The Wedding Thief

by Mary Simses

  “I’ll be right with you, ladies.” She glanced at us and pushed a couple of dark curls behind her ears, revealing silver hoop earrings.

  We took seats near a wall of wooden shelves filled with bolts of cloth. I remembered going there as a child with my father and being mesmerized by all that fabric, organized by color, from pale yellows to peachy pinks and teal blues to the darkest, inkiest blacks. There was another room in the back where the work was done, a room Dad and I got to glimpse once when we were there. How surprised I was to see two women working away on old sewing machines. I’d always imagined Marcello did everything himself, like a singular Santa’s elf.

  “It’s the Harrington girls,” Bella said, greeting us after her other customer left. “Nice to see you. It’s been a while.” She eyed the garment bags, a pincushion in her hand. “What can I help you with?”

  “Well,” Mariel said, hanging her garment bag on a rod by the counter, “I’m getting married, and I have a very special wedding gown that needs some final alterations.”

  Bella’s eyes danced. “Ooh! You’re getting married. Congratulations. When’s the big day?”

  “A week from Saturday,” Mariel said.

  “And I have a bridesmaid gown that needs to be altered,” I added as I hung my gown on the rod next to Mariel’s.

  “You’ve worked on wedding gowns before,” Mariel said in a tone that was half question, half statement.

  “Of course,” Bella said, turning to glance at a calendar on the wall. “A week from Saturday. That’s coming right up. Go try them on so I can see what I’ll need to do.”

  Mariel and I took our gowns to the dressing room in the back. She unzipped her garment bag, and my first glimpse of her gown took my breath away. It was exquisite. Sheath silhouette, a scoop neckline, fitted waist, and a simple but elegant train. There had to be five layers of fabric in that dress, the one on top being the most gorgeous floral-patterned lace I’d ever seen. It looked like the kind of lace someone’s great-grandmother had made by hand a hundred years ago in a tiny little town in Italy. I looked at the label: Valentino. No wonder.

  “That’s quite a dress,” I said, running my hand over the fabric. It was thick, luxurious. I’d never felt anything like it. Or seen anything like it. I stared at the minute patterns in the lace. Every square inch was a work of art.

  It must have cost a fortune. I knew Carter had paid for it because Mom told me he’d insisted on buying the gown. I couldn’t believe Mariel had asked him to buy such an expensive one, though. I would never have done that. But then, I understood the value of a dollar. Mariel, who had always depended on others for her financial well-being, did not.

  She stepped into the dress and I zipped up the back. She turned, studying her reflection in the mirror. The gown looked spectacular—the cut, the fabric, the lace. If only I were the one wearing it. If only I were the one marrying Carter. I pictured us at the altar, Carter saying his vows to me. To love and to cherish…

  “Hello,” Mariel said, waving a hand in my face. “You need to try on your dress.”

  “Right,” I said, unzipping the other garment bag. The bridesmaid’s gown was tulle over silk with a ruched, crisscrossed top and flowing skirt. I put it on. It was at least four inches too long. Baily Richardson was one tall girl.

  “Hmm.” Mariel stood back and studied me. “Not sure that’s the best color on you.”

  No kidding it wasn’t the best color on me. “Couldn’t you have gotten it in a different color? You know I don’t look good in mauve.”

  “Hey, you weren’t even coming to the wedding when I picked out that dress.”

  “Well, I’m here now.”

  “And you have to wear it.”

  There was a knock on the door. “Excuse me. Do you need some help with zippers or buttons or…anything?”

  Bella. She’d probably heard us. “We’re okay,” I said.

  When we emerged from the dressing room, Bella clasped her hands and I could see her eyes were misty. “Look at you! What a beautiful bride you’re going to be.” She circled Mariel, studying the gown, touching the fabric, nodding. Then she turned to me as if she’d suddenly remembered her manners. “Oh, and you too. You look very nice.”

  I forced a smile.

  She directed Mariel to the platform. “I can see it’s a little big for you—”

  “It’s way too big,” Mariel said. “I can’t believe the bridal shop didn’t get this right. I have a tiny waist. I’m swimming in this.”

