Page 8
Seven years later…
“And here is the room that we set up for the bridal suite, where the whole bridal party will get ready. Of course, you’re welcome to change the layout of anything, this is just what the mister and I thought made the most sense for the property,” Mrs. Mayberry says with a smile.
I step into the expansive gathering space and immediately lose my breath.
The dark mahogany floors gleam beneath the soft light that’s spilling through floor-to-ceiling windows.
A newly installed chandelier is the focal point in the center of the room, its elegant crystals catching the light and sending colorful beams across the expanse and there are two, massive fans that match it flanking it on either side.
The room is grounded by a lush forest-green rug, the kind that looks as if it belongs in a luxury hotel.
Around the edges sit velvet couches in jewel tones, their upholstery so pristine that I wouldn’t be surprised to know if no one has sat on them yet.
In the corner there’s a massive, gilded mirror that’s leaning against the wall drawing my attention.
I walk towards it, admiring the artwork that adorns the walls and marveling in just how much work the Mayberry’s put into creating a true experience when they built this cottage.
It’s classy, country, upscale style. Like something from a Country Living Magazine, spread, and I’m obsessed .
“It’s literally everything I’ve ever dreamed up,” The words slip from my mouth like a prayer, reverent and full of hope as I imagine the possibilities.
My hands rub together instinctively, already picturing it.
The laughter. The shared love. The photos.
The champagne flutes clinking against a backdrop this magical.
I drift toward the large bay windows, pulled by an invisible thread, and smile as my gaze falls on the view outside.
The Blue Ridge Mountains rise like ancient sentinels in the distance, standing tall and steady in the same way that they do behind my family’s property located only a few miles away.
Spring has painted the mountains in patches of emerald, lavender, and blush, all blending seamlessly as they stretch toward the clouds in a soft, endless embrace.
They’re close enough to feel tangible, like I could slip off my shoes and run to them knowing that they’d catch me.
Mrs. Mayberry’s land stretches farther back than it might appear at first glance.
I know every acre of it already, having explored it when I was younger, but standing here, it’s as though I’m seeing it for the first time.
Maybe because I’m seeing it with fresh eyes.
Eyes that are showing me this could be mine soon.
Being here is like coming home, like I’m standing in a postcard of my childhood and the memories that are seared into my mind like a photograph.
This will be the backdrop to the most breathtaking wedding photos this town has ever seen.
They won’t be just pictures, but someone’s new beginning.
The start of forever for their family. Perhaps, we’ll be able to expand this so that the couples who marry here can come back to shoot their maternity photos, and then seasonal holiday photos as they grow.
The thought makes my chest swell with so much excitement and emotion that I feel myself blinking back hot tears.
“This is what I’ve been saving up for,” I whisper.
This is why I’ve lived in my childhood home until almost thirty-years old.
Because I wasn’t ready to move out and build my own place on the Marshall family farmstead like my brother’s all have.
It never felt right. And because somehow, I always knew, I was waiting for this property to become available, and it was waiting for me.
I turn to Mrs. Mayberry, but my eyes snag on a stunning armoire tucked into the corner first. It’s wide enough to hold an entire bridal party’s belongings and sturdy enough to double as a bar.
I can already see makeup palettes scattered across it, flutes of prosecco perched easily as the girls laugh and toast before the ceremony on the Marshall farm.
When I finally meet Mrs. Mayberry’s gaze, her own tears mirror mine. She smiles, soft and knowing.
“Mr. Mayberry and I always thought it might be you who’d takeover our dream and make it a reality,” she says.
“We just had a feeling someday you’d be the one to buy this place and see the potential.
You loved it so much and spent so much time here.
And, as you know, I just can’t keep up with it anymore.
” Her voice cracks, but she continues. “We’ve had so many requests for weddings over the years.
We zoned it for events, but getting the license pulled for actual ceremonies and then executing them…
it was always just out of reach the older we grew.
A dream we both had that we were never able to realize.
But perhaps it was always meant to live on through someone else. ”
I nod, my heart swelling with gratitude and pride that she believes in me to carry her vision forward. “I promise I’ll respect it. Cherish it. I’ll make sure it brings your dreams to life.”
She places a hand on my arm, squeezing gently. “I know you would, dear. But there’s one thing I need to tell you before you get too excited. Something that may prevent that from happening right now.”
I’m already lost in my own plans. The bridal suite here, the groom’s quarters in the matching cottage to the left of the property.
