Can't Buy Me Love

by Beth K. Vogt

  “Change of plans.”

  Reid’s hasty exit caught the waiting reporters unawares, who hustled to snap photographs as the driver assisted Reid in getting Bellamy into the silver limousine.

  “Well, that worked exactly as I’d hoped.” Reid waved to the photographers and then helped arrange her dress before settling back into the seat as the limo pulled away.

  “That was brilliant! To be honest, I’d forgotten all about the media.”

  “Thank you. And now, we shall enjoy an impromptu ride through Manhattan—a few minutes of peace and quiet—and then we’ll show up at the reception, after we’ve caught our breath. And shared a few kisses.”

  “Did anyone else know about your plan?”

  “Yes.” He slid his arm around her shoulders and pressed a warm kiss to her neck. “I told my mother, like a good son. Now I’m going to kiss you breathless like a very good husband—”

  “But I wanted to see the city lights—”

  “We can do that later, at the reception. There’s an excellent view of the Manhattan skyline, remember?”

  And with that, Reid pushed the button so that the divider screen rose, separating them from the driver.

  SIXTEEN

  We’ve kept people waiting—” Bellamy slipped her hand into Reid’s as they stood just outside their reception.

  “This is our party, Mrs. Stanton. And from what I see, everyone seems to be having a lovely time. I don’t think they missed us at all.” Reid scanned the room. “Having Francine take everyone’s photos before we arrived was an excellent idea.”

  The planner had captured their vision, transforming the empty loft into a site of romantic elegance. The back walls were covered in thick white material, while floor-to-ceiling windows provided a breathtaking view of the Manhattan skyline at night. Small rectangular tables covered with shimmering gold tablecloths were clustered at one end of the room. Tall glass tapers of various heights lined the middle of the tables, topped with white pillar candles. Between each pair of candles were short, mirrored vases filled with white gardenias. Resting on the glass dinner plates were starched napkins that matched the tablecloths and small rectangular menu placards.

  At the opposite end of the room, a dance floor had been set up, along with a live band, with the musicians now playing soft instrumental music, suitable for the pre-dinner reception. Guests mingled, having indulged in the appetizers and drinks.

  “One more thing to add to their memories of this week. We saw the Christmas tree in Rockefeller Plaza again. We ice-skated in Bryant Park. We wandered Little Italy and stuffed ourselves with Italian food. We even saw the Rockettes, which I must admit was a favorite of mine.”

  “And we got married.” Reid lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it, offering her a wink. “Now, I do believe it is time that we are once again introduced as Mr. and Mrs. Stanton. And then we can really get this party started.”

  After the band’s vocalist introduced them, their small wedding party assembled at one of the tables.

  Elisabeth sat back and showed off her teal shoes. “I must say, I love these, Belle.”

  “A brilliant decision.” Lydia slipped her foot next to Elisabeth’s, so that the tiny crystals adorning the back of the shoe twinkled in the overhead lighting.

  With a laugh, Bellamy revealed her own high heels adorned with the smallest brooch-like adornment on the toe. “Well, we all needed a bit of bling, don’t you think?”

  Garrett and William, who wore traditional black tuxedos and navy-blue ties that matched Elisabeth and Lydia’s dresses, pretended to ooh and aah over their cuff links.

  Lydia examined her bouquet that glinted in the candlelight. “This is stunning. Are you still thinking of starting your own business?”

  “I’m considering it—”

  “No talking business.” Reid cut off the conversation. “Tonight is all about celebrating. All pleasure, if you please.”

  Although he spoke to his sister, his eyes rested on Bellamy, a hidden message in them that caused her breath to catch in her throat.

  A drumroll from the band stopped her thoughts from wandering to later tonight when she and Reid would be taking the limo to the Plaza Hotel.

  Both her parents and Reid’s parents stood before the assembled guests, wineglasses in their hands. Her father stepped forward, and Bellamy realized he also held a cordless microphone.

