Eight months pregnant and a bridesmaid, isn’t midwife Georgia Winton’s ideal situation - and it’s just got worse! When her contractions begin during the ceremony, the only person who can save her and her baby is the groom - gorgeous and dedicated consultant Max Beresford. Together they save the life of little baby Elsa, and neither could be more thrilled. What will Max do now?

Excerpt

The chapel floated like a snowflake against the backdrop of the lush Hunter Valley Gardens and the string quartet drifted silvery notes out over the waiting guests. Max Beresford stood tall and straight at the front of the church and realised that despite the romantic venue he’d condemned himself to the type of loveless marriage his parents had. Give me a sign, God. Am I a fool for going through with this? The procession music started. Too late. Max tilted his chin slightly as he watched the Matron of Honour walk haltingly towards him in some screechingly couture apricot material. There was something about the dogged yet vulnerable expression on the woman’s face that arrested his attention. He found himself sympathetic because he’d approached the altar with just such a halting approach. Max frowned. Was there a problem or was his new cousin-in-law to-be unbearably nervous? Nerves didn’t make sense because she looked gorgeous – fertile with her baby bump bulging beneath the shiny fabric – but gorgeous nonetheless. She paused again and seemed to suck air in through gritted teeth before she raised her chin and resumed her approach. Max knew Tayla had been reluctant to include her midwife cousin, Georgia, in the wedding party but he’d thought that due to Georgia’s unfashionable pregnancy and some vague hint that she was depressed. Maybe there were other reasons. Before he could ruminate on that thought his non-blushing bride staged her spectacular entry and the gasps from the congregation drew Max’s eyes towards his future wife. He could do nothing but stare. Feathers rippled and parted in the breeze and held Max spellbound. He blinked in disbelief. Tayla seemed to have been devoured by a white duck. Framed against the door for an extended moment, his bride’s shapely arms and legs stretched from beneath a strapless froth of feathers that only just covered her thighs at the front and fell in a frothy tail to the floor at the back. A large apricot bow around her tiny waist matched the rose in his lapel. Good grief, Max thought, and suppressed an ironic smile. He’d fallen into Swan Lake and he had never felt less like a prince. His bride floated up beside him, as did one of the feathers that had come unstuck and drifted just ahead of her in an eddy, and handed her feathered fan to the Matron of Honour who unfortunately seemed to have missed the one cue she’d been assigned to do. Cousin Georgia was not having a good day. He could see Tayla remained seriously unimpressed with her attendant. For Georgia Winton, being Matron of Honour had assumed the nightmare proportions she had hoped it wouldn’t. The first unexpected labour contraction had hit her as she entered the church at the precise moment the whole congregation had stared at her. The next contraction had grown to such intensity she almost dropped the bouquet as her cousin handed it to her. When she was able, Georgia offered an apologetic glance to bride and groom, which neither acknowledged. Tayla had tossed her head in disgust and Max had continued to stare bemused at Tayla’s dress. Georgia clutched the bouquet like the dead duck it actually looked like, and forced her shoulders to drop as the pain eased away. Distraction, distraction, distraction, she reminded herself. There was plenty of that. Max Beresford, the groom, was pretty distracting. She’d known of him, but until now, not by sight as he’d missed rehearsals because of some crisis at the hospital. The real Max was tall, broad shouldered and far too handsome for his own good but his kind eyes had surprised her with their warmth. Though younger than she’d expected, he looked every inch the new Department Head of Obstetrics for the North Coast Region of Hospitals – a position he was taking up after Tayla’s and his honeymoon – and she was surprised how much she instinctively felt that Tayla had chosen well. After Georgia’s baby was born, Max would apparently find her a midwives position in the region, so she really did hope she wouldn’t ruin his wedding. Max’s brother, Paul, who had played groom each time they’d practised the wedding service, seemed pleasant enough but not a warm person and he stood beside Max now as a paler shade of his brother. Unfortunately Paul’s eyes were fixed a little too intently on his brother’s wife-to-be. Meanwhile Tayla, gloriously aware of everyone’s attention, proceeded to lift her eyes theatrically towards the stained glass depiction of Jesus on the cross and shimmy her feathers. Georgia could see no softness or devotion or anything redeeming from her cousin despite the perfect setting and the man beside her. On the groom’s part, even the smile Max gave his fiancée seemed strained and disconnected. Georgia ached with disappointment. Weddings shouldn’t be like this. What was wrong with everybody? Except for her parents who had remained blissfully in love until their death, she had begun to despair all marriages were destined to be travesties? Tayla she could understand. Tayla had always wanted the extravagant white wedding and the rich husband, topped off by the bridal magazine shoot currently in progress. While her cousin would enjoy being married to a handsome consultant as she flew in to join Max briefly for social occasions in whatever city or town he visited, Tayla didn’t intend that her marriage would markedly change her life. Though she had said to Georgia, ‘of course she loved Max’. A tiny worry line drew Max’s thick black brows together even further and Georgia glared at him for not savouring the moment. Didn’t he realise the sacredness of marriage? What was in it for Max if he didn’t have some affection for his bride? Romantically, Georgia had hoped this wedding would restore her faith in true love. She’d hoped there would be an iridescent joy between these two as they stood before God and declared their troth. Then the third contraction gripped her belly and all else was forgotten as the searing pain snatched her breath at the peak and this time the intensity drew a stifled gasp she couldn’t contain. Even the minister looked across at her with raised eyebrows. It wasn’t fair. Labour was supposed to start with gentle regular contractions gradually increasing in intensity. She would have been supported by her midwife friends, at home, with birdsong playing. Not the Wedding March.