The Last Note

PART 2 — THE WEDDING WITHOUT MUSIC

The following morning, the Grand Bellweather Hotel was transformed into a palace.

White roses covered the entrance. Crystal chandeliers illuminated the ballroom. Hundreds of guests arrived in designer gowns and tailored suits.

Blair Ashford stood in front of a mirror wearing a breathtaking ivory wedding dress.

Her diamond necklace glittered against her skin.

Caleb Rowan, her forty-three-year-old fiancé, entered the bridal suite.

“You look beautiful.”

Blair smiled.

“Of course I do.”

He kissed her cheek.

“Is everything ready?”

“Almost. The pianist was a disaster yesterday, but I’ve replaced him.”

Caleb frowned.

“What pianist?”

“The old man who was supposed to tune the grand piano. He was rude, and his little assistant took his side.”

Caleb studied her.

“You fired someone over that?”

“He was disrespectful.”

“Blair, this is our wedding. I don’t want any more unnecessary drama.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Relax. Everything is under control.”

At that moment, Courtney knocked and entered.

“Miss Ashford, we have a problem.”

Blair sighed.

“What now?”

“The publishing company has contacted us. They won’t authorize the performance until Mr. Whitlock approves the piano restoration.”

“Then get him back.”

“We’ve been trying. He isn’t answering.”

“Offer him more money.”

“Miss Ashford, I don’t think this is about money.”

Blair stood.

“Everything is about money. That’s how the world works.”

Courtney hesitated before handing her a document.

“The publisher has also sent this.”

Blair glanced at the letter.

Her expression changed.

The contract stated that the composer retained complete control over the final performance. Any unauthorized alteration, cancellation, or substitution would violate the exclusive agreement.

At the bottom was a name.

Jonah Whitlock — Composer and Copyright Holder.

Blair frowned.

“That’s the piano tuner.”

Courtney said nothing.

“Why is his name here?”

“Because he wrote the entire composition.”

Blair stared at her.

Then she laughed.

“That’s ridiculous. The composer is Alo.”

Courtney swallowed.

“Alo is his mother’s name. Eleanor Whitlock. He composed it in her memory.”

For the first time that morning, Blair had nothing to say.

But her embarrassment quickly turned into anger.

“Find him. Tell him I’ll pay whatever he wants.”

Courtney shook her head.

“He already declined the additional payment.”

“Then tell him Caleb Rowan wants him here.”

At 11:45, the ballroom doors opened.

Caleb walked toward the stage, where the concert grand piano stood covered with a white cloth.

“Where is the composer?”

Courtney approached him.

“He hasn’t arrived.”

Blair joined them, holding her bouquet.

“Don’t worry. He’ll come.”

Then a man in a dark navy suit entered the ballroom.

It was Jonah Whitlock.

He carried no tool case this time.

Instead, he held a slim black folder.

Blair immediately recognized him.

“You!”

Jonah stopped.

“Good morning, Miss Ashford.”

“You have some nerve showing up here.”

“I was invited by the publisher.”

Caleb stepped forward.

“Are you Jonah Whitlock?”

“Yes.”

Caleb extended his hand.

“I’m Caleb Rowan. I understand there’s been a misunderstanding.”

Jonah shook his hand politely.

“I’m afraid there hasn’t.”

Blair interrupted.

“Look, I’m willing to compensate you for yesterday. Just fix the piano and perform the march. I don’t care what it costs.”

Jonah opened his folder.

“I didn’t come here for compensation.”

“Then what do you want?”

He looked at her for a moment.

“I want you to understand what you’re asking me to play.”

He placed a framed photograph on the piano.

It showed an elderly woman sitting behind a piano, her hands resting gently on the keys.

“This is my mother, Eleanor. She spent forty years teaching children to play music. Most of them couldn’t afford lessons, so she taught them for free.”

Blair glanced at the photograph.

Jonah continued.

“She died three years ago. I wrote that march because she believed music should be given to people who understood its meaning.”

He paused.

“Yesterday, you poured champagne over the piano, then kicked her tuning fork across the floor.”

Blair’s cheeks reddened.

Caleb looked at her.

“Blair?”

She folded her arms.

“It was an accident.”

Jonah closed the folder.

“Then perhaps we should call the wedding off.”

Blair’s eyes widened.

“You can’t be serious.”

Jonah looked directly at her.

“I am.”

And just as he turned toward the exit, Martin Hale, the publisher’s representative, entered carrying a sealed envelope.

“Mr. Whitlock,” he announced, “before you leave, there’s something you should know.”

He looked toward Blair and Caleb.

“The original agreement contains one additional condition. The final movement of Alo’s March can only be performed with the composer’s personal approval.”

He opened the envelope.

“And after yesterday’s incident, Mr. Whitlock has officially withdrawn that approval.”

Blair’s bouquet slipped slightly in her hands.

Tomorrow’s wedding had just lost its most important piece of music.

And Jonah had one more surprise waiting for her.