  “Good evening and welcome to the celebration. I’m Keith Hillman, the father of the bride. We’re breaking with tradition tonight. Mr. and Mrs. Stanton here—” The sound of Mr. Stanton clearing his throat caused her father to stop. “Pardon me. Bruce and Ava and my wife and I wanted to start off by toasting our children.”

  “Seems we come by the whole ‘impromptu’ thing honestly.” Reid’s whisper, followed up with a kiss pressed just below her ear, sent a shiver down her neck.

  “Will everyone please join my wife and me as we make this toast?” Her father and mother raised their glasses. “To our daughter Bellamy, and our new son, Reid. Our family has expanded, once again—and we thank God. Bellamy, you were always known as our ‘the end’ child. Well, as many of you know, the ending of the story is so important. It can leave you disappointed . . . or it can be so satisfying you close the book with a smile on your face. Bellamy, in you, God gave us the perfect ending to the Hillman family. To Bellamy Hillman Stanton.”

  Within in the shelter of her husband’s arms, Bellamy blinked back tears to a chorus of “To Bellamy.”

  “And now a toast to our son, Reid.” Reid’s father stepped up beside Bellamy’s. “I always told my wife I was happy with the perfect pair—a son and a daughter. I’ve learned that none of us is perfect, but that a family is where we learn to love and forgive one another. Reid, I am so thankful that when your mother and I prayed for our first child, God answered our prayers with you. And I am just as thankful that when we prayed for your wife, he answered our prayers with Bellamy. To Reid Stanton, whom I know will continue to become the man God created him to be.”

  Reid’s eyes glistened in the candlelight. “I . . . have no words.”

  Garrett rested his hand on his shoulder. “Nothing to be said after a toast like that.”

  The bandleader took over then.

  “We’ll have more toasts later, but now we’d like Reid and Bellamy to enjoy their first dance as husband and wife.”

  As the notes of “When I Fall in Love” swirled around them, Bellamy rested her head against Reid’s chest.

  “Happy?” Reid’s whisper was a caress.

  “No.”

  “No?” He leaned away from her so he could look into her eyes.

  “I’m beyond happy. I’m . . . I’m . . . I can’t even express how I feel. All I know is I love you and today is the most wonderful day ever. Ever.”

  “Funny thing.” Reid moved them in a slow circle, his voice low.

  “What?”

  “That’s exactly how I feel.” His arms tightened around her. “Thank you for saying yes, again, Bellamy.”

  “Thank you for asking again, Reid.” Bellamy embraced the magic of the moment. “And just so you know—”

  “What?”

  “It will always be yes.”

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Not to us, LORD, not to us, but to your name be the glory, because of your love and faithfulness.

  —PSALM 115:1 NIV

  This is my time to say thank you to everyone who ensured this eNovella became a “real book.” In some ways, that team never changes:

  My family, who knows what life looks like when I’m on deadline, and loves me in spite of that reality.

  My agent, Rachelle Gardner, who I like to refer to as “the all-wise” and “amazing” Rachelle Gardner, and—even more important—“friend.”

  My Preferred Readers: Mary, Shari, and Sonia, who are becoming s
o proficient at story that they may decide to collaborate on their own novel one day.

  My publisher, Howard Books, for embracing the idea of a destination wedding series, along with editor Katie Sandell and production editor Linda Sawicki.

  And now for one change: A huge thank-you to Beth Adams, my new editor at Howard Books, for stepping in and making the transition seamless. I’ve so appreciated your insights on Can’t Buy Me Love, and I look forward to working with you in the future.

  And to my mentors, Rachel Hauck and Susie May Warren, and the team at My Book Therapy (the writing community founded by Susie) Edie, Lisa, Melissa, Michelle, Alena, David: My writing life is richer because of you. I’ve said it before and I’m saying it here: I would not have accomplished all that I have as a novelist without My Book Therapy. If you’re reading this and dreaming about becoming a writer, visit the My Book Therapy website!

  http://learnhowtowriteanovel.com

  AN EXCERPT FROM

  Coming in June 2015

  ONE

  What we once enjoyed we can never lose.

  All that we love deeply becomes a part of us.

