The motorcycle came up the gravel road just as the officiant said, “If anyone here has a reason these two should not be married…”
He didn’t finish the sentence.
He didn’t have to.
Because at that exact moment, the roar of an engine rolled across the whole vineyard, and a hundred and twenty guests turned around in their white chairs at the same time.
I turned too.
I was sitting in the front row in a lavender dress I’d spent three months picking out, holding a tissue I’d already used twice. My husband, Tom, was beside me in his good navy suit. My daughter, Florence, was standing at the altar under an arch of white roses, holding hands with the man she’d loved since she was nineteen.
And a giant biker I’d never seen before in my life was walking straight toward her.
Carrying a pink gift bag.
I’m going to tell you what was inside that bag.
But first I have to tell you how we got there. Because for a long time, I thought I knew everything about my daughter’s life.
I was wrong about almost all of it.
Florence had been dating Jeremy Whitmore since college.
They met in a statistics class their sophomore year at Ohio State. She was failing. He wasn’t. He offered to tutor her in the library on Tuesday nights. By the end of the semester, she had a B-plus and a boyfriend.
The first time she brought him home for Thanksgiving, I was nervous. Florence had dated a few boys in high school, and none of them had been anything to write home about. One of them stole our garden gnome as a “joke” and never gave it back.
Jeremy was different.
What happened next changed everything… FULL STORY on the next page.
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