She brought a hand to her dark black hair streaked with teal, remembering the feel of Mitch’s fingers running through it as his lips took ownership of hers. She may have initiated that kiss, but he had quickly taken back control.
“This is stupid,” she said aloud. She yanked the vintage dress off the hanger and stripped to her underclothes. The silk slid down her spine and over her hips, flowing gently around her calves. She struggled for a few moments before managing to zip it up. Then she turned and faced the full-length mirror. Perfect.
Take that, Mitch. He wouldn’t keep her from wearing this dress any longer. Besides, there was zero chance of seeing him tonight. She tried to picture Mitch surrounded by energetic teens trying to line-jump as they waited for Indiana Jones and snorted.
Zoey fastened a strand of pearls around her neck and her delicate silver Mickey ears in her lobes. She wouldn’t let anything—or anyone—ruin tonight. She would be the perfect hostess, and that included looking the part.
Zoey slipped into classic close-toed heels, walked down the hallway, and knocked on Brooke’s door.
“Come in,” Brooke called.
Zoey opened the door. She could just make out Brooke in the bathroom, leaning over the counter with puckered lips.
“Are you ready?” Zoey asked.
Brooke popped her lips a few times, blotting the lipstick, then flipped off the light and wandered into the bedroom. “I’m a little nervous, since you won’t tell me where we’re going. Is my outfit okay? My shoes?”
Zoey eyed the six-inch stilettos. “You might want to wear footwear that’s a little more comfortable.”
“You’re wearing heels.”
“Yes, darling, but I’m an expert-level heel wearer. They’ve practically fused to my feet. I’ve forgotten how to walk unless I’m in abject pain. You’ve barely graduated from beginner to intermediate.”
Brooke laughed and slipped into a pair of strappy sandals. “How’s this?”
“Perfect.”
“Are you going to tell me what we’re doing yet?”
“You’ll see.”
“Are we getting makeovers? The invitations said to wear dressy but comfortable clothes and not bother with hair or makeup.”
Zoey planted her fists on her hips. “Who’s the rat that let that much slip?”
“I stole the invitation from my mom and peeked. She still has no idea.”
“Well, I’m not saying a word.” Zoey grinned, her whole body thrumming with eager anticipation. Brooke was going to love tonight. Best of all, the press should leave them alone. Zoey had picked Dapper Day specifically because the park would be crowded, and with so many people dressed over-the-top, the bridal shower guests would easily blend into the crowd.
A knock echoed through the apartment. Brooke’s eyes were wide and excited. “I can’t believe it. My bridal shower.”
“I always told you your prince would come.”
Brooke let out a happy sigh. “Luke is a prince, isn’t he?”
“He’s definitely rich enough to be one. Limo’s here.”
Brooke laughed. “Luke?”
“He insisted on financing tonight, and you know me—I never turn down a man’s money.”
Brooke wrapped an arm around Zoey, giving her a side hug. “Normally I’d scold you, but tonight, I’m too excited. I’m going to miss being roommates.”
Zoey leaned her head against Brooke’s, blinking back tears. “Let’s not talk about that tonight. This evening’s all about fun. Besides, we still have two days before you leave for France.”
“Oh, that reminds me. There are still a few Toujour things I want to go over with you.”
Zoey’s neck muscles tightened, as though Brooke had dropped a carrying pole on it with two overflowing buckets of water attached.
Oh yeah. Zoey was supposed to play boss while Brooke was in France, since Zoey would only be gone just long enough for the wedding. Brooke said there was no one else she trusted as much.
“We can talk about that tomorrow,” Zoey said. “Tonight is all about you.”
In the limo, Zoey cranked up the radio. An hour later, the vehicle was filled with Brooke’s friends and family, plus a photographer Zoey had hired to immortalize the evening.
Zoey passed the drinks around as laughter and excited energy filled the space. She sat back in her seat, pleased with how the evening was going so far. Mitch’s obvious skepticism about her ability to pull off tonight was completely unfounded. When the evening was over, she’d rub her success in his face.
