Page 56 of Never Marry the Best Man (Whatever It Takes #4)
Ranney
In all her years with Wedding Protectors, Ranney had managed weddings at five-star hotels with grand ballrooms dripping in crystal chandeliers, at private islands where guests were ferried in by yacht, and even once at a Tuscan villa where the bride’s gown cost more than the groom’s first house.
She’d seen every kind of celebration imaginable: at private chateaux in France, on mountaintops where the guests arrived by chairlift and skied down to the reception, and once, in Bali, with a Hindu priest and henna tattoos.
Each had been different—luxurious, demanding, chaotic in its own way—but when she thought of them, one theme always surfaced, steady as a heartbeat:
Perfect for the couple.
That was the secret. Not the orchids or the champagne tower or the string quartet flown in from Vienna. The magic came from fit .
From a wedding being a mirror that reflected the people at its center.
And tonight, as she stood in her mother’s garden with a clipboard in hand and a tissue tucked discreetly into her sleeve, Ranney knew: this was perfect for her and Tom.
Mame’s garden, symmetrical and serene, glowed in the fading light.
Lanterns bobbed on wrought-iron hooks, casting golden halos on clipped hedges.
Strings of lights twined through the pergola, catching the shimmer of climbing roses.
From the kitchen, Charlene’s lobster bisque simmered, the scent of butter and sherry drifting out, layered with the sweetness of an apple galette cooling on the counter.
Guests mingled easily—Nessa radiant beside Matt, Katie laughing with her husband Patrick, Kari leaning against her husband Caleb, the two of them as inseparable as ever.
Ani, poised and elegant, smoothed her husband’s lapel while Charlie regaled a circle of listeners with a wild retelling of the ice plunge, cast and all.
And Tom—her breath caught—Tom fit here, too. Effortlessly. He moved from group to group, the cut of his jacket catching the light, his smile steady and unforced, as though he’d belonged to this circle for years rather than weeks.
This wasn’t a lavish hotel or a destination fantasy. It was better. It was her mother’s home, full of quirks and warmth and real affection.
It was perfect.
Ranney lowered her clipboard, letting herself take in the sight of it all, setting it on a table as she walked around.
Mame was in her glory, stationed at the center of the terrace with a martini in one hand, dispensing quips and charm as naturally as breathing.
She had declared this would be her “finest hour as a hostess,” and with Charlene at her side, it was hard to argue.
Charlene floated in and out of the kitchen like a general directing troops, trays of hors d'oeuvre and champagne flutes moving through her orbit like obedient satellites.
She was in charge of a small catering staff, all of the family favorites served for the reception dinner, and it was exactly what Mame wanted.
And Ranney needed.
Nessa caught Ranney’s eye across the garden and lifted her glass in a toast of solidarity, Matt smiling warmly at her side.
Ranney’s daughter looked luminous, the pride in her gaze impossible to miss.
Matt leaned down to murmur something in Nessa’s ear, and the two laughed together, their affection as easy as their breathing.
As Ranney made her way through the small crowd of friends and family, she loved seeing all her worlds blend in harmony.
Kari stood with Caleb just beyond them, his arm slung around her shoulders as the two bantered with Ashanti, who was extolling the virtues of Charlene’s kitchen as though it were the second coming.
“The woman performs magic with saffron,” Ranney overheard as she passed by.
Archie stood off to the side, arms crossed, surveying the perimeter with the expression of a man who fully expected another drone to buzz the cocktail hour.
Beside him, his wife Maureen—patient, amused, long-practiced in Archie’s particular brand of vigilance—rested her hand on his arm and murmured something that made him grunt, his frown softening by a degree.
Nilly was perched at their elbow, tapping furiously on her phone between sips of her cocktail.
Charlie’s booming laugh carried across the terrace.
He had moved on from the ice plunge and was now in the middle of a wild retelling of the Idaho drone shooting, waving his good arm around like a battle flag while Ani, poised and elegant, tried to keep him tethered.
Her hand smoothed his lapel for the third time, her smile indulgent, though her eyes sparkled with affection.
Near the fountain, Tom’s mother sat comfortably on a wrought-iron chair, chatting with Mame as though the two had known each other forever.
Ranney stole a glance at them, nerves tightening her chest, but Antonia laughed at something Mame said and reached to squeeze her hand, and the knot in Ranney’s chest loosened just a little.
