by Beth K. Vogt
“I could help—”
His offer sparked a quick laugh that held the sound of wind chimes—but somehow he knew she wasn’t laughing at him. “I can’t let you help me clean animal kennels! What kind of woman do you think I am?”
The word “intriguing” crossed his mind, but he didn’t tell her—not that night, anyway. “Well, how about if I find something to do and come pick you up and take you to dinner once you’re done here?”
“You’re serious . . .” Her eyes glinted like rare emeralds.
“Yes, I am.”
“All right, then. Dinner it is.”
“What’s your preference?”
“Surprise me. I like surprises.”
“Me, too.” And he did—particularly ones with long black hair and eyes framed by thick black lashes. And a musical laugh that reminded him how he’d forgotten to laugh. And smile.
Their relationship had moved fast—a whirlwind romance to be sure—with him proposing and her saying yes as he slipped an heirloom diamond ring on her finger three months after they met.
Bellamy restored his belief in love—and in himself. Something he’d lost and feared he’d never regain. In a few short months, he’d reclaim his parents’ trust—and then he and Bellamy would be married. Life would be everything he’d ever hoped it would be. And more.
THREE
How had she lost two hours looking at Pinterest?
Bellamy pressed her fingertips to her eyes, releasing a soft groan that turned into a yawn. One in the morning—and she had to be at work at eight.
Reid’s last enticing kiss, with a whispered “sweet dreams,” happened at ten thirty. She’d changed into her pajamas, flipped open her laptop for a quick check of her email, and then Facebook . . . and then wandered over to her Pinterest boards.
First stop, of course, was the Destination Wedding Gowns board overflowing with dresses. Long gowns. Tea-length gowns. Ivory gowns. White gowns. Romantic. Outrageous. This board had given her the courage to stand up to her mother’s and sisters’ suggestion that she use one of their wedding gowns.
“Why waste money on a new dress when there are three perfectly good dresses you can choose from?”
“Three?” Math wasn’t her forte, but even Bellamy knew only two of her three sisters were married. “Brooke’s not married yet. She’s not even dating anyone right now.”
“Three counting mine, of course.” Her mother almost seemed to bounce up and down on the couch. “Your sisters and I’ve already talked about it, and we’ve agreed you can alter the dresses if you want to—make one of them your own.”
Of course they’d already discussed it—without including her. They only meant to surprise her, not exclude her. But she wanted to make her own decisions about her wedding. And she wanted a brand-new, never-been-worn wedding gown, not a hand-me-down. She’d tolerated Hillman hand-me-downs all through her life, but not on her wedding day.
An image of the wedding gown she’d purchased served as the central photo for her Destination Wedding Dresses board. Of course, that photograph was the designer original and she’d purchased an off-the-rack imitation. Even so, she couldn’t resist the still-strong allure of the other dresses she’d pinned to her board. She had another whole board devoted to shoes. And another for hairstyles—but which updo did she want for her wedding day? Soon she and Reid would have to settle on a wedding cake design and flavor—and what if he wanted a groom’s cake? Thanks to yet another Pinterest board, she had plenty of suggestions.
And somehow daydreaming always pulled her into another world of maybes and possibilities. So far her splurges had been careful ones. A calligrapher to address their invitations. An ice sculpture at the reception. And she’d ordered a dress to slip into halfway through the reception, something fun for dancing and for when she and Reid left for their honeymoon. Her bouquet . . . well, that was going to be distinctive—if she could pull it off.
One click and there was the Brooch Bridal Bouquet board. Bouquets made solely of brooches. Bouquets of brooches mixed with real flowers or silk flowers. Multicolored bouquets. Monochromatic bouquets. And the video tutorials that had started her daydreaming about designing her own one-of-a-kind jeweled bouquet.
She hadn’t expected that her NaNa’s heart-shaped faux-diamond brooch would inspire her wedding bouquet. She’d come across it tucked away in her jewelry box, and remembered seeing the brooch bouquets on Pinterest—and all thoughts of a traditional floral bouquet evaporated.
