Can't Buy Me Love

by Beth K. Vogt

  And tonight, he’d save her again. She’d apologize and, gentleman that he was, he’d forgive her for falling in love with a one-of-a-kind dress and upending their budget.

  “Tonight went well, don’t you think?” Bellamy linked her arm through Reid’s, her boot-clad feet scuffing through the autumn leaves covering the ground.

  Reid adjusted his steps to hers. “Your mother pulled off quite a feat—feeding such a huge crowd.”

  Bellamy was unable to keep the laughter out of her reply. “That? That’s pretty much a typical Hillman dinner when everyone shows up.”

  “And how often does that happen?”

  “About once a month nowadays, what with Bailee and Bridget and Keagan and Kristoffer starting their own families.” Bellamy inhaled the night air, still laden with a hint of the smoke from her father’s grill. “The Hillmans and the Stantons did well together, don’t you think?”

  “Yes, not that we’ll be sharing holidays. But everyone got along well enough.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Nothing—we’ll figure out Thanksgiving and Christmas and Easter just like any other married couple.”

  “Yes, we will.” Bellamy swung their hands between them. “And probably easier than most couples.”

  “Growing up it was just Lydia, me, and my parents. Things were a little quieter.”

  “That must have been absolute bliss.”

  “It was normal—and I admit I like it.”

  “I would have loved that kind of normal growing up.”

  “I know we haven’t talked about children specifically—other than saying we want to have a family.” Reid tucked her hand into his pocket. “Do you want to have a large family like your parents did?”

  “Most days, one child sounds perfect. A boy named Reid Junior.”

  “Be serious, Bellamy.”

  “I am being serious. I’d love to have a little boy who looks just like you.” Why not daydream for a few minutes longer? Talk about their future—starting a family. All too soon she’d have to talk about the here and now. “And no, I’m not like my parents. They knew when they got married that they wanted a large family—at least five children. That’s never been my family plan. I want our family to be just the right size so everyone has their own place to be him or herself.”

  Silence settled between them—and a huge, unspoken Say it, say it now loomed in her head.

  “Reid, I wanted to talk to you about some wedding details—”

  “And here I thought I could enjoy a romantic walk with my fiancée.” Even though Reid was saying the right romantic words, he seemed distracted—had seemed that way all evening. “What do we need to talk about now? Flowers? The cake? Adding someone to the guest list? Don’t ask about the honeymoon—that’s my surprise.”

  He followed up his statement with a quick kiss, their breath mingling together for just a moment, and she was left wanting more. But when she leaned in closer, slipping her arm around his broad back, he broke the kiss much too soon.

  “You were saying?”

  “I have no idea . . .”

  He settled her against him and resumed their walk. “No more kisses for now. You were the one who mentioned the wedding.”

  The wedding. The dress. The budget.

  “Reid—” Bellamy linked their hands again. Holding hands with Reid was one of her favorite things to do. A simple sign of their being a couple. “There’s one thing we need to talk about.”

  “Fine.”

  “Well . . . I’d like to discuss the budget.”

  “The budget?” Reid tugged on his right earlobe. “I thought we’d already discussed the major and minor details. Did we overlook something?”

  “Well, there’s a bit of a problem—”

  “Did you lose the spreadsheet I made for you?”

  “No, the spreadsheet is fine—”

  “Then what’s wrong?”

  “I overspent the budget.”

  At her words, Reid chuckled. “Overspent the budget? Belle-love, that’s impossible. I mean, my parents basically gave us carte blanche—although we certainly aren’t taking advantage of their generosity. Remember when we calculated our overall expenses, we were quite reasonable in our planning.”

  “But, Reid—I did.”

  “Come on, Bellamy, did you splurge on a fancy pair of shoes?”

  “N-no. I haven’t bought those yet.”

  That was a true statement—sort of. She hadn’t bought a pair of shoes for the second dress.

  “Well, what then?”

  “I bought a wedding dress—”

  “I know you did—wait, you decided not to have one of your sisters’ dresses altered, right?”

  “No. I mean, yes, I’m not having a dress altered.” Bellamy offered up a quick, silent prayer. “I bought a dress . . . and then I bought another one.”

  “Excuse me?” Reid pulled her to a stop in the middle of the path, causing leaves to swirl around her feet.

  “I bought another dress.”

  In the wooded darkness, Bellamy could only imagine how Reid’s brows furrowed over his blue eyes. “Why would you buy another dress when you already have one?”

  “I realized my dress looked a lot like Lydia’s wedding dress—”

  “So?”

  “So? Reid, I can’t wear the same dress your sister wore—not with the media attention you said we should expect for the wedding.”

  Reid’s posture stiffened beneath her touch. “How much did you spend on this replacement dress? The total for both. Please.”

  She inhaled a shuddery breath, the night air icing her lungs. “Twenty-four thousand—”

  “Twenty-four thousand. Dollars?”

  “Of course dollars. What do you think I’d spend?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. This is so . . . so dumbfounding, maybe you’re going to tell me you spun straw into gold or something.”

