by Beth K. Vogt
“That’s not important—”
“That’s not what you said after the family get-together. And I realize I still owe them for the dress I bought—canceling everything doesn’t change that.”
“Bellamy, be reasonable.”
“That’s the problem, isn’t it? I just can’t be reasonable. Nothing I do meets the Stanton standards. You’re better off without me.”
“Bellamy, don’t do this. I love—”
“Don’t say it, Reid. Don’t you dare say it!” She inhaled a shaky breath. “Because even if you do, I won’t believe it.”
“Can’t we talk this over?”
“There’s nothing to talk about—unless you want to discuss putting me on an allowance again.”
Reid rested his forehead in the palm of his hand. “Can’t you understand my side of things?”
“No, I can’t. I guess neither of us understood the other as well as we thought we did.”
Silence stretched between them. What did she want him to say? She was the one who’d rushed ahead and started dismantling their wedding plans.
“I’ll send your mother an itemized list of everything I’ve canceled—and an IOU for the dress. Good night.”
EIGHT
Maybe it was time to give up.
Scrawl the word FAILURE in red Sharpie across the page of numbers she’d worked and reworked—and sign her name at the bottom.
Bellamy Hillman, who was not becoming Bellamy Stanton, all because she’d recklessly bought an enchanted wedding dress.
She crumpled the paper and threw it across Elisabeth’s living room just as her friend came back from the kitchen.
“Hey!” Her friend sidestepped the airborne paper projectile so that it hit the far wall and landed on the carpet. “Two glasses of soda here.”
“Sorry.” Bellamy retreated to the corner of the off-white couch. “It’s hopeless.”
“What do you mean? We were making some headway when I left the room.” After handing Bellamy the sodas, Elisabeth retrieved the paper, smoothing it out on the sofa cushion. “You sell the wedding dresses—”
“I’ll only get a fraction of what I paid for them.”
“We already discussed that. You won’t get what you paid for them—the sites we saw on Pinterest explained that. No sense fighting reality. But you’ll probably get a better price for the second dress than you will for the first.”
“Right. Paid more . . . hope I get more back.”
She’d be one of those women posting a wedding dress for sale with a NEVER WORN tag attached to it. Just the thought seemed to cause her heart to stutter.
“I know this is hard, Belle.” Elisabeth sipped her grape soda. “I can post them on the site for you.”
“No, I’ll do it.” She deserved the penalty—it fit the crime. “You do have a life, Lis. I know you have school papers to grade.”
“I always have papers to grade—it’s the life of a teacher. Let me do this. It’s not like you have to do penance or something.” Elisabeth set the paper on the arm of the couch. “One of these days I’m going to invest in a coffee table. But for now, I’ll write up the ad and you can okay it, and then I’ll post it on that site we selected based on the great and powerful Oz’s recommendations.”
“Excuse me?”
“Oz . . . Pinterest. Same thing.”
“Very funny.” Elisabeth’s humor lightened the mood, if only for a moment. “But I got myself into this . . . you shouldn’t have to bail me out.”
“It’s not about bailing you out. It’s about being your friend. So what about your car?”
“The Blue Book value is six thousand dollars for a Camry in good shape. So I think I could ask five thousand dollars—maybe get forty-five hundred.”
“Are you sure you want to sell your car? I mean, you’ve got to get to work . . .”
“Well, I would say I could ride in with my dad—but he’s still awfully upset with me. He’s barely talking to me.” Bellamy had lost her desire for the syrupy-sweet soda. “I was going to ask my mom if I could drive the old family van—”
“The van? Does that thing even run anymore?”
“I think so. I mean, it’s been sitting out behind the clinic for years. I thought I’d try it and see.”
Elisabeth consulted the wrinkled piece of paper. “Okay, let’s look at the numbers again. Say you get twenty-five hundred for gown number one . . .”
“Oh, Elisabeth, it’s so beautiful!”
“We have to think conservatively, Bellamy. We know what you paid, but we have to realize women coming to these sites are looking for bargains. Now, gown number two . . . maybe fifteen thousand . . . so if you get four thousand for your car—”
“Forty-five hundred.”
“Four thousand for your car—then, hold on, let me add this up.” Elisabeth pulled her laptop closer. “That’s twenty-one thousand, five hundred dollars. Not bad. Not bad at all.”
“But not enough.”
“Bellamy—it’s a start.”
“I wish I hadn’t done it, Elisabeth.” Bellamy ran her fingers through her hair again and again. She probably looked like a wild woman.
“I know you do. But I don’t blame you for buying that wedding dress—you look so spectacular in it—”
“No, that’s not it.” All the years of saying no when she should have said yes—of saying yes when she should have said no—seemed to rise up in her head and taunt her. “I wish I’d never said yes when Reid Stanton asked me out.”
“Oh, Belle—”
“What was I thinking?” Bellamy jumped up from the couch as if she could get away from herself. “There I was, getting all carried away because he was nice, bringing his mother’s so-homely-he’s-cute dog to the groomer. And talking to me. Smiling that smile of his that makes you forget what you want to say next because all you can think is, God, why did you give this guy that much gorgeous?”