“Zoey, when are you going to tell us where we’re going?” Brooke asked as they cruised along the interstate.
“Patience, darling.” Zoey adjusted her skirts. “I promise everyone is going to have a fantastic night.”
The limousine exited I-5 and turned onto Harbor Boulevard. The Tower of Terror peaked out above the treetops.
“Zoey,” Brooke said. “Are we … ? No.”
Zoey couldn’t stop smiling. “Haven’t I always told you that you deserve a prince? And didn’t we just decide you’ve landed one?”
The limo pulled into the drop-off zone at the front of the park. Brooke let out a squeal and threw her arms around Zoey. “Are you serious?”
Zoey laughed, returning Brooke’s hug. “This isn’t the only trick I have up my sleeve.” She held up a hand, and the giggling women quieted down. “Ladies, I’ve got a night planned for us that no one will ever forget. Leave the presents in the limo and stay close.”
The group spilled out of the limo, laughing like children on their first trip. Zoey patted her purse, making sure the tickets Mitch had given her a few days earlier were still safely tucked inside. Instrumental music floated through the speakers, light and happy. The setting sun just kissed the peak of the Matterhorn in the distance, and globe lamps gave off a warm yellow glow.
Zoey took a deep breath, her posture naturally straightening. Tonight would be absolutely magical.
They waited in a line filled with guests in their 1950s best, then had their tickets scanned and pushed their way through the turnstiles, entering the park.
“Zoey, I love it.” Brooke laughed, giving her another hug. “Let’s get a picture of everyone in front of the flowers with the train station in the background. The sunlight’s perfect right now.”
“You’re the bride.” Zoey motioned to the photographer, and they all gathered in front of the waist-high brick wall and smiled for the camera. Zoey hoped she was the only photographer taking pictures of them tonight.
No, not hoped—knew. No one would recognize them, and the paparazzi were all at clubs in L.A. hoping to see someone drunk and stupid.
Zoey led the group down idyllic Main Street USA, her heels clicking against the pavement. They passed a little girl begging her parents for a balloon. A young couple in their Sunday best shared an ice cream as they laughed together. Zoey breathed deeply, inhaling the scent of fresh popcorn and pretzels. She wound around a vendor pushing a cart with ice cream and soda, avoiding the streetcar rails in the middle of the road so her heels wouldn’t get stuck. People sat along the roped-off areas of the sidewalk, waiting for a parade.
A flash went off, and Zoey flinched. But it was just their hired photographer. Relax, she told herself. She’d kept the location a secret from everyone but Mitch and Luke, and her next surprise should help make Brooke a little less recognizable.
Zoey headed straight for the castle, the focal point at the end of the path. Once inside, she veered left and stopped just outside the boutique.
“We’re going shopping?” Brooke asked.
Zoey motioned inside the shop with a flourish. The front was filled with princess dresses, glittering high heels, and tiaras for little girls. In the back, swiveling beauty chairs were positioned in front of rounded mirrors. A stylist stood beside each one.
“We’re transforming into princesses for the evening,” Zoey said. “Just tell the fairy godmothers who you want to be, and they’ll make it happen.”<
br />
The ladies squealed, racing inside the shop. Brooke stayed with Zoey, a goofy grin on her face.
“You’d better go get ready for the ball.” Zoey nudged Brooke with her shoulder.
“This is perfect, Zo. Thank you.” She grabbed Zoey’s hand and tugged her inside.
For the next hour, Zoey chatted with her hairdresser, the room a buzz of giggling women. The boutique had taken on the air of a teenage slumber party. Zoey laughed as her hair was curled and then piled on top of her head. The hairdresser sprayed the whole thing with glitter and accented the locks with starfish hair clips. As the finishing touch, she placed a tiara that resembled ocean coral on the crown of Zoey’s head.
Brooke turned to Zoey, her Cinderella tiara glinting in the chandelier light. Her rich brown hair had been pulled into a bun on top of her head, with jewels pinned throughout. “How do I look?”