My family’s farmstead is just a few miles down the road, right next door, where Colt is sketching out my designs and Cash is prepping the site for a new outdoor venue that we’ll build on the acres of land we own.
This is our opportunity for the family business to expand into something beautiful and timeless.
Something that can be just mine. I can almost feel the cool, mountain air blowing in through open windows during autumn as I imagine myself tucked away in the original home at the very back of the property, surrounded by trees and the best views North Carolina has to offer while sipping a mug full of coffee.
It’s perfect. It’s fate. Destiny. Meant to be. Kismet.
Until Mrs. Mayberry’s words snap into focus. “…And so, for that reason, I can’t sell you the property, unfortunately. At least, not right now.”
My entire body freezes, the dream I was just picturing fractures like glass beneath a hammer.
“I’m sorry, what?” I turn so sharply that Mrs. Mayberry flinches. My voice is louder than I intend, tight with disbelief. She’s an older woman, but still incredibly spunky. “But you listed it for sale. Why can’t you sell it to me?”
She hesitates, her kind smile now tinged with regret. “We just… we can’t, sweetheart.”
The room, the view, the future I’ve built in my mind in the old house at the back of the property next to the stables—it all blurs as I feel the tears start to fill my lids again.
“What do you mean, you can’t ?”
But I already know. The ache spreading through my chest tells me I was wrong about everything. There’s a catch here and I’m not going to like it.
“I’m so sorry, dear.”
“Why?” I whisper again, fear creeping into my voice.
Mrs. Mayberry wrings her hands nervously, her fingers twisting and untwisting as though she’s trying to untangle the right words.
“It was always Mr. Mayberry’s and my wish to ensure that whoever purchased the property would manage the wedding business that we started and could never finish.
And that would include it remaining a family -owned and operated business. ”
“Yes… and the Marshall family and I will be doing exactly that,” I say firmly, trying to show her that this is going to be a family effort. I’m part of a family even if I don’t have one of my own. “My brothers and I are going to manage this together. We’re a family.”
“Well, yes. Maybe the ceremony on your property—”
“And the reception,” I cut in, a sense of foreboding tightening in my chest. Something tells me I’m not going to like where this is going. “The ceremony and reception can all be hosted on the Marshall farmstead.”
“Yes,” she says cautiously, “but the business would also be split with this property. You’ll be using the two cottages for the bridal parties to get ready in and sometimes stay overnight.
The bulk of the photos will happen here—the pond, the gardens, the views that we’ve built.
Everything we’ve worked so hard to create…
this is what makes the business, dear. The Mayberry property. ”
She isn’t wrong about that, the sign out front will boast the facility, but it still doesn’t sit right that she doesn’t see this will be family owned and operated. My voice comes out quieter now.
“What exactly are you saying?”
She takes a breath, her expression softening with regret. “Mr. Mayberry and I included a condition in the property’s deed and the sale. Whoever purchases the Mayberry Manor must be a married couple.”
“A—A what?” My heart skips a beat, then starts hammering in my chest.
She nods, her kind eyes tinged with guilt. “I thought you knew when you called about the listing, darling.”
“I didn’t,” I say, shaking my head, disbelief washing over me. This can’t be real. “But I’m not married.”
Her face crumples into sympathy. “I know, sweetheart, and I’m so sorry.”
“But this is my dream,” I whisper, my voice cracking. “I’ve wanted this property since I was a little girl. I grew up here. I watched you and Mr. Mayberry work. I’ve saved all my money for this.”
“I know you have, Regan.” She reaches out, her tone gentle but unyielding. “And I want you to have it. Truly, I do. But don’t you see? Being married sells the product you’re offering—love, happiness, eternity . Couples want to believe in the magic, and a married owner embodies that.”
Table of Contents
- Page 1
- Page 2
- Page 3
- Page 4
- Page 5
- Page 6
- Page 7
- Page 8 (Reading here)
- Page 9
- Page 10
- Page 11
- Page 12
- Page 13
- Page 14
- Page 15
- Page 16
- Page 17
- Page 18
- Page 19
- Page 20
- Page 21
- Page 22
- Page 23
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- Page 25
- Page 26
- Page 27
- Page 28
- Page 29
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- Page 33
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- Page 36
- Page 37
- Page 38
- Page 39
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- Page 42
- Page 43
- Page 44
- Page 45
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- Page 47
- Page 48
- Page 49
- Page 50
- Page 51
- Page 52
- Page 53
- Page 54
- Page 55
- Page 56