by Beth K. Vogt
“It’s not like I haven’t done this father-of-the-bride thing before. After you, it’ll be Brooke’s turn, and then I can retire my checkbook.”
She managed a hollow laugh. “Right.”
“You want to join us for dinner? We’ve got some ribs left over from Saturday.”
“No.” Bellamy’s stomach soured at the mention of her father’s barbecue ribs. And thank God that she had her own car and didn’t have to maintain idle chitchat on the ride home with her father. She’d hide out in her apartment and pray for courage and the right words until she had to go face her parents.
• • •
True to his word, her father sat at the extra-long dining room table making an entry into his checkbook when Bellamy arrived later that evening. Now that some of her siblings were having children, her parents would never retire that table.
“Dad, you do online checking for the vet practice. Why don’t you do it for your regular bank account?”
“I do. I just like to reconcile my checkbook the old-fashioned way.” He slid his readers on top of his head as Bellamy kissed his cheek.
And now she knew how Judas felt.
“Where’s Mom?”
“Right here.” Her mother exited the kitchen carrying a tray laden with a trio of mugs. As she set the offering on the table, Bellamy inhaled a familiar aroma.
“Starbucks, Mom?”
“No, Bailee sent me this recipe. She found it on Pinterest. Said it’s supposed to taste just like a Starbucks Pumpkin Spice Latte.”
Seemed her mother was even getting pulled into Pinterest.
Not that Bellamy could blame an Internet site for her money woes. Or her broken engagement. Or her broken heart.
She had no one to blame but herself.
“So, your father said you needed to talk to us about some more wedding plans.” Her mother handed her a brown pottery mug. “Careful, it’s hot. Did I mention that Reid’s mother and I discussed our dresses when they were here? We don’t want to do the whole ‘matchy-matchy’ thing, color-wise. But we thought we’d try to coordinate with each other.”
Dresses, again. “No, you didn’t mention that.”
“I know you’ve pinned a lot of things on Pinterest, but what do you think about a muted gray? We thought it would work with the navy blue you selected for Elisabeth and Lydia. Or maybe a Williamsburg blue—not like the color you paint the outside of a house with—”
“Reid and I broke up.”
Bellamy’s announcement caused her mother to stare at her, her mug of Starbucks-inspired coffee suspended in midair.
“What?”
“After the barbecue. I gave Reid his ring back.”
“Bellamy . . . why would you do that?”
“Well . . . because . . . because . . .” How was she supposed to say all this? “. . . Reid said he couldn’t trust me.”
So much for honesty—she’d just pinned the breakup on Reid.
“And why would Reid Stanton say he couldn’t trust my daughter?”
Her father’s voice took on the deep tone he used when he was angry, but didn’t want anyone else to know.
“I had to tell him that I-I . . . overspent the budget. Some.”
Her mother huffed out a breath that ruffled her wispy brown bangs. Waved away her words. “Oh, honey, everyone overspends their wedding budget. You and Reid are going to be fine between the money we gave you and the money his parents surprised you with.”
Bellamy stared at the whipped cream disappearing on the top of her coffee. Her mother sounded like Reid did—at first.
But she’d spent all the money her parents had given them—the entire amount some couples spent on a wedding.
Her mother’s smile was gentle. Patient. “Bellamy, why don’t you tell us the specifics?”
Bellamy swallowed, her throat dry and scratchy, like when she was a grade-schooler and her mother used to give her hot tea laced with honey and lemon. There was no simple remedy for what she’d done.
Reid had decided not to marry her. Would her parents disown her?
“I, um, realized the first dress we’d bought looks a lot like Lydia Stanton’s dress—well, she’s Lydia Webster now.” Bellamy’s voice was disappearing. She cleared her throat. Continued. “Satin . . . the same jeweled back . . . you know what my dress looks like. Anyway . . . I went shopping for another dress, a replacement dress . . . I mean, I can’t wear a look-alike dress, can I? And I found an amazing dress. It’s a designer gown and won’t be in the stores until next year—”
“Bellamy, we understand.” Her father tapped the table with his ballpoint pen. “The dress is beautiful. How much did it cost?”