  She resisted stomping her foot. “There’s no need to be sarcastic.”

  “I’m sorry. You’re foolish enough to blow twenty-four thousand dollars on two wedding dresses when you only need one, but I’m not allowed to react, is that it?”

  “I’m sorry . . . I thought you’d understand.”

  “Understand what? That my fiancée doesn’t know how to handle money? Wait a minute . . . how much was your first dress?”

  Why did Reid have to be so detail-oriented?

  “Four thousand—”

  “Bellamy, are you telling me the second dress—the dress you didn’t need to buy—cost twenty thousand dollars? Wait . . . don’t tell me you’re planning on wearing both dresses? Do that ridiculous ‘one dress for the wedding, one dress for the reception’ thing like my sister did?”

  “No, of course not. I’m going to sell the first dress and put the money back into the budget.”

  “Oh, that will be a huge help, I’m sure.”

  “Reid Stanton, what is wrong with you?”

  “Me? Me?” Reid walked a tight circle in front of her. “You let yourself get so caught up in some dream-come-true wedding you spent the down payment of a house on a wedding dress.”

  “But we’re not buying a house—”

  “But we could have—don’t you see?” Reid bracketed the sides of his face with his hands, applying pressure to his temples, his eyes wide. “How am I supposed to explain this to my parents?”

  “This is between you and me. We need to talk this out—”

  “How do we talk this out when it’s already done?” Something like a groan escaped her fiancé’s pursed lips. “I guess I should be glad I found this out about you before we got married.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” Bellamy dug her heels into the ground.

  “I know you’re impulsive . . . but I never imagined you c
ould be so . . . so irresponsible . . . so rash when it came to money. . . . I mean, if you do something like this before we get married—”

  “—what might I do after we get married?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “No, but you were thinking it.” Bellamy crossed her arms over her chest, catching the ends of the scarf wound around her neck so that it tightened across her throat. “You’re saying you don’t trust me.”

  “Bellamy—how can I trust you with money when you do something like this? I mean, if you can destroy our wedding budget, we’re going to have to talk about how to handle our finances once we get married.”

  “And what is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means I think . . . I think I need to establish a family budget before we get married. And then I’ll figure out your allowance—”

  Was he joking? “My allowance? Reid, I’m going to be your wife—not your child!”

  “Well, how mature is it to spend twenty thousand dollars on a dress?”

  “I told you that I realized my gown looked so much like Lydia’s . . . and that stupid photographer that crashed our engagement party said ‘Been there, photographed that’ . . . and I don’t want to embarrass you or disappoint your parents . . .”

  “Don’t make this my fault, Bellamy.” Reid resumed pacing, crushing leaves beneath his feet. “You’re admitting you’re spending money because you want to impress people. This goes beyond our wedding. I have to think about our family—when we have children and their college educations. I don’t know that I can trust you to make wise decisions when it comes to money. It’s best if I handle our finances—”

  “You don’t know if you can trust me with finances? How can you trust me at all?” She curled her fingers into the palms of her hands to stop them from shaking, the too-long acrylic nails digging into her skin.

  “I didn’t say that. You’re overreacting.”

  “I’m impulsive. Irresponsible. Rash. And now I’m overreacting.” Bellamy pressed her lips together, hoping her voice would stop quavering. “And you can’t trust me. How am I supposed to marry someone who doesn’t trust me?”

  She twisted Reid’s ring around her finger.

  “Bellamy, what are you doing?”

  “Love has to be based on trust, Reid. I’m admitting I made a mistake . . . but you tell me—was my mistake buying this dress or was it saying yes when you asked me to marry you?”

  • • •

  “I’m the one who may have made a mistake—”

  Bellamy’s gasp made him realize he’d spoken his thought out loud. “I didn’t mean to say that.”

  “I-I dreaded telling you what I did, Reid . . . I said I was sorry. I knew you’d be upset.” Her voice trembled. “But I had no idea that you’d be reevaluating our whole relationship like . . . like some sort of investment option just because I made a mistake—”

  “Bellamy—you went totally off budget for a wedding dress—and you’re only going to wear it for one day. One day.”

  Rows and rows of red numbers marched through his head—an endless line of debt.

  Why couldn’t she understand what she’d done? How careless choices like this affected someone for years?

  “You’re the one who kept telling me how important our wedding was! You’re the one who insisted on a destination wedding in Manhattan—wanting to get married in the same church your parents and grandparents did.”

  “It’s called tradition, Bellamy. What would you spend my parents’ money on? Getting married in some little country church and having a backyard barbecue for a reception?”

  “What do you mean by that?” Bellamy stumbled back a few steps, as if Reid had physically pushed her. “When did you become such a snob, Reid Stanton?”

  “I am not a snob—I just care about family. And tradition. And—”

  “And money. It’s becoming apparent you care more about money than you do about me.”

  “I am not the one who spent over twenty thousand dollars on a wedding gown—”

  “Stop saying that! I told you what I did so we could talk about it—not so you could keep tossing my decision in my face!” Bellamy threw her engagement ring so that it hit Reid’s chest.