Carly chatted animatedly with Evan, while Ilene and their twin seventeen year olds, Alex and Abby, listened intently to some story their mother told them.
Nessa walked over and hugged them both, her presence drawing their older brother Liam over, who talked about his experience at Swarthmore with a self-deprecating humor and dry wit Ranney knew he got from Evan.
Mame had all her grandkids in place. Both of her children. Everyone she loved under her roof.
Perfect.
And there, just past the pergola, stood Claire, leaning slightly toward Chap as he bent down to listen.
His hair curled at his collar, and though his expression was as steady as ever, his eyes were unmistakably fixed on her.
Claire, for once, looked less like the director of PR and more like a woman unprepared for her own happiness, her cheeks flushed, her smile unguarded.
Tom belonged here. He moved easily from group to group, charming Katie’s Patrick one moment, trading stories with Matt the next, clapping Archie on the back as if they were old comrades.
His jacket caught the lantern light, his smile steady, his green eyes alive.
He turned at one point and found her across the garden, and for a heartbeat it felt as though the noise fell away, as though the only two people in the entire garden were the two of them.
They'd moved in together, each giving up their separate homes, finding a new townhome together in Charlestown, one that was - of course - remodeled by the finest architect in Boston. To her surprise, Ranney had found that all her worries about compatibility had been unfounded.
Tom liked unscented products as well. Alphabetized spices made sense to them both. Their coffee tastes - medium and smooth roasts - gelled well, though Tom liked tea more than she did. Music? Compatible. Toilet paper over or under?
Neither cared.
They were meant for each other. Good thing they were already married.
This wasn’t the kind of wedding she’d built careers on—extravagant, flashy, the kind that made headlines.
This was better. It was home . Her mother in her element, Charlene’s food filling the air with warmth, her daughter glowing, her colleagues circling her not just as coworkers but as family.
Tom’s mother folded into it all as if she had always belonged.
And somehow, impossibly, Ranney thought, so had she.
Charlene swept past with a tray of shrimp puffs, aroma trailing behind her. Ashanti intercepted one and moaned appreciatively after the first bite. “Forget the James Beard—Charlene deserves sainthood.”
Charlene only sniffed and kept moving, but Ranney caught the small smile tugging at her mouth.
“Still not secure enough,” Archie muttered, scanning the hedges. “Perimeter lighting’s insufficient. If I’d been here from the start?—”
“Archie,” Maureen cut in smoothly, patting his arm. “The only intruder tonight is going to be the neighbor’s cat. Have some champagne.”
“Cat could be a diversion,” he grumbled, but he took the flute anyway. "Could trip someone. Shattered ankles are nasty injuries."
Nilly looked up from her phone, deadpan. “Breaking: suspicious tuxedo feline infiltrates Newton soirée. Film at eleven.”
Across the terrace, Charlie was mid-monologue, off on yet another topic, waving his arm like a sword. “The jet lost ten thousand feet, I swear. Dropped me like a stone.”
Ani held his hand with her usual patience. “Ten thousand feet,” she repeated. “Someone should have recorded it for science.”
“Or TikTok,” Nico called, raising his glass, which set Tonio snorting into his champagne.
Katie shook her head, amused, while Patrick leaned toward Ranney. “Is it always like this with them?”
“Only when they’re sober,” Ranney said dryly, which sent Kari into a fit of laughter. Caleb grinned, pulling her closer.
Near the pergola, Claire tilted her head toward Chap, her voice pitched low but audible as Ranney passed. “I still can’t believe you shot a drone out of the sky.”
Chap shrugged, utterly unruffled. “Had to go.”
Claire’s eyes widened. “You make it sound like swatting a fly.”
“Bigger wingspan,” he said, then sipped his drink as if nothing more needed to be explained.
Ranney hid a smile, warmth rising in her chest despite herself. This jumble of people, these conversations colliding and overlapping—this was the opposite of the flawless orchestration she’d spent a career perfecting.
And yet somehow, it was better.
Tom slipped in beside her, close enough that his arm brushed hers. His gaze flicked across the terrace, landing on the sight of his mother and Mame in animated conversation, the two of them leaning in toward each other, laughing as though they’d been friends for decades instead of hours.
“Well,” he murmured, voice edged with amusement, “either that’s the start of world peace… or the beginning of the end. My mother never laughs like that unless she’s plotting something.”