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license was completed during the commercial break, and when they were back on air, the minister stepped up. Five minutes later, Trisha had her wish.

      “That went okay,” Casey murmured, as the audience clapped. Brodie-Ann didn’t reply. She appeared frozen in her seat, as if she’d only just realized what tonight was all about.

      After the next commercial break, Sally introduced Brodie-Ann to the audience and invited her to tell everyone about Steve.

      “He’s the most wonderful guy I ever met,” she said, the quaver in her voice barely discernible. “We haven’t been together long, but I adore everything about him. I know he’s the one.”

      The audience oohed appreciatively.

      Casey felt a twinge of envy. She couldn’t remember ever loving Joe like that.

      Then it was Steve’s turn to come on stage. He was a smart guy; it took him only half a second to realize what “Here Comes the Bride” and Brodie-Ann in a long white dress meant. A huge grin split his face. He stepped right up to her, went down on one knee and said, “Sweetheart, will you marry me?”

      The crowd went wild—and they did again when, at the end of the brief ceremony, Steve and Brodie-Ann shared a kiss that raised the temperature in the studio by several degrees. Then the new Mr. and Mrs. Pemberton joined Trisha and her husband on the studio couch.

      “TELL ME THIS ISN’T CRAP,” Adam demanded of his good friend Dave Dubois, who was standing next to him at the back of the control room. As a freelance programming consultant, Dave occasionally worked with Channel Eight. He hadn’t been involved with this show. But he was keen to see it. In front of them, the show’s director focused intently on a wide, multi-window screen. The footage currently being broadcast played out in the large center window. Smaller windows around it displayed feeds from the other cameras. Adam could see Casey, the last bride, in one of those windows.

      “It sure isn’t your normal kind of show.” Dave’s response lacked the contempt Adam would have welcomed.

      “It’s no one’s normal kind of show. It’s my cousin Henry’s kind of show.”

      The director said into his headset, “Ready, two, with a close-up on bride three. Standby mics and cue.” Camera two obediently zoomed in on Casey, ready for her to take center screen. Her jaw appeared to be clenched so tightly she risked breaking a tooth.

      “Look.” Dave pointed to the image feed from camera three. The studio audience was apparently enthralled by the whole tacky proceedings. To Adam’s irritation, his friend evaded the opportunity to savage Henry, settling for an ambiguous, “You’re still the boss around here, right?”

      “If you mean does my charming family still see me as the bad guy, you bet. If you mean does fear of me stop Henry creating idiotic new shows while I’m out of town…”

      “Hmm,” Dave said. “Any progress on the legal front?”

      Just what Adam wanted to think about right now. He sent his friend a withering look.

      Dave said hastily, “Y’know, this show’s not bad. And the reality market is still booming, no matter what the doom-sayers predict.”

      If he’d intended to distract Adam from thoughts of the lawsuit that Henry and his mother had instigated against Adam, he’d picked the wrong topic. Adam fixed him with a black look.

      “Okay, so it’s not the last word in good taste,” Dave admitted. “But it’s got pretty women—that third bride is a real babe. It’s got romance and happy endings. Though I do think something’s missing.”

      “A dancing girl bearing Henry’s head on a platter?”

      Dave gave the suggestion due consideration. “You’re on the right track. The whole thing needs more tension. More drama.”

      ANOTHER COMMERCIAL BREAK, then they were back on air. Casey licked her dry lips, feeling very alone at center stage. She looked around for Adam, but couldn’t find him.

      “Folks, this is Casey Greene. She’s come all the way from Parkvale for today’s show,” Sally announced.

      The crowd cheered, expecting great things from another Parkvale girl.

      “Casey is twenty-five. She’s a journalist and a psychology student, and she wants to be a novelist,” Sally continued. “What do you want to write, Casey?”

      “Books,” she answered numbly.

      “And your fiancé is Joe Elliott,” Sally added brightly. “Tell us about you and Joe.”

      “We met in high school, and we got engaged at graduation.” If she’d been any more wooden, they’d call her Pinocchio. Relax. Casey exhaled slowly through her nose.

      “How’s that, folks? High school sweethearts!” Sally tried to rally some enthusiasm from the crowd, but their applause was muted. They must have sensed this wasn’t the love story of the decade. “Casey, tell us what you love about Joe.”

      Casey’s mind went blank. “Uh, he’s, uh…”

      Sally’s smile froze.

      “He’s so honest,” Casey said at last. “So handsome.” Silence. For Pete’s sake, they wanted more? “I’ve known him forever. And…I can’t imagine being with anyone else.”

      At least she couldn’t until about an hour ago, when a stranger had left the imprint of his lips on her hand. She glanced quickly down at her fingers—of course there was no sign of Adam’s kiss. “I really want to get married,” she said, and added, with an emphasis that was too loud and too late, “to Joe.”

      At last the interview was over. The strains of “Here Comes the Bride” filled the studio. Across the stage, Joe appeared. He stopped dead, looked around, saw the other two couples on the couch, heard the audience chanting, “Joe, Joe, Joe,” and, finally, looked at Casey. A dragging inevitability slowed his progress across the stage.

      “Joe,” Sally cooed. “Welcome to Kiss the Bride, the show where you marry the woman of your dreams.” She gestured to Casey. “Doesn’t she look gorgeous?”

      Joe opened his mouth, but it took him a couple of tries to get any words out. “She does,” he managed to answer at last.

      Relief washed over Casey, restoring her heart to its normal rhythm. It’s going to be all right.

      “Joe, this is your big moment,” Sally said. “All you have to do is pop the question, and you can marry Casey right here.” Her brilliant smile encouraged him.

      Joe hesitated. Casey gave him what she intended to be a loving smile, though she feared it might have emerged as pleading. Still he hesitated.

      “Joe, aren’t you going to ask Casey to marry you?” Sally sounded like a mother addressing a recalcitrant child.

      Joe spoke, loud and clear this time.

      “No, I’m not.”

      CHAPTER TWO

      “YES!” DAVE DUBOIS PUNCHED the air with his fist. “You did it, buddy. This is much better than Henry’s head on a plate.”

      Adam cursed as the center screen flipped from one camera feed to the next as the director searched for something other than frozen expressions and hanging jaws. So much for convincing New Visage Cosmetics that Channel Eight could mount a professional, sophisticated production.

      With Dave on his heels, he rushed out of the control room and into the studio, where stunned silence had given way to a hubbub of excited chatter.

      On the set, Sally Summers’s famous smile had evaporated. Joe stepped toward Casey, and the microphone clipped to his shirt picked up what he said, despite his low voice.

      “I’m sorry, Casey, but I don’t want to marry you—I don’t love you that

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