Just say it.
“Twenty thousand dollars.”
“Twenty thousand—” Her mother’s voice trailed off as her mug hit the table with a clunk, liquid sloshing over the rim.
Her father rose to his feet, pushing his chair back. “How on earth did you spend that kind of money on a dress? A dress?”
“Dad, it’s one-of-a-kind—and I didn’t realize it cost that much until the saleswoman rang it up—”
“You agreed to buy that dress without even asking how much it cost?”
“Yes, sir.” Even as she wanted to shrink back in her chair, Bellamy forced herself to maintain eye contact with her father.
“Bellamy Hillman, how could you buy something as important as a wedding dress without looking at the price tag—”
“Now, Keith—”
“Don’t ‘Now, Keith’ me, Barb! It’s bad enough the Stantons are subsidizing the wedding to begin with. But now this daughter of ours just blew all our money on some ridiculous amount of lace! I mean she’s pulled some stunts, I admit it. Dyeing her hair that garish red color . . . throwing away five thousand dollars on that clunker of a car when she was sixteen because she liked the color—”
Bellamy bit down on her bottom lip as, once again, her previous brash choices were paraded in front of her.
“—but this . . . this . . .”
“I’m sorry!” Bellamy stood up, the chair behind her clattering to the floor. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am! It was a mistake—I know it. I just wanted to look beautiful . . . perfect . . . for my wedding day. And now I’m not even getting married because Reid and I broke up. . . . All I can say is I’m sorry. I’ll pay you back every single dollar. I promise.”
“Bellamy—” Her mother reached across the table.
“I mean it. I’ll pay you back—and the Stantons, too, because some of it’s their money. I’ve already canceled things—the venue, the florist—so that will help some.”
“Your father’s upset, that’s all.”
“I know. I let him down. And Reid. Everyone. But I’ll figure out how to pay you all back as soon as I can.”
• • •
Seven thirty.
Usually by this time every day, he and Bellamy had talked at least twice—and sent each other a dozen texts. Thinking about you texts. I love you texts. I just had a thought about the wedding texts.
Reid tossed his phone up on his dresser, placing his keys next to it. He loosened and pulled off his navy-blue tie and then shrugged out of his suit jacket, throwing them on the end of his bed instead of hanging them in his closet.
With a groan, he collapsed on his bed, the mattress bouncing beneath his weight.
Why hadn’t Bellamy contacted him? Not a single text or voice mail. Was she really expecting him to call her—and say what? He wasn’t the one who’d splurged on a dress and skewed their wedding finances.
Money. Funny how a five-letter word could spin your world out of control.
He’d fought his way out of self-induced debt years ago—clearing dirty dishes and half-full glasses of soda or wine from tables stained with sauces. He’d endured insignificant tips a
nd irritable customers. Watched his friends graduate two years ahead of him while every night he went home smelling of the restaurant kitchen, his feet and back aching. He’d sworn he’d never, ever, ever owe anyone another cent. All the while, he had to bear up under the additional weight of his parents’ decision to dole out a Stanton-approved allowance to him for the last ten years.
Well, as much as he didn’t like it, now that his impetuous bride-to-be had wasted thousands of dollars on a designer dress, he certainly understood his parents’ decision. Sometimes drastic action was the best reaction.
But even though Bellamy had been reckless with their wedding budget—he still loved her.
From where he lay on his bed, the engagement ring—Bellamy’s ring—glinted in the overhead light. No matter what she’d done, there was no one else he wanted wearing that ring.