The box of brooches she’d gathered seemed to call “Come and browse” to her from her bedroom, but Bellamy resisted. If she started sorting through the brooches she’d been given at the engagement party, as well as the ones she’d found at garage sales and little shops in Old Colorado and Manitou, she’d truly be up all night. Of course, she could crawl into bed and let visions of baubles dance in her head, imagining possible ways to arrange and rearrange the jewelry.
Bellamy yawned again, but even another glance at the clock in her kitchenette couldn’t stop her from taking one last look at the board of wedding gowns she’d pinned after Reid had proposed. Vintage gowns. Feathery gowns. Princess gowns. Avant-garde gowns.
Bellamy clicked off the webpage. Yes, she was still content with her dress—and the fact that no one else had worn it before her. The style was perfect—but it also symbolized standing her ground against an onslaught of motherly and sisterly persuasion. She’d resisted all the opinions thrown at her by her mother and sisters. Hairstylist Bridget suggested styles with feathers and outlandish embellishments. Still-single Brooke, too busy with her career as a sign language interpreter, veered toward Grecian styles. And even new mom Bailee, who’d cut back on her hours as an audiologist, steered Bellamy toward flowing princess gowns.
But wearing the dress she’d chosen, she felt feminine and beautiful—like a bride. Just like all those smiling, teary-eyed women on Say Yes to the Dress seemed to feel when they chose their gowns. With the gown’s understated, elegant lines and the glamorous details on the back, Bellamy had imagined herself walking down the aisle toward Reid as a perfect Manhattan destination bride.
On a whim, Bellamy Googled “Lydia Stanton and Lincoln Webster wedding.” She’d started dating Reid months after his sister had gotten married, and had only faint memories of reading about the international event. Within seconds, a gazillion links appeared, the top one taking her to People magazine’s coverage of the event. One more click, and an image of Lincoln Webster and Lydia exiting the small country church in England appeared on the screen. Lydia was resplendent in a white satin gown with a gathered front. Another photo revealed the jeweled halter back, the dress’s train cascading onto the stone steps behind her.
White satin. A full flowing skirt. Understated from the front, the true beauty of the gown was the jeweled embellishment on the haltered back.
No.
Bellamy gasped, blinking her eyes. Once. Twice. But the image remained the same.
What was Lydia doing wearing her wedding dress?
FOUR
Bellamy had played one long life-game of lost-and-waiting-to-be-found. Feeling lost in the crowd that was her family of loud, gregarious brothers and sisters, and waiting to discover something—a sport, a talent, a college major, a ministry—that would help her feel “found.”
The first time Reid had said, “I love you,” Bellamy was no longer lost. With those words, Reid had found her.
And today . . . well, today was all about finding another dress that would enable her to stand out on her wedding day. Bellamy Hillman—no longer lost in the shadow of her siblings or of Reid’s sister.
“Does Reid know you’re shopping for another wedding gown?”
Elisabeth’s question was a verbal splash of cold reality. She was, once again, sitting in a bridal salon dressing room, awaiting the arrival of Amanda, the wise-in-all-things-bridal saleswoman, charged w
ith finding a replacement wedding dress.
“No, I told him that you and I were handling some wedding details. But it’s fine, Elisabeth.” Bellamy tucked the silky satin robe around her body. Sitting here in little more than her underwear reminded her of waiting in a physician’s exam room. “Reid’s always said to have fun planning our wedding. How much fun can I have now that I’ve realized my gown is all wrong?”
“But Bellamy, you love the first dress you bought—”
“I loved it—past tense.” She pulled the rolled-up printed-off pages of People magazine out of her purse. Uncurled them and thrust them toward her friend. “Look at that photograph and tell me that my dress isn’t almost exactly like Reid’s sister’s wedding gown.”
Elisabeth flipped through the sheets of paper that detailed Lydia’s acclaimed wedding in both words and pictures.