  Bella gathered some fabric on either side of Mariel’s waist. “If we take it in a bit here and here…I think…yes, that should do it.”

  “Don’t you see?” Mariel said, looking in the mirror, angry little lines crossing her face. “Don’t you see how tiny my waist is? How could they have thought this would fit me?”

  If she said tiny waist one more time, I was going to choke her.

  Bella picked up a pincushion and began pinning the dress. “Who’s the lucky man?”

  Mariel’s face relaxed. “His name is Carter Pryce. He’s a lawyer in Los Angeles. An entertainment lawyer. He works with movie stars.”

  “Movie stars.” Bella sounded impressed.

  “Yes, movie stars, singers, writers. Producers too. He has all kinds of celebrity clients. He’s very successful.”

  Oh, please. Did we really have to hear this?

  “We’re going to the Telluride Film Festival next month. Or maybe it’s the month after. I don’t remember.” She smoothed the bodice of her gown like a preening bird.

  In the beginning, I’d been excited about those things too. The parties, the benefits, the industry events. Black-tie this, black-tie that. I remembered how impressed I’d been by a Thanksgiving dinner at Carter’s, early in our relationship, with a lot of Hollywood A-listers and food catered by some trendy new restaurant. A little part of me had longed for a simple family meal, but I’d tried to think of it as a once-in-a-lifetime experience.

  “You’ll probably like the film festival,” I said. “Personally, I’m glad I don’t have to do that kind of thing anymore. All those crowds and starstruck fans.”

  “I’m looking forward to it.”

  “Not to mention the altitude. It’s hard to breathe.”

  “Then it’s good you won’t be there,” Mariel said, sounding cheerful, as Bella gestured for her to turn. “I’m sure you’ll be happier in Chicago. With those cold winters. And the crime. And the pollution.”

  I wanted to remind her she was the reason I’d had to escape LA and go to Chicago, but I bit my tongue. I had to keep my eyes on the prize.

  Bella finished pinning the right side of the dress and was about to start on the left when the door to the back room opened and in walked a small man, slightly hunched over, bald, with bushy eyebrows. Marcello. He stared at us for a few seconds and then burst into a grin.

  “The Harringtons. My, my. How long has it been? Three, four years?”

  “At least,” I said.

  He looked at Mariel. “And what’s this? You’re getting married?”

  She smiled. “I sure am.”

  “Congratulations! Such a surprise.” He glanced at Bella. “Nobody tells me anything.”

  Bella shook her head, her brows raised. “I didn’t know, Pop.”

  “Who’s the lucky man?”

  Did we really have to go through this again? “She’s marrying an entertainment attorney,” I said. “In Los Angeles. Carter Pryce.” I needed to speed things up here.

  “And you’re a bridesmaid.”

  “Yes, I’m a bridesmaid.” I was clenching my teeth.

  He turned to Mariel again. “Are you going to live in Los Angeles?”

  “Yes, we already live there. But we’re looking for a new house.”

  They were? Carter had a gorgeous home on a hill overlooking Santa Monica. Who wouldn’t want to live there? I remembered those lazy Sunday mornings, the two of us sitting on his terrace, reading, drinking coffee, the city skyline visible thr
ough a clearing in the trees, the ocean wild and blue beyond it.

  “My fiancé has a house,” Mariel said. “But I think we should start with something new. A place we can make our own, not a house he already has. My designer has a lot of ideas and I’m sure when we find the right place, it will turn out to be perfect.”

  Her designer? She was talking about Carter’s designer. I was ready to explode.

  “I thought you retired,” I said to Marcello, hoping to change the subject.

  He smiled a patient smile. “Sure. I did. I’m almost eighty. But, you know, retirement isn’t something you do all at once. I get bored. So I come in sometimes and help my Bella.” He gave her a gentle clap on the shoulder.

  “Don’t believe it,” she muttered, putting a final pin in the dress. “He’ll always be the boss.” She stepped back. “There. What do you think?”