For all her impulsiveness, Bellamy Hillman made him feel alive again. No, Bellamy Hillman with all her impulsiveness made him feel alive again. Why else had he offered to take Wiley back to get his weekly bath again—except for a chance to glimpse the hint of something special lurking in Bellamy’s smile? It wasn’t as if he had the time to drop Wiley off—and then return to pick him up. He’d left clients’ folders sitting on his desk—something he never did—and come in early the next day to catch up. But he wanted to chat with the dog groomer with the laughing green eyes, who didn’t seem to even notice his expensive car or the fact that he was—how did some of his old college “friends” describe him?—a stuffed shirt.
He’d never been able to begin forgiving himself for how he’d proven those supposed friends wrong—and then had paid for his choices for two years, retreating behind a façade of reserve again.
Until he met Bellamy Hillman.
The trill of his doorbell pulled him off the bed.
Had his errant fiancée decided to come apologize? Try to talk things out?
When he opened his front door, his mother greeted him, Wiley sitting quietly at her feet, one brown ear standing at attention, one at half-mast.
“Good evening, son.” She kissed him on the cheek. As she walked past, the material of her purple scarf brushed silky-soft against his cheek. “I wasn’t sure you’d be home. Not seeing Bellamy tonight?”
“No.” Reid’s emotions deflated. “Not tonight.”
“Good—that gives us a chance to talk. It’s your father’s night to meet with the board, and I thought we could talk about the wedding.”
“And what if I hadn’t been home?”
“Oh, then I would have just gone shopping.”
He switched between holding Wiley’s leash and helping his mother out of her stylish tweed coat. “With Wiley?”
“Of course not. He would have waited in the car with Thomas.”
“I can only imagine the bonus Thomas gets to be both your driver and a dog-sitter.”
“Thomas enjoys Wiley.”
“I’m certain he does. And if he didn’t, he’s wise enough to never say so.”
She settled onto the couch, Wiley curling up next to her black pumps, resting his face on his crossed paws.
“For a mutt, he’s well behaved.”
“If he wants to live in my house, he’d best be behaved. And he knows it.” His mother leaned forward to scratch the dog’s ears. “He also knows I love him.”
Love could bring a dog to heel, apparently. And it could make a man think impetuosity was endearing, instead of seeing it for what it was: irresponsibility.
“Reid?”
He shook his head, refocusing on his mother. “I’m sorry, did you say something?”
“Yes. I said how much I enjoyed our time with Bellamy’s family this past weekend.”
“There certainly are an awful lot of them.” He added a laugh onto the end of his statement.
“That’s true. I have to admit that was my favorite part.”
“It was?”
“Yes. All the talking and the laughing and the . . . the energy. I always thought a large family would be exactly like that.”
“Noisy, you mean?”
“No. Fun.” His mother’s assortment of gold bangle bracelets played a delicate chime as she clasped her hands together. “You forget I was an only child. And then your father was content with the ‘perfect pair,’ as he called it. One son. One daughter. I told Barbara Hillman I just may have to adopt all of them into our family, not just Bellamy.”
He needed to stop his mother before she started planning holiday get-togethers with the Hillmans.
“Mom, I need to tell you something . . . something unexpected.”
“What is it, dear? Does Bellamy need to discuss any details? Honestly, I thought planning your wedding would be so much easier than planning Lydia’s—”
“I . . . she . . . Bellamy gave me back her engagement ring.”
“Reid Bradford Stanton!” At the sound of his mother’s sharp tone, Wiley sat up and looked around the room. What did he expect to see—a burglar? “Why on earth would she do that? You two are mad for each other.”
“Mad for each other.” Honestly, sometimes his mother sounded like a character in a Katharine Hepburn movie.
“She was upset about something. . . . She overreacted and I . . . I didn’t know what to say.”
“Stop being ridiculous. I saw you two at the barbecue—you’re over the moon about her. What did you argue about? It doesn’t matter. Send her a huge bouquet of flowers—don’t even think of sending a plant—and apologize.”
Oh, sure. That’s what he’d do. Flowers and an apology. And a blank check to cover Bellamy’s financial faux pas.
“It’s not that easy. We argued because Bellamy misspent our wedding budget by a rather large amount—”
“Well, I’m blessed!”