  —HELEN KELLER (1880–1968), AMERICAN AUTHOR

  Thousands—even millions—of women had routine choose-a-church, select-a-dress, plan-a-reception kinds of weddings.

  For some unknown reason, she was not one of those women.

  Vanessa scanned the brochures spread out across the scarred top of her mission-style coffee table, her plate of Chinese beef and broccoli shoved to one corner. Photographs of white sandy beaches curving around sparkling oceans presented an enticing mirage for a destination wedding. And then she reread the list of medical workshops her husband-to-be would be attending two days after they exchanged I do’s.

  TIAs AND STROKES: STATE-OF-THE-ART APPROACH

  ADVANCED AIRWAY ENDOSCOPY COURSE

  HOT TOPICS IN PEDIATRIC EMERGENCIES

  Not the typical themes for a honeymoon following a romantic destination wedding. She’d be lounging on a tropical beach, sipping a refreshing drink flavored with pineapple and coconut, adorned with a tiny paper umbrella. Meanwhile, Ted would be safe from the sun’s rays, watching PowerPoint presentations, and earning Continuing Medical Education credits.

  Ted leaned forward, shuffling through the pamphlets, his brow furrowed behind his silver wire-rim glasses, his dark hair flopping onto his forehead. With a well-practiced motion, he smoothed it back with the palm of his hand.

  “Where’s the one I’m looking for? Bahamas . . . Hawaii . . . Aha! Florida.” He opened the trifold paper, laying it on top of all the other brochures with a flourish, as if he were presenting some previously undiscovered medical cure. “There. I know it’s not as exotic as the other locations, but it offers the best selection of workshops for CMEs.”

  Vanessa took a sip of her soda, her glass of Coke flavored with a squeeze of real lemon carrying the punch of caffeine she needed. The “Knife and Gun Club” had been out in full force last night, and she’d seen familiar faces for the full twelve hours of her paramedic shift. Some of the same instigators who’d been at the bar brawl she’d reported to at the beginning of the evening also showed up at the subsequent knife fight in an alley and again at the shooting at one of the seedier Denver apartment complexes. After more than five years as a paramedic, she shouldn’t be surprised by anything. And most days, she wasn’t.

  She needed to concentrate, which was a challenge when all she wanted was to give in to her body’s demand for sleep. Picking a destination-wedding site based on what medical conference to attend cued discordant background music in her mind—an off-key version of “Isn’t It Romantic?” Vanessa understood the need to multitask, but was it necessary to coordinate their wedding with the needs of Ted’s medical career?

  “Can’t we just stick with the original plan?” She indulged in a morsel of her seasoned beef before continuing. “Get married in our church here in Denver like we talked about? Keep things simple?”

  “Don’t you see how perfect this is?” Ted waved his chopsticks at the brochure, somehow managing to not drop any sauce on his chinos. “I’m always behind on my education credits. It’s almost October, and look how I’m scrambling to get some before the end of the year.”

  “Well, yes.” Vanessa resisted the urge to say, Tell me something I don’t know. Both their schedules wreaked havoc on their romance. “But won’t a destination wedding cost more than a local one?”

  “I’m going to have to travel to a conference anyway, right? We’ll kill two birds with one stone . . .”

  Vanessa rubbed her temples, a few more notes of “Isn’t It Romantic?” interrupting Ted’s logic as his words lobbed a verbal rock at her wedding plans.

  “. . . combining the cost of the travel for the wedding and the conference. What’s our projected guest list? About one hundred thirty people? Destination weddings are expected to be much smaller—even as few as thirty guests. And we don’t pay their travel costs.” Ted settled back on the couch, a smile spreading across his face. “What do you think, Nessa?”

  This was one of the things she loved about Ted: he was practical. But sometimes maybe a little too practical. She leaned one elbow on the table, running her fingers through her hair, which she’d released from its customary braid. She stopped when the still-unfamiliar engagement ring snagged in the strands and twisted around her finger. The classic-cut round diamond set off on either side with six smaller diamonds was just a half-size too large. When would she find time to get it resized? She was either on the clock for four days straight, or off—and recovering. Trying to sleep or catch up on paying bills, maybe clean her apartment, while checking her in-box to see if she’d received any response to her applications to physician assistant school.