“Just the first page—the first two photographs.” Bellamy tucked a strand of her black hair behind her ear. “There—American heiress weds British actor . . .”
“I can read, Belle.” Elisabeth held up her hand. “Linc Webster is a hunk, isn’t he? A little like a British Keith Urban.”
“Stop drooling over the guy—Lincoln Webster is happily married. Just look at Lydia’s wedding gown. She’s wearing my dress!”
“Belle, calm down. These rooms aren’t soundproof.”
“I can’t wear my wedding gown after seeing this. She even opted not to wear a veil, just like I’m planning to do. What are the odds?” If only the room were larger, she’d pace. “The worst thing is, her gown is probably a designer original and mine is just a knockoff. I should have gone with the hand-me-down wedding gown suggestion.”
“Where did you find this?” Elisabeth returned to page one of the article. “Lydia got married over a year ago—before you and Reid were even dating.”
“I went on Pinterest after I got home from the engagement party—”
“Pinterest again? Seriously, I am going to have to give you some sort of computer curfew.”
“It’s relaxing. I was just browsing, you know? We still need to pick a cake and I haven’t decided on my hairstyle or jewelry.” Bellamy retrieved the pages, rolling them between her hands. “I ended up Googling Lydia’s wedding and saw this. Our ceremony won’t get as much news coverage as Reid’s sister’s wedding did—I’m not some up-and-coming actor, um, actress, after all—but I am marrying the Reid Stanton. I can’t have photographers pointing their cameras at me. That fake photographer said it all yesterday: ‘Been there, photographed that.’ ”
“No one is going to think that, Belle. This is your wedding. Your day. You’re going to look gorgeous in that gown—”
“And who am I, Elisabeth? Bellamy Hillman, dog groomer.” She buried her face in her hands for a moment, her long hair brushing against her wrists. “Oh, won’t that look lovely in the newspapers? Reid Stanton, heir to restaurateur Bruce Stanton, married Bellamy Hillman—dog groomer. I have no pedigree—”
“Very funny.”
“I’m serious. The only thing I’m known for is being ‘one of the Hillman kids.’ Do you know how many times I heard ‘Oh, you’re another Hillman, right? Are you the last one?’ when I was in school? This is my wedding day. I need to look so . . . astounding, the reporters can at least say the stunningly beautiful Bellamy Hillman, dog groomer.”
“You’re the woman Reid Stanton proposed to because he wants to spend the rest of his life with her—”
She waved away her friend’s comment. “Not good enough, Elisabeth. Not good enough.”
“But Belle, isn’t this a bit extravagant? I heard you tell the saleswoman to bring whatever dresses she could find.”
“Between my parents and Reid’s parents, we’re fine. I’m not ignoring the budget. Besides, it’s not just me. I-I can’t shake the feeling that Reid’s father doesn’t approve of me—”
“Are you sure you’re not just imagining things?”
“I wish I was. He’s cordial, nothing more. And then Reid asked me why I didn’t buy a new dress for the engagement party . . . I have to do this right. The Stanton way. I just wish I knew what that was. There are so many unspoken rules.”
“You’re going to wear yourself out trying to please Mr. Stanton, you know. And it’s not about making him happy—it’s about being who God made you.”
“Well, when it comes to this wedding, it is about making sure I pull it off so I don’t disappoint Reid or his family.” Bellamy tightened the belt around her waist. “And before you say it, I haven’t forgotten that I’m getting married in three months. That’s why the saleswoman is bringing me off-the-rack and sample dresses. I found a link on Pinterest about saving money on wedding gowns and read about buying off-the-rack or samples. See? No worries.”
Her best friend didn’t look completely convinced. “And what are you going to do with dress number one?”
“I’ve already thought of that, too. They have online resale sites, so when I find a new dress, I’ll sell the first one and recoup the money we spent on the alterations.”
“Some of your money, not all of it.”
“I’m sure I’ll be able to get most of it back. After all, it’s only a few thousand dollars.”
