A Woman Fills In For A Wedding Singer, Never Guessing The Millionaire Guest Will Fall Hard
The Unexpected Song
Cara Owens gripped the microphone like it might electrocute her and whispered under her breath, “Please don’t let me screw this up.”
The string lights twinkled above the outdoor wedding reception, casting a soft glow over the crowd of laughing guests in floor-length gowns and tailored tuxes.
The real wedding singer, her cousin Leela, had come down with food poisoning an hour before the event.
Cara, who only ever sang in the shower or while doing dishes, got roped in as a last-minute fill-in.
“You’ll be fine,” Leela had croaked from the bathroom floor.
“You know the songs. It’s just background music. No one’s even listening.”
That might have been true until she saw him.
He was standing near the edge of the dance floor—tall and broad-shouldered in a perfectly fitted navy suit, a drink in one hand, his other tucked casually in his pocket.
His jawline was sharp, his eyes dark, and his expression unreadable as he watched her. No, not the band—her.
Cara shook herself out of it and looked at the band members who clearly expected her to start.
She took a breath and launched into the first song, an acoustic version of “Can’t Help Falling in Love.”
Her voice trembled at first, but then it smoothed out, growing stronger with each note.
The man didn’t look away. By the time she finished the second song, a few people clapped politely.
A couple even swayed on the dance floor, but that man, he was still standing there, still watching.
His gaze was intense, like he was trying to figure her out.
She stepped off the small raised platform during the break and headed toward the bar, heart racing.
“You’re not the hired singer,” a deep voice said behind her.
She turned and nearly walked into him.
Up close, he was even more intimidating—clean-cut, expensive suit, a watch that probably cost more than her car, and shoes polished to a mirror shine.
“I know I’m not,” she admitted.
“Last minute backup. My cousin was supposed to sing but she’s sick.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You’re good. Better, actually.”
Cara blinked. “Thanks. I’m not really a performer though. I work at a bookstore. This was a panic favor.”
He smiled just slightly. “Then I hope that bookstore appreciates how talented their employee is.”
She let out a nervous laugh. “I don’t think Mr. Doway cares much for my rendition of Elvis.”
The man extended his hand. “Yarden Ellis.”
Cara hesitated before shaking it. “Cara Owens.”
His grip was warm and firm. He didn’t let go right away.
“So, Cara Owens,” he said, his voice lower now like a secret.
“What are the odds I get to hear you sing one more time before the night ends?”
“I’m pretty sure you will,” she said, trying not to sound breathless.
His eyes flicked over her face like he was trying to memorize it.
“Good.”
He left her standing there, flushed and speechless.
She spent the next set pretending not to look for him and failing.
He was always in her peripheral vision. During slow songs, he stood near the dance floor but didn’t dance.
During upbeat ones, he leaned against a pillar, eyes locked on her like she was the only thing worth watching.
After the final song, she packed up the sheet music and tried to sneak away before anyone could ask for an encore.
But he caught her by the garden path.
“Leaving already?” he asked.
“I was hoping to make a quiet exit.”
He stepped closer. “Let me walk you out.”
She hesitated. “You don’t even know me.”
“I know you’re not just a singer. I know you’re interesting enough that I’d like to find out more.”
“And I know I’d regret it if I let you disappear now.”
He was confident and smooth—the kind of man who probably dated women with designer bags and penthouse views, not someone like her who wore secondhand dresses and lived in a one-bedroom apartment.
Still, Cara nodded. “Okay. You can walk me out.”
They strolled down the path toward the valet together. The night was warm, and the silence between them wasn’t awkward—it was charged.
When they reached the curb, a sleek black car pulled up. Yarden tipped the valet and opened the door.
“Let me give you a ride home,” he said.
Cara looked at the car then back at him. “I took the subway here.”
He smiled. “Then I’m saving you from that fate. I don’t usually say yes to strangers offering me rides in luxury cars, but tonight you might.”
She wasn’t sure if it was the way he said it or the way he looked at her like she was something rare, but she nodded.
“All right,” she said. “But only if you tell me what you do.”
He paused for a second then said, “Real estate development.”
Vague, but she let it go.
The car smelled like leather and cedarwood. They talked for the entire ride about music, bookstores, and the worst coffee they’d ever had.
She laughed more than she had in weeks.
When they pulled up outside her building, he didn’t lean in or make a move.
He just said, “I’d like to see you again, Cara Owens.”
She hesitated. “You don’t even know if I can carry a conversation without a mic in my hand.”
“I just spent 30 minutes in a car with you. I know enough.”
Her heart thudded. “Okay then. Yeah. You can see me again.”
He reached into the glove compartment and pulled out a small, cream-colored card.
He handed it to her. It had his name, a number, and the words “Dinner soon.”
She stepped out of the car and looked back at him.
“Yarden?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re not secretly married or some kind of criminal, right?”
He laughed. “No. But I am a terrible dancer.”
“I can live with that,” she said, and walked into her building with a grin.
She didn’t know then what he was worth. She didn’t know then that he’d fall for her or that she’d fall harder.
But that night as she lay in bed staring at the ceiling, Cara knew one thing for sure: Yarden Ellis was going to change everything.