  Mariel looked in the mirror, turning in one direction and then the other. “I think this will work.”

  “Okay, next,” Bella said, nodding to me.

  I stepped onto the platform as Mariel walked back to the dressing room. Bella pinned the hem and made a couple of adjustments in the shoulders as I stood there fuming. Couldn’t Carter see Mariel was manipulating him into buying a new house when he didn’t need one?

  “There,” Bella said when she was done. “How does that look?”

  It looked better, but it was still mauve.

  “All right,” she said as Mariel came out of the dressing room. “Let me get your information down. Phone numbers and all.”

  Mariel followed her to the counter, and I went to change. When I opened the dressing-room door, I saw her gown hanging there, pinned by Bella to ensure the perfect fit. I stared at the graceful neckline, the lace, the fitted silhouette, the layers of fabric, the train that would swirl gracefully around Mariel’s feet. I imagined her floating down the aisle in the gown, a spray of orchids at the end of each pew, candles flickering, all eyes on her.

  Then I remembered my client, the girl the seamstress had had to sew into her gown, and the image of my sister changed. She was still walking down the aisle, but suddenly there was a loud rrrrip and her dress split open, exposing a three-inch-wide strip of skin all the way down her back.

  The bridesmaids shrieked and huddled around her, trying to block everyone’s view. The guests gasped, and the priest looked as if he would rather be selling fire extinguishers door to door than be there. Carter was pale, clearly in shock. Then he saw me, sitting off to the side. Our eyes locked and I knew he was smitten. Again. It was as if no time had passed, as if nothing had happened.

  I never stopped loving you, Sara, he said, loud enough for everyone in the church to hear. He grabbed the wedding rings from the ring bearer—who was only five but knew this wasn’t how it had gone at the rehearsal—walked over to me, and said, Sara Harrington, will you marry me?

  My sister fainted dead away. Even my spritzer of Poison didn’t bring her around. They had to carry her off somewhere to revive her. Texas, maybe. But meanwhile, the wedding went on, except now I was the bride. I modified the ceremony a little and switched out a couple of the music selections. At the reception, I put all my favorite tunes on the band’s playlist, changed Mariel’s name to mine on the wedding cake, and…

  “I don’t know how they could have done that,” Mariel was saying to Bella. “You do see how tiny my waist is, don’t you?”

  She thought she had a tiny waist? I’d show her a tiny waist. I took Bella’s pins out one by one and moved them to make the dress an inch narrower on each side. Now, that was a tiny waist.

  The sabotage had begun.

  Chapter 9

  Going Lame

  I heard someone call my name as Mariel and I left Marcello’s. Tate Lambert was walking toward us, waving. I hadn’t seen him since his wedding six years ago, although we’d exchanged the occasional e-mail, the last one coming about a year back, an announcement that he’d added a second vet to his formerly solo equine practice.

  “Hey, Sara!” he said, his smile revealing the dimples I remembered so well.

  “Tate” was all I could get out before he threw his arms around me and rocked me back and forth.

  We’d been friends since first grade, and in high school we came close to a romance before one of us chickened out. I think I was the one. I was afraid to risk our friendship. And I was kind of in love with Scott Wilders at the time, although Scott wasn’t in love with me. I heard years later that he’d moved to Alaska, which was way too cold anyway.

  Tate looked a little different from the way he did in the photo I remembered in the e-mail announcement. He still had that same hairstyle, if you could call it that—kind of tousled, like he’d just woken up. But now I saw gray flecks in his hair. And he looked leaner. Not that he’d ever carried much extra weight, but there was a stripped-down look about him that was new. He still had that impish smile, though, and the slightly crooked nose, the result of a run-in with a plate-glass door when he was fifteen.

  “And Mariel,” he said, giving her a hug as well, although it was slightly more subdued. “The bride-to-be.” He studied her for a moment that ticked on a little too long. “Wow, you look great. Did you change your hair or something?”

