Magnolia Bride. Tara Randel

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      “When did my engagement turn into a national event?” Juliet asked.

      “When you agreed to marry a senator’s son.”

      “I know I asked you to go big, but this has turned into a media frenzy. And who ever heard of a three-day engagement party?”

      Their mother. When Nealy’s older sister got married it had been a rushed affair because Lanie had been in college at the time, which left their mother disappointed at its small scale. Now they were going to be related to a senator—her mother’s dream come true—so the ante had gone up. And up. And up.

      “Where’s Grandmother? She’s good at distracting Mom.”

      “She’s fed up, too.”

      Not good if Dorinda Hobart, the voice of reason, couldn’t fix things.

      “Hold on. Sanity’s on the way.”

      Nealy ignored the usual foreboding that accompanied anything to do with their mother. Instead, she enjoyed the balmy breeze tickling her face. She’d been putting off the prodigal return and the old twinge of inferiority crept up on her, well aware certain family members wouldn’t welcome her with open arms. She didn’t expect them to behave any differently. She’d burned her bridges years ago and dreaded the cool reception awaiting her.

      It doesn’t bother me.

      Right. If she repeated the mantra enough times, she might believe it.

      Instead of dwelling on her insecurities, she turned her attention to her sister. Juliet would be fretting over the details, because, well, that’s what Juliet did. As the baby of the family, they went overboard to pamper and protect her.

      Then at fourteen, Juliet had been in a horrific automobile accident. Hospital stays and months of rehab had been the norm for her for a long while. The physical scars had healed, but the emotional toll? Nealy wasn’t sure her sister had ever recovered. So how could she deny her sister when she begged Nealy to come home, claiming she needed her cool, professional demeanor to deal with a party and a weekend schedule growing bigger and bigger by the moment? How Juliet expected Nealy to keep everyone calm, she had no idea. She was an event planner, after all, not a miracle worker.

      As Nealy pulled the car into the parking lot of the Grand Cypress Hotel, the location of all the parties, crushed shells crunched under the tires. Searching for an empty spot in the crowded lot took longer than she’d anticipated but she finally eased into a space. Cutting the ignition, she grabbed her purse and briefcase before exiting the car.

      She took a few steps before stopping in her tracks before the main entrance. Wow. The previously modern contemporary style of the hotel now sported a charming Southern plantation facade. When she’d worked here during high school, the place had lost its luster, even though many of the same families returned to the hotel to spend their summer vacations. She’d done shifts at the snack bar, been a lifeguard and parked cars for fancy events.

      She’d also met her ex here.

      From the moment she laid eyes on him waiting tables in the dining room, she had decided to go after him. She’d strutted below the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the pool area, twirling her lifeguard whistle to catch his eye. It worked. Boy, had it worked.

      Before more memories could overwhelm her, she took a breath and marched on.

      Her heels sank into the crushed shells as she took the path from the parking lot. Why on earth had she chosen three-inch heels today? Not that she had a choice. She’d caught a red-eye flight immediately after finishing up an event she couldn’t miss. It meant she’d had no time to change from her lemon-yellow linen business suit and leopard-print heels. Huffing along, she reached the wide veranda of the renovated hotel.

      Initially she’d been surprised when Juliet booked the engagement party, and subsequent wedding, at this location, until her sister explained the hotel’s face-lift. The pristine white exterior with shiny black shutters fronted by a wide veranda dotted with rocking chairs promised a no-stress zone for weary guests.

      As she stepped into the spacious foyer, cool air greeted her, along with some major structural improvements. The new owner had removed the old ceiling to create an open two-story masterpiece. Nealy’s breath caught. Marble floors shone as light filtered through the frosted dome ceiling. A counter nearby, also in marble, had staff waiting behind it to help the guests.

      She let out a low whistle. “Not too shabby.”

      Her cell phone rang. This had to be Juliet worried about her ETA. As she crossed the highly glossed lobby floor, her heels echoed. “Hold on,” she said to herself, digging through the contents of her purse, intent on finding her phone, when she bumped into a tall, solid form.

      “Whoa,” a deep masculine voice said as firm hands grabbed hold of her upper arms to steady her.

      “I’m so sorry,” she sputtered, pushing her hair from her eyes. “I’m in a hurry and wasn’t watching where I—” Her words stopped as she recognized the man holding her in place. Him. “Dane?” she whispered.

      “Nealy. Been a long time.”

      Her breathing nearly stopped as she gaped at her ex-husband, Dane Peterson.

      No. This couldn’t be right, could it?

      “What are you doing here?” she managed to croak out.

      “I’m the owner.”

      “Of what?”

      “The Grand Cypress Hotel.”

      Granted, running into Dane made her thinking a little fuzzy, but... “You own this hotel?”

      “Yep.”

      Knocked off-kilter by her first glimpse of Dane after twelve years apart, her legs became shaky. Why hadn’t anyone told her Dane owned the hotel? Probably because they figured she wouldn’t step foot in the place if she knew.

      They’d have been right.

      He’d aged well, exceptionally well, as evidenced by the unexpected stirring in her belly. His dark blond hair, highlighted by the sun, was cut short, a far cry from the disheveled locks he’d once sported. Whiskey-hued eyes and tanned skin portrayed the picture of a man in his prime. Even more handsome than the boy from her memories. She still remembered the lanky teen, long hair falling over his brow into his eyes, wearing T-shirts proclaiming the name of a favorite band paired with ripped jeans and sneakers. Today, a mature Dane wore navy pants and a light blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up his forearms. His dark shoes shone.

      His masculine scent, so alluring and familiar, had her leaning toward him until she realized her mistake and blinking furiously, she took a hasty step back from the stunning man standing before her and the powerful reaction he evoked.

      “How did you come to own this place?”

      “It’s what I do. Rehab old or failing hotels.”

      “You renovated this hotel?”

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