  Reid caught the ring against his shearling sheepskin coat. “Hey! Have you forgotten this ring is a family heirloom?”

  “I’m sorry—how could I forget how valuable it is?”

  “That’s not what I meant and you know it.” When he stepped toward Bellamy, she backed away. “What is wrong with you?”

  “It’s become very clear to me that we’ve both made bad decisions.” She sniffed, looking away from him for a moment before continuing. “You said you can’t trust me . . . that you don’t know what I might do after we get married. . . . You want to . . . to give me an allowance like I’m some sort of child!”

  “Bellamy, you misunderstood me—”

  “I didn’t. I-I thought you were some kind of Prince Charming, Reid. But now I realize you’re nothing but a money-obsessed m-miser.”

  Reid stood silent. Better for him to be quiet—anything he said only seemed to make things worse.

  “I’ll pay my parents back every cent I spent on the dresses.” Bellamy wrapped her arms around her waist. “And I’ll pay your parents back, too.”

  “Bellamy, please calm down.”

  “Calm down? Oh, I’m calm, Reid Stanton. You have no idea how calm I am.”

  “This whole conversation is ridiculous—”

  “Oh, now I’m ridiculous. Really, it’s a wonder you ever proposed to me.”

  “Stop putting words in my mouth.”

  “Fine.” Bellamy twisted on her heel and marched back toward her parents’ home.

  How had this day gone so wrong? First his fiancée confessed to spending the cost of a car on a wedding gown—and then she threw her engagement ring in his face.

  There was no redeeming this day. He’d start over in the morning.

  He ran to catch up to Bellamy. “Let me walk you home—”

  “No. I mean, no, thank you.” Bellamy never even looked at him. Never slowed down. “I can walk myself home from here.”

  SEVEN

  The busier the Monday, the better.

  At least when Mondays were this hectic, she didn’t have to talk to either of the receptionists. Bellamy could check the schedule, get the next dog to be groomed, and get down to bathing, trimming nails, and cutting fur. And repeat. Repeat. Repeat—until five o’clock.

  She kept up a steady stream of nonsense with whatever dog she was working with. Idle chatter. Comforting croons if the “client” was nervous, like Tilda, Mrs. Wilson’s grande dame longhaired dachshund. Since she was the only groomer working for her father, no one suggested she go to therapy. If her father ever hired another groomer, she’d have to quit talking to dogs—or maybe their “doggie chitchats” would blend together.

  She hadn’t planned on grooming dogs for a living. And that, after all, was the problem. She made a plan for her life. And changed it. Made another plan. Changed that one. Plan, change, plan, change—until she’d fallen in love with Reid Stanton and thought her fur-filled days were over. . . .

  “There you go, Tilda.” She ruffled the dachshund’s ears, scratching behind them. Finally her long nails were of some practical use. “You’re looking very stylish.”

  Now why would someone name a dog “Tilda”?

  Try as she might, she couldn’t ignore how her left hand no longer boasted her engagement ring. Or how Reid hadn’t called or texted her since Saturday, when she’d left him standing in the woods behind her parents’ house.

  Which is why she’d spent her lunch hour in her apartment calling the florist and canceling their order for the wedding. The invitations. And Gotham Hall, the venue. And the caterer. The elaborate monogram ice sculpture,
which had been a silly extravagance even if Reid insisted his parents would love it. Family and friends could just trash their “Save the Date” announcements for their wedding on December 30th—toss the photo of a smiling Reid and Bellamy as they strolled through Central Park during their weekend visit to New York to plan their wedding. Because that couple no longer existed. Their mothers had come along with them—on the Stantons’ private jet, of course—and Bellamy had joked she had a challenge keeping up with both of the women.

  She blinked back the burn of tears. What was the use of crying? She’d only deepen the red rimming her eyes—the ones she’d stared into this morning as she brushed her teeth and pulled her hair into a ponytail.

  Bellamy buried her face in Tilda’s neck, the dog twisting to lick her ear.

  “Thanks for that.”

  Lynn, one of the receptionists, ducked her head into the room. “Mrs. Wilson is here to pick up Tilda.”

  “And she is all ready to go home.” Bellamy straightened, slipping the restraining cord from around the dog’s neck.

  Later, as she swept up dog hair, her father joined her in the back area. “Did you have a good day?”

  “Sure.” Bellamy kept her eyes trained on the tile floor. “A busy Monday. You?”

  “Can’t complain. A couple of new patients. Surgery tomorrow, of course. You seeing Reid tonight?”

  Bellamy swallowed a tiny sob that seared her throat. Shook her head. “You and Mom busy?”

  “No. Just a quiet night at home—paying bills.”

  Okay.

  “I thought I might come by after dinner. I need to talk to you—”

  Her father’s hair, once the same dark black that was the trademark Hillman hair color, was now threaded with gray. And there was no denying that the laugh lines at the corners of his eyes—hazel, the same as hers—were really signs of age, not his dry wit.

  “More wedding details, Bella-belle?”

  “Um, yes.”