“ ‘After all, it’s only a few thousand dollars,’ she says.” Elisabeth shook her head, muttering under her breath.
The door eased open as Amanda stepped backward into the room, her arms cradling gowns encased in protective plastic.
“Are you ready to try on some dresses?”
“That’s why we’re here.”
Elisabeth stepped sideways around the saleswoman. “Why don’t I slip out and wait by the magic mirrors?”
“Very funny. But it’s probably a good idea—” Bellamy managed to maneuver around the small space for a quick hug. “—since it’s going to be crowded in here in a few moments.”
When she turned her attention to the dresses hung on the brass rod, there were only four waiting to be tried on.
Bellamy chewed off what little lip gloss remained on her bottom lip. “That’s all?”
“Well, yes.” Amanda’s silver angled bob framed her perfectly made-up face as she stopped unzipping the first plastic dress bag. “The challenge is finding a sample or off-the-rack dress in your size. We can’t select something too large or too small—too many alterations.”
“Absolutely not.”
“But I did find some lovely possibilities.” She removed the first gown with a soft swish of material. “Now remember, samples usually require dry cleaning and some slight repairs—”
“I understand.”
“Then let’s get started.”
Bellamy turned away from the mirror as the woman helped her into the gown. What color was this dress, anyway?
“You said you were looking for a statement gown.” Amanda arranged the dress and then zipped it. “This blush gown is a lovely color and it’s quite trendy.”
Blush? Bellamy smoothed her hands down the strapless ruched bodice and overflowing skirt. Okay, if Amanda said so.
“This is a Vera Wang, and it has a rose ruffle skirt. It’s quite a statement dress. It also fits you nicely—although you might need a slight alteration through the waist and the bodice . . .”
Bellamy repositioned the top of the dress where it gaped open. Once again, her body failed her.
“Well, let’s go show Elisabeth. She’s my maid of honor, after all.”
Amanda allowed Bellamy to lead the way to the front of the salon. Elisabeth sat in a cushioned chair, while another bride turned in front of a set of mirrors for a group of friends assembled in a small half circle.
“So, what do you think?” Bellamy stood still as Amanda arranged the dress around her.
Elisabeth leaned forward, squinting her eyes. “Is that . . . pink?”
“Blush.” Bellamy and Ama
nda spoke in unison.
“Oh, of course. Blush. That’s what I meant.”
Bellamy gathered her hair into a messy, handheld bun, clutching the front of the dress with her other hand. “So, it’s different, right? And we could fix the bodice with some alterations—darts . . .”
“I don’t know, Belle.” Elisabeth tapped two fingers against her pursed lips. “Have you ever worn pink, um, I mean, blush before?”
“No . . . but that makes it all the more distinctive for my wedding, right?”
She turned away from Elisabeth to take another look at herself wearing a “statement” gown. Could she carry this off?
Amanda stood off to the right. “Well, there are three others—”
The sound of muffled crying interrupted Amanda’s suggestion.
Bellamy’s gaze connected with Elisabeth’s in the mirror. Her friend nodded in the direction of the woman with blond curls clipped up on the top of her head standing in front of another bank of mirrors. Her face was now buried in her hands, shoulders shaking. Her bridal entourage gathered around her, some patting her back, some murmuring soft words—all seeming to wait for someone else to find the right words to comfort their bride.
“It’s awful. It’s nothing like what I thought it would be.” The woman’s face was blotchy with tears. She didn’t seem to care who heard her. “What was I thinking?”
“I think you look lovely—” One of her friends hugged her shoulders.
“You’re just saying that. You have to say that because you’re my maid of honor.”
Amanda moved behind Bellamy, using a gentle but firm hand on her shoulder to ease her toward the dressing room. “Why don’t you go back and try on something else?”
“Probably a good idea.”
Bellamy battled the gown’s voluminous skirt the entire way back to the dressing room. She couldn’t buy this dress—she’d be fighting with it the entire time she wore it.