  Hair? He honestly thought that’s all it was? Of course she’d changed her hair. She had that short platinum thing going on now, with the layers. But didn’t he realize she’d changed her entire look, with the Escada bag and the Louboutins and everything else she had on?

  “Yeah, I changed…something,” she said, with a coquettish tilt of her head. Then she looked at me. “Tate’s coming to the wedding.”

  “Oh. That’s great.” I guess I was a little surprised, although maybe I shouldn’t have been. He was an old family friend, not to mention Anthem and Jubilee’s vet.

  “It’s so good to see you,” I said, giving his arm a little squeeze. He’d always been a sweet guy. And there was nothing like seeing an old friend who knew you from way back, who knew your history. Someone you could talk to like you’d never been apart even if you hadn’t seen each other in years.

  Sometimes I wondered if I should have acted on that romantic undercurrent I’d felt during those teenage years, but then we probably wouldn’t be standing here talking now. I wished I could say he’d ended up marrying someone I liked, but that wasn’t the case. I never really thought of Darcy as his type, although maybe I was too quick to judge. I’d met her only a few times, but she’d always seemed a little cold and self-absorbed to me.

  “How’s your business going?” Mariel asked.

  “You mean his practice?” I said as two women jogged past us.

  Tate smiled. “Business, practice, call it whatever you want. It’s going well.”

  “That was a nice photo of you and your new vet in the e-mail you sent,” Mariel said.

  “It was,” I added.

  “Oh, thanks. Yeah, things have been a lot better since I brought Amy into the practice. For one thing, I don’t have to be on call every night. She’s young, but she’s smart and she’s a hard worker.” He nudged me with his elbow. “Speaking of work, how’s your new job and how do you like Chicago?”

  I could feel Mariel’s eyes on me. “Love the job, love Chicago,” I said, hoping I sounded convincing. “It’s a nice change, working in-house, planning corporate events.”

  “I’m sure you’re good at it. You’re so organized. You’re a lot like your father that way. Now, there was a guy who could put things together.”

  The mention of my father’s name in connection with mine made me smile. “Yeah, he was special, all right.”

  “So, are you ready for the big day?” he asked Mariel.

  “I’m completely ready.” She glanced at me. “Sara’s helping me with some of the final details, but I did everything else myself. I thought, If Sara can plan a wedding, why can’t I?”

  Tate laughed. “You were always following in your sister’s footsteps.”

  Following in my foot
steps? She was stealing my life. Didn’t he remember how she used to do that? And now she’d finally pulled off the ultimate heist—my boyfriend. Clearly Mom hadn’t filled Tate in on the situation with me and Mariel and Carter during any of his visits to our barn, probably because she’d convinced herself my sister and I would reconcile before the wedding.

  “I have a feeling it’s going to be a really fun wedding,” Tate said. “And you’ll make a beautiful bride.”

  Why was he gushing like this? He couldn’t take his eyes off Mariel.

  “You’re so nice.” Mariel gave him a little kiss on the cheek. “Gee, if you’d talked to me this way in high school, you might have ended up being my boyfriend.”

  Oh my God, she was pulling out all the stops, just like we were in high school. She hadn’t been interested in Tate back then. And she wasn’t now, but she was going to compete for his attention anyway.

  “Yeah, I’ll bet you say that to all the guys.” Tate made a dismissive brush with his hand, but I noticed the rosy sheen on his face.

  We stood there for a moment. The door of the Rolling Pin bakery opened, and a boy with a skateboard under his arm walked out. I caught a whiff of cinnamon in the air.

  Tate glanced at his watch. “Hey, what are you guys up to?”

  “You mean now?” I asked.

  “Yeah. Now.”

  “I’m not doing anything right this second. Why?”

  “I was wondering if you two wanted to ride with me out to the Darrells’ on Indian Spring. They have a mare that’s gone lame. We could catch up and I could drop you here after. I’ll be coming back through town.”

  “Sure, I’ll go,” I said, happy to have more time to talk to him.

  Mariel pulled out a pair of sunglasses and put them on. “I wish I could, but I’ve got a few things I need to do in town.”