding. But Martha’s fans—or Morgan’s, as she called herself now—always got the best of her. Her husband was left to pick up whatever crumbs he could scavenge.

“In marriage, we commit to supporting each other’s dreams, cheering each other on, whether you’re home or traveling the world. It’s about love that stretches across continents and comes back stronger.” Had he actually written this drivel? He gave his phone a double take. What on earth had he been thinking?

His wife, England’s fastest-rising music sensation, was following her dreams. Her extended tour had lasted close to three years now, barring the occasional whistlestop visit home. Though he’d flown out to spend time with her whenever possible, three years of snatched weekends between her tour dates had taken their toll.

And now, they’d been apart for their longest stretch yet. Nine months. Nine months of screens and strained conversations and silences that stretched across continents. Nine months of explaining her absence to family, to friends, and to strangers, who recognized him only as Morgan’s husband.

He glanced at his brother Levi, who beamed at his beautiful new bride, Adria. Their three-year-old son wriggled happily beside Ezra’s mother at the head table. Their journey might have begun in an unorthodox way, but they looked like the perfect family now—everything his own marriage had failed to be.

“What starts as smooth sailing can turn stormy before you know it.” Wait, what? Ezra paused, catching himself. He’d gone off script. Time to reel it back in.

“The key is weathering those storms together.” He wasn’t even halfway through his prepared speech, but he needed to wind it up before any more of his bitter thoughts could leak out of his mouth.

He stuck his phone into his pocket and raised a glass of sparkling grape juice. “To Levi and Adria.”

The guests echoed his toast, and Ezra sank into his chair, exhausted from maintaining his everything’s-fine mask.

Mum squeezed his arm. “Lovely speech, dear. It’s such a shame Martha couldn’t make it. It’s been a fairytale wedding.”

“I’m sure she really wanted to be here.” His words were so practiced they’d lost all meaning. “You know what it’s like being on tour.”

The master of ceremonies announced the bride’s speech to enthusiastic applause.

Ezra forced his attention back to the present as Adria stood, microphone trembling in her hand. So, she’d held her nerve and decided to give a speech after all. Good on her for getting past her fear of speaking in public.

“Hi, everyone,” she said, a tremor in her soft voice. “Thanks so much for coming here today to celebrate with Levi and me. When I—”

A commotion at the back of the tent dragged Ezra’s gaze away from his sister-in-law.

Two men appeared, looking like brick walls wearing suits, clearing space among the guests with practiced efficiency. Ezra’s heart stuttered. He knew those movements—personal protection officers.

Then she appeared.

Martha glided through the parted crowd. She wore an exquisite lilac dress that barely reached mid-thigh, her new body lean and elegant where soft curves used to be. Nine months had transformed her from the pleasantly fluffy woman who lived in turtlenecks and floor-length skirts into this elegant lissome vision who commanded attention with every step.

Blood rushed to his face, roared in his ears.

Gasps rippled through the guests. Phones appeared like magic, lifting to capture England’s newest star.

At the microphone, the bride’s voice faltered. “Um—thank you.” She sank into her seat.

Her speech hadn’t even lasted twenty words. A smattering of applause spread across the few guests who weren’t staring at Martha.

She drew attention like a magnet in a field of iron filings, pulling every gaze irresistibly towards her. Ezra rose, his feet carrying him forward before his brain could catch up.

When he was a few steps away, her gaze swept upward and met his. Her brown eyes were still the same. So was her dewy skin, the color of burnished mahogany, and her exquisite, generous lips. But the soft, abundant curves that used to fill his arms were gone. Her new body was lean and supple, dwarfed by the hulking frames of the PPOs who sat on either side of her. What would it be like to hold her now?

As Ezra drew closer, the men jumped to their feet, their bulk forming a barrier between him and his wife. The man on the right held up a hand. “Sir, kindly don’t come any closer.”

Martha stood, glancing at the PPO. “It’s okay, Ray. This is my husband.”

Ray looked Ezra up and down, as though weighing whether to obey Martha or snap Ezra like a twig.

Martha spoke again. “Actually, guys, why don’t you take a break? Grab some food. This place is safe. I’m sure no one’s going to bother me here.”

Ezra stepped closer as the PPOs left. “You made it. I thought you weren’t coming.”

“It’s Levi’s wedding. Of course I’d do everything I could to come,” she said, her voice steady but her eyes searching his for something—he didn’t know what. She hesitated, her poise momentarily faltering. “You look well.”

“Thanks. So do you.” She looked more than well. She looked stunning. The kind of beauty that caused men to rubberneck and trip over their own feet. Especially with a dress like that which exposed her long, toned legs.

A guest approached, phone extended. “Excuse me, Morgan?”

Just like that, Martha’s expression shifted into her public persona, bright and magnetic. She stepped around Ezra to pose for photos, and the crowd around her swelled.

By the cake, the bride and groom stood forgotten by half their guests.

Ezra watched as Martha raised a hand to brush a lock of black hair off her face, the gesture drawing his eye to her bare ring finger. When had she stopped wearing it? Before or after their last fight, when she’d hung up on him?