“Absolutely gorgeous.” Zoey looked around, noting that everyone was nearly finished. She pulled her phone out of her purse and checked the clock. She’d timed it perfectly. “Luke got us reservations at Club 33. The Trophy Room.”
Brooke’s eyes widened, and she squealed. “Are you serious? Their cheesecake is my favorite!”
“I don’t joke about food.”
“Club 33?” one of the women said. “I’ve never heard of it.”
“You’ll love it,” Zoey said. At least, she hoped they would.
The women exited the castle and headed toward New Orleans Square, a posse of giggling kids at heart, thrilled to be princesses at Disneyland. Zoey led them past Pirates of the Caribbean and to the shops near the ride exit. There, across from the jewelry store, was an ornate door. The glass above it had a 33 etched into it. Zoey pushed the intercom and gave them Luke’s name.
“This is so cool!” Brooke said.
Zoey grinned, turning away from the intercom to talk to Brooke.
A tall man disappeared into the shadows of the shop across from them, his face visible for less than a second.
Zoey’s jaw tensed, and her heart hammered in her chest.
“What’s wrong?” Brooke asked.
Zoey forced a smile. “Nothing.”
The door to Club 33 opened, and a woman in a tuxedo ushered them inside.
“Are you sure?” Brooke asked.
Zoey nodded, raising her voice so the entire party could hear her. “This is the only place in the park where you can get alcohol, so drink up, ladies.”
Brooke’s brow creased together, but she followed the hostess up the stairs.
Zoey glanced over her shoulder one last time before the door shut behind her.
For a moment, she’d been certain she saw an attractive man with purposefully silver-streaked hair watching them.
Zoey’s stomach curdled from anxiety all through dinner, and she barely touched her meal, which probably cost as much as an entire month’s rent.
Surely her eyes played tricks on her. Alan shouldn’t be here. Couldn’t be here. If he was, it could only mean one thing.
Mitch had been right.
She shook her head, stabbing at the duck on her plate. No. It could mean Alan was a creep who’d followed her to Disneyland. It could mean he’d come at the last minute with friends. Who was to say it was even Alan she’d seen? Lots of men had graying hair and a trim figure.
Zoey took a sip of wine. The dark wood paneling of the Trophy Room pressed in on her, whispering, “You were wrong.” Again.
No. Mitch was wrong. Not Zoey.
She forced herself to focus on the laughing women around the rich mahogany table, set with fine china and more forks than Zoey knew what to do with. She’d never been to Club 33, but had to admit, the atmosphere was impressively magical, if a little “boy’s club” for her taste. They had the entire Trophy Room to themselves—Zoey wondered how much that extra perk had cost Luke—and everyone seemed to be having fun. Concept art from various animated films hung in ornate frames on the walls, and in one corner there was an animatronic vulture they’d had fun conversing with when they first arrived.
Nearly everyone was finished with the main course. Perfect. Zoey glanced at the round table in another corner of the room, piled high with presents, which Mitch had arranged to have delivered so the guests wouldn’t have to carry them through the park. They’d open presents, eat dessert, and then head out to the park with their multitude of fast passes, compliments of Club 33, and hit the rides.
This party would be a home run. No weirdo stalker would ruin that.
For the next hour, Zoey tried to forget about Alan—and Mitch—while Brooke opened presents and they enjoyed dessert. Disneyland was a big park, and it only made sense that someone would have the same dark hair and average build as Alan.
He wasn’t a reporter. He wasn’t a celebrity-obsessed fan hoping to sell a story. He wasn’t here. She was over-thinking things at best and paranoid at worst.
Curse you, Mitchell Harris! Why was she letting him get in her head? It seemed to be his special talent.
“Thank you so much for the gifts,” Brooke said, smiling at her friends and family. “I’m so glad you could all come tonight. Thank you so much, Zoey, for putting this amazing party together.”
The women clapped and Zoey gave a dramatic bow. Yes, this would be a bridal shower for the memoirs.
“How about we go enjoy the park?” Zoey asked, and the women cheered. “Okay, but first, I have a surprise for you. Something glittery.”