His mother’s old-fashioned expression almost made Reid smile. Almost. Whenever she was shocked, she’d said “Well, I’m blessed!” ever since he was a little boy. Three little words to rein in her reaction to unwelcome news—everything from broken bones to failing grades.
“I’m afraid that wasn’t my response.”
“I can understand your being upset, son. But you and Bellamy can work this out. It’s only money, after all. And your father and I said we’d cover whatever expenses the Hillmans couldn’t—”
“No!” His mother recoiled at his tone, causing him to soften his next words. “I mean, Bellamy and I understood that, but we would never take advantage of your and Dad’s generosity.”
“Reid, we want to help with your wedding, just like we did with Lydia’s—”
“Mother, she spent the money on a second wedding dress.”
She tilted her head to one side. “I don’t understand. Bellamy told me that she had a dress—”
“According to Bellamy, her first one is too much like Lydia’s wedding dress.”
“Well, not having seen it, I wouldn’t know. But surely this is no reason to call off a wedding—”
“I love her, Mom—you know I do. But I had no idea she could be so . . . so careless about money. What else don’t I know about her?”
“Let me ask you another question.” Even Wiley seemed to wait to hear what his mother would ask him, his furry face cocked to one side. “What else doesn’t she know about you?”
His mother’s reply caught him off-guard. “What do you mean by that?”
“You know very well what I mean—”
“That episode is all in my past—and this issue is obviously very much a part of who Bellamy is today. She didn’t even discuss it with me before she bought the dresses. I mean, shouldn’t a husband and wife talk about things like that?”
“But you and Bellamy aren’t married yet—you’re not husband and wife. And obviously there are some things you haven’t discussed thoroughly. Which is why—” His mother rose to her feet, gathering Wiley
’s leash. “—I am going to leave now and give you a chance to call your fiancée.”
Reid followed his mother to the door. “She threw her ring at me.”
“Well, that was unwise. We can’t have Bellamy tossing family heirlooms around. Call her and work things out—and get that ring back where it belongs. On Bellamy’s hand.”
After his mother left, Reid retrieved Bellamy’s ring from the top of his dresser. It was elegant in its simplicity. A brilliant one-carat oval diamond set off by smaller diamonds all around the circumference that seemed to glow with an inner light. His parents had always said the ring was his when he was ready to propose. It never crossed his mind he and Bellamy would break up.
How could he make this right? The error wasn’t his—not this time—but still, he loved Bellamy. He wanted to marry her. And surely, now that she’d had some time to calm down, she’d be reasonable and accept his plan to secure their financial future.
Reid took his cell phone into his home office, settling into the chair behind his desk as he dialed Bellamy’s number. She smiled at him from the framed engagement photograph taken in New York. This was in Central Park. Another sat on his office desk at the investment firm—the photograph taken when he’d knelt and proposed at the Brooklyn Botanic Garden.
“Hello?” Bellamy’s voice wobbled across the phone.
“Belle-love?”
A sniffle, followed by the sound of Bellamy clearing her throat. “Reid? Why are you calling me?”
“I wanted to talk—”
“Well, if you want to know how soon I can pay back your parents, I’m sorry I can’t tell you.” Bellamy sniffed again. “But you can tell them I canceled everything I could think of—”
“You what?” Reid leaned forward, his feet hitting the floor with a thud, her words causing a cold shiver to course through him.
“I said I canceled the wedding. The florist, the caterer—”
“Why would you do that?”
“Why would I do that? Are you kidding me? You’re the one who said getting married was a mistake . . . you’re the one who said you couldn’t trust me . . .”
“I didn’t tell you to cancel the wedding, Bellamy.”
“Of course I canceled the wedding—there isn’t going to be one, not when you tell me you made a mistake proposing to me. And now you can tell your parents they get . . . they get . . . oh, I can’t remember how much money exactly, but they’ll be getting money back from all the vendors.”