“Belle—”
“And I’m thinking this guy is actually falling in love with me. Me!” Bellamy waved her hand up and down in front of herself. “The girl who clips dogs’ toenails and cleans their ears. The girl who didn’t finish college because, oh, sure, she graduated from high school early, but she couldn’t decide on a major and crashed her GPA three semesters in. Ha! I fooled him long enough to get him to propose . . . but I bet he’s thankful he figured out he couldn’t trust me . . .”
Bellamy’s voice trailed off into a choked sob.
“Oh, Lis, what am I going to do? Reid was the best thing that ever happened to me. And I still love him—and I wrecked it. I wrecked it over a stupid, stupid dress . . .”
• • •
A crying jag chased with a watered-down glass of grape soda was no way to spend a Wednesday night—even if her best friend provided the shoulder to cry on.
The effects carried all the way over to the next evening and Bellamy welcomed the quiet of her carriage apartment. Work had included a white bichon frise that resisted being groomed and whined the entire session. Once home, Bellamy envisioned abandoning her worries on the doorstep. Maybe she could manage a decent night’s sleep and pick them back up tomorrow morning on her way to work.
Dropping her purse on the chair right inside the front door, she shrugged out of her worn jean jacket, letting it fall beside her purse. She’d indulge in a long hot bath using her eucalyptus-spearmint bubble bath.
No more numbers.
Her car and one of her wedding gowns were posted for sale. Tomorrow . . . tomorrow she’d post the oh-so-magical dress. Ha. The only charm it had was to destroy her romance.
No.
She couldn’t blame the dress for that. It was her fault—and what she thought she’d found in the gown.
What she thought she’d found with Reid.
A muffled ring sounded inside her purse,
stalling her steps toward the escape into the bathroom. Maybe Elisabeth calling to report a sale already?
“Please tell me we got full price—”
“Hello, Bellamy. This is Ava Stanton. And I’m sorry to say I cannot answer that question.”
Bellamy stumbled to a stop in the hallway, one hand pressed against the wall. “Mrs. Stanton?”
“I do hope this is a convenient time to call.”
“Yes. I mean, I was just going to take a bubble bath—”
Oh, why did she just open her mouth and tell Reid’s mother that?
“How lovely. I adore bubble baths. Do you know there are hotels with bubble bath concierges?”
“No, I didn’t know that.”
“Yes—and there are soap concierges and fragrance butlers, too. But I didn’t call to discuss hotel services.”
“No, ma’am.” Bellamy pressed her lips together, turning her back on the wide-eyed girl staring at her in the mosaic-tiled mirror at the end of the hall.
“I am sorry to say Reid told me that you and he ended your engagement.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Bellamy swallowed back the salty threat of tears.
“I was so looking forward to welcoming another daughter into our family. Not just any daughter, Bellamy. You.”
Mrs. Stanton was being gracious, as always. But for all her kindness, Reid’s father was probably relieved.
“But I realize I cannot control my children’s lives. Lydia marries a man who lives in England—and I’m happy for her. You and Reid decide you’re not suited . . . well, I know better than to meddle. After all, you are both adults.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“There was one thing I did want to clarify—and that was about the charity auction.”
“T-the charity auction?” Bellamy pressed a hand to her forehead, where a dull pressure was beginning to build.
“Yes. The charity auction to benefit the children’s hospital—I’m a longtime board member. I asked Reid to remind you about it after the engagement party. I’m sure you haven’t forgotten.”
But she had. And surely Mrs. Stanton didn’t expect her to still show up—
“Now, I realize you’ll feel uncomfortable attending with the family, but I had another idea—”
“Mrs. Stanton—”
“My son mentioned something about two wedding gowns.”
Bellamy struggled to find the words to explain what she’d done. “I apologize for that. It was . . . such a foolish decision . . .”
“Well, I’m sure it wasn’t your first—and it won’t be your last.” A soft laugh sounded across the phone, but it contained no judgment. “Oh, my, if I shared some of the mistakes I made when I was first married . . . well, there’s a time and a place for everything. Suffice it to say, Mr. Stanton ended up in the hospital once with a bad case of food poisoning thanks to my attempts to cook him Polynesian shrimp. Why do you think we have a chef?”
Her confession pulled a laugh from Bellamy. “Really?”
“Oh, yes. I also discovered it’s possible to burn water, my dear—and the entire bottom off a copper pan.” Mrs. Stanton let silence stand between them for a few moments. “But back to the dresses. What have you done with them?”
“Well, I have one of them up for sale on an online site—the first one.”
“And the second?”
“I’m going to put it on the site soon . . .” When Bellamy closed her eyes it was as if she were wearing the dress again—the faint hint of electricity thrumming through her body. “I can’t begin to describe how it made me feel. I wanted to wear it . . .”
“For Reid. I understand. I’d like to make another suggestion.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“My son mentioned buying the second dress was a bit of a financial misstep.”