  And now she was planning a wedding. Or rather, replanning a wedding.

  “I guess it makes sense—”

  “Of course it does.” Ted reached for his water, draining the last of the liquid from the bottle. “Our schedules are crazy, and I don’t want to be behind on CME next year, too. By planning the wedding for the April conference, I’m getting a jump-start on credits.”

  Yeah . . . brilliant. A bit lacking in the relationship category, but she hadn’t fallen in love with Ted because of the way he’d swept her off her feet with flowers and chocolates and Hallmark cards. Unlike their adrenaline-fueled jobs, the pace of their romance had been slow, Ted’s patience enabling their friendship to ease into a love that would last through whatever the future held for them.

  “So where in Florida is this meeting?”

  “It’s in the Panhandle, I think.” Ted flipped the colored flyer over. “Let’s see . . . oh, that’s right. Destin. We’d fly from Denver into Atlanta and then—”

  Destin?

  No.

  Vanessa stiffened as if she were in the middle of a childhood game of freeze tag. Ted’s verbal “touch” dragged her into the past and turned her into an ice sculpture. She needed to tell Ted no . . . and no . . . and no. But she needed to be able to breathe to form words.

  As if in slow motion, she curled her fingers into fists. Forced one inhale. One exhale. Her gaze landed on the potted philodendron, wilted from neglect, which sat on her dining room table. What had the well-meaning ER nurse said when she’d handed Vanessa the plant for her birthday months ago? “Everyone needs a plant or two in their home—and it’s almost impossible to kill a philodendron.” Imagine that—she’d performed the impossible.

  Vanessa twisted around to face Ted where he sat on the couch, popping a piece of spicy shrimp into his mouth.

  “We need to pick another medical conference. Another location.”

  “But this is the best one.”

  Vanessa tapped her fist against her mouth. She was only going to say this once. Once would be enough. “Ted, I was married before, remember? In Florida? And Destin is near where I lived—whe
re I was married.” Vanessa moved aside the top brochure and studied the others. Ted would understand. He always did. Maybe they could plan a nice destination wedding on a beach overshadowed by a dormant volcano? “Let’s find another conference location for our destination wedding—”

  “Is that all that’s bothering you?” Ted interrupted her, reaching down to pull her away from the coffee table and up onto the couch with him, ignoring how the pamphlets scattered onto the floor. “Nessa, that was years ago. You’re not that impulsive teenager anymore. You’re a grown woman, in love with me. You don’t have to be afraid of your past.”

  “I’m not afraid of my past.” She maintained eye contact. Kept her voice level. See? She was calm. “I just prefer not to have a second wedding in Florida.”

  “Babe, you haven’t told me a lot about what happened, but I know it was some kind of shotgun wedding—”

  Vanessa pushed away from him. “Not shotgun. I wasn’t pregnant!”

  “Sorry. Wrong word choice. I meant whirlwind. Crazy. Look, I don’t care about your first marriage. We’re having a real wedding this time.” Tugging her back into his arms, he kissed the top of her head. “Don’t you see how even more perfect this will be? You go back to Florida and have the wedding you always wanted. We’ll go down a couple days early with the wedding party and a few close friends and family and do some fun things. Snorkel. Parasail. Whatever you want. Have a one-of-a-kind wedding—our wedding.”

  Vanessa settled against Ted’s shoulder, snuggling closer as his arm wrapped around her waist, and inhaled the faint musky scent of his aftershave. Listening to Ted, she could just begin to imagine going back to Destin. To get married. Again.

  “I haven’t been to Florida in years—not since I left for college, really. Well, except for my brother’s high school graduation. And occasional holidays.” But how could she explain to him that she’d never made time to drive over the Mid-Bay Bridge, to walk along the beach in Destin? That yes, she was afraid of ghosts. Specifically, of one particular ghost she might see when she strolled along the shore.