“A tiara isn’t glittery enough?” Brooke teased.
“Psh. Hardly.” Zoey reached into a box hidden in one corner of the room and slowly withdrew a long strip of white silk. She held out the sash, dramatically showing everyone the word “bride” written in glittery pink.
Brooke laughed, taking her sash. Zoey passed out personalized sashes to the others, then slipped on her own maid of honor sash.
“I know the sashes seem a little obvious,” Zoey said. “But I couldn’t resist. It’ll be dark soon, and between our princess makeovers and Dapper Day, I don’t think anyone will recognize you.”
“Perfect,” Brooke said. She gave Zoey a tight hug. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this evening. I’m having such a great time.”
“You deserve awesome, so that’s what I intend to give you.” Zoey cleared her throat and raised her voice so everyone could hear. “Bride picks the first ride. Where are we going, Brooke?”
Brooke pursed her lips, and her nose scrunched up in thought. “We’re right by Pirates of the Caribbean. Let’s go there first.”
“Excellent choice. Leave anything you don’t want to carry here, and it’ll be taken back to the limo.” Zoey made a rolling motion with her hands. “Let’s go fight some pirates!”
They exited Club 33, a group of loud and slightly tipsy women. Zoey wasn’t tipsy, though—she’d barely had half a glass of wine. She wouldn’t let alcohol affect her vigilance against paparazzi—and the possible weirdo she had a date with tomorrow. She followed close to Brooke, eyes roving the crowd for any hint of Alan. Surely Zoey had been mistaken. Why wouldn’t he have mentioned at the charity event that he was coming?
They exited the side path through the shops and entered the more open walkway that meandered in front of Pirates of the Caribbean. Zoey skipped over the guests wearing Mickey ears and carrying flashing wands. Alan didn’t seem the type, but then again, she didn’t really know anything about him. She carefully studied each guest leaning against the metal railing surrounding the lake. She quickly discounted the parents parking strollers.
Her shoulders relaxed, and she let out a sigh of relief. Alan wasn’t here.
She froze, her eyes landing on a wholly unexpected figure. Average height, lanky frame, smooth chocolate-brown skin, and close-cropped curly hair. He leaned against the railing, his back to the lake and eyes scanning the crowd. He was close enough to chuck a shoe at.
Okay, she definitely needed an eye exam. That was twice tonight she’d seen someone she shouldn’t have. She sq
uinted—like that would help.
Not Alan.
Mitch.
She clenched her jaw, anger swelling in her. “That meddling idiot.”
Brooke crinkled her nose. “Huh?”
The scent of churros wafted over from a nearby cart. Zoey tried to focus on that and not the white-hot rage that made her want to leap across the ten feet between them and wrap her hands around Mitch’s throat. “Nothing.”
Brooke gave her a yeah right eyebrow raise and craned her neck. “It’s got to be a guy—that’s usually what pisses you off. Wait.” Brooke pointed. “Is that Mitch?”
“Yeah, that’s him. I never pegged him as a bridal shower crasher.”
The daggers from Zoey’s stare had finally made their way across the concrete walkway to where Mitch leaned against the iron railing. He glanced up, his jaw muscles flexing when he saw them. He quickly looked away, then ran a hand over his hair, as though unsure what to do.
Brooke laughed, waving. Mitch slowly lifted a hand in return.
“He’s not crashing the bridal shower,” Brooke said. “He’s looking for excuses to spend time with you.”
Zoey let out a snort.
“He likes you, Zo.”
“Sure, if by like you mean can’t spend two minutes together without arguing.” Heck, they were usually lucky to make it that long.
“Sometimes the strongest couples are the ones with a rocky start.”
Zoey rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. Matchmaking has fried your brain.”
Mitch pushed away from the railing and strode across the walkway, looking right at home for a change in his suit and tie. Apparently staying away was more awkward than coming over. Zoey’s pulse raced, and her cheeks burned with heat. She looked down at her dress and wished she’d worn something different.
Mix 'N Match (No Match for Love) Page 3