The skin on Bellamy’s face scalded. “I’m so sorry . . .”
“The money was a gift, Bellamy. My husband and I aren’t watching over your shoulders to see how you spend it.”
The dull ache now throbbed in Bellamy’s temples. Her actions were all the worse that she’d taken advantage of a gift.
“But back to the dress. I’d like to suggest you donate it to the charity auction.”
Mrs. Stanton’s request effectively brought the worries Bellamy had left outside her front door right back inside so that they breathed down her neck.
“What?”
“We’re always looking for unusual items to auction off. We’ve never had a designer wedding gown—yours will be the first.”
“But if I donate it to the auction, I won’t recoup the money I owe you.”
Reid’s mother surprised her with another quicksilver laugh. “I assure you, whatever money you earn for the children’s hospital will be of more value to me than paying back any debt you might owe my husband and me. Helping sick children is so much more important than a few thousand dollars between family, don’t you think?”
“But I’m not family.”
“Well, then let’s amend that statement to ‘between friends’—and hope we can remain that. Agreed?”
“I don’t know what to say . . .”
“You say yes. Then we end this phone call so you can enjoy a nice long soak in the tub. All I ask is that you deliver the gown the night of the auction.”
“I-I—”
“Two weeks.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good night, Bellamy.”
“Good night, Mrs. Stanton. And thank you.”
“Thank you, my dear.”
NINE
Bellamy had never doubted her brooch bouquet would have been unique. But now no one would ever see her walk down the aisle carrying the one-of-a-kind bridal masterpiece inspired by NaNa’s brooch.
Elisabeth reached across the table and rested her hand on top of Bellamy’s. “Why are you doing this to yourself, Belle?”
“Doing what?”
“Torturing yourself—spending a Saturday dismantling your bouquet.”
“I’m not torturing myself.” Bellamy removed another pin from the assortment of jewelry she’d arranged just-so in the bouquet form.
“Oh, right. Well, if you cry any more not-so-silent tears, you’re going to rust all those thingamabobs in that bouquet of yours.”
Bellamy resisted breaking into a chorus of “It’s My Party.” “I just think it’s . . . silly to keep this . . . if I’m not getting married. The challenge is going to be returning the brooches I received as gifts—”
“But doing this makes you sit around and think about Reid—”
Like she wasn’t doing that anyway.
Instead of answering her friend, Bellamy removed another pin. The bouquet had been more than half completed and now she was destroying it.
Elisabeth reached across the table and grabbed Bellamy’s right hand. “What happened to your fancy nails?”
“Oh, those.” Bellamy shook off her friend’s hold. “I soaked them off—turns out an adequate amount of acetone in a bowl works wonders.”
“You decided not to keep the long bloodred look?”
“I’d thought about switching to a classic French manicure for the wedding, but . . .” Her voice trailed off. Nothing more to say.
Bellamy traced the bow-shaped outline of a glittery art-deco-style pin. She’d discovered it at a garage sale in Manitou and almost danced down the woman’s driveway at finding such a beautiful piece of costume jewelry. A swirl of rhinestone-embellished leaves had fit nicely next to it.
Wait a minute . . .
“Are you okay, Belle?”
“There’s something about this pin, Lis.”
Bellamy removed the bow-shaped pin and ran her fingers across the jeweled surface, the looping double curves of the bow held in the center by a tiny round crystal . . .
could it be a real diamond? Baguette and round stones were set throughout the rest of the pin.
“I need my laptop.”
Elisabeth peered over her shoulder while Bellamy set up her computer. “What are you thinking?”
Bellamy set the pin beside her computer, tapping her fingers on the table while she waited for her Mac to fire up.
“You know how I researched making the bouquets, right? Well, I also did a little research on brooches.” She Googled “vintage art deco pins” while she talked. “Some of these can be worth a lot of money.”
“You’re kidding me.” Elisabeth moved to her side and settled in the chair next to her, pulling her knees up and wrapping her arms around her legs.
“No, I’m not. I mean, it’s probably just wishful thinking . . . I got this brooch at a yard sale—found it in a pile of costume jewelry in an old tin. The woman said her kids had played with the stuff for years. What are the chances . . .” Her voice trailed off as she scrolled the pages of antique pins.
“I don’t know—you tell me. What are the chances?”
Several pages in, a brooch almost identical to the one Elisabeth was now examining appeared on the page. She turned the laptop toward her friend.
“Look at this—” She pointed at the screen and picked up the pin, turning it over. “—and that.”
Elisabeth’s eyes widened as she noted the distinctive mark on the back of the pin on the computer screen that matched the mark on the brooch in Bellamy’s hand. “Belle, that’s this.”
“I know.”
“It’s worth . . . ten thousand dollars!”
“I know.”
“What are you going to do?”
Bellamy shook her head, words scrambled in her brain. “I . . . don’t know . . . call someone. A jeweler? An appraiser?”
“Do you realize what this means?” Her friend’s voice was a squeal.
“That I’ve got a very pricey bridal bouquet?”
