The Right Wedding Gown

by Shirley Hailstock

  “You’re wrong.”

  “It attacks your beliefs, your resolution that you’ll never marry. Yet what you feel points you in his direction.” She continued as if Samara hadn’t said anything.

  “You’re wrong,” Samara repeated.

  “I know because I’ve been there, felt the same thing.”

  “This is different,” Samara said. “I’ve seen him around the Archives. It’s just his sudden disappearance that caused me concern. I’d feel the same about anyone who changed their routine.”

  “Well, it looks like you can find out why firsthand.”

  Samara looked up. She could feel her eyes growing wide in horror. Justin Beckett was weaving his way through the tables and coming straight for them.

  “Justin,” Cinnamon said the moment he reached them. “Please join us.”

  Samara wanted to kick her under the table.

  “Thank you,” he said, taking one of the empty chairs. “Good evening, Samara.”

  She nodded, her throat closed to speech. He did look tired as Cinnamon had told her. His eyes were strained and his smile was tight.

  “I bring you a message,” he said to Cinnamon. “Mac is going to be a little late. He asked if you could return to the studio once your dinner is over.” Turning to Samara, he said, “He apologizes for missing seeing you, Samara, and asked me to see you home.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Samara said. “I can take a taxi.”

  “Your brother-in-law has provided us a car as an apology. It would be an insult to refuse it.”

  Samara didn’t have to look at her sister to realize this was a setup. Were both she and Mac playing matchmaker? Well, it wasn’t going to work.

  Justin wasn’t her type. Yet she wondered what had caused him to looked so tired.

  Rain in Washington reminded Samara of the street paintings of Paris. The District had a similar version showing the capital’s streets wet with the aftermath of rain. They made her feel as if everything had been washed clean, making the city ready for the next thing to come along.

  Tonight that “next thing” was sitting beside her in a limousine—Justin Beckett. Samara maintained her air of silence although she felt the heat of his presence only inches from her.

  “How long are you planning to keep punishing me?” Justin asked.

  She stared at him. “Justin, what you did is unforgivable.”

  “I admit I should have told you from the beginning, but I knew you wouldn’t go out with me. Today, I’m no longer married. And at the time I was formally separated.”

  “You were occupying the same house with your wife and who knows what else.”

  “It wasn’t what you think.” He smiled at her, probably remembering the happy times in his marriage. Samara didn’t think there weren’t happy times. They just didn’t last.

  “It was something you weren’t willing to work at.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  Although his voice was level, Samara felt the lethal quality behind it. She felt a little guilty for the flippant way she’d dismissed his marriage and his attempt at keeping it solid.

  “You’re right,” she admitted. “I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t know anything about your marriage or why it ended.”

  “For the last time, please let me apologize for the way we began.”

  She hesitated, thinking over his request.

  “I was telling the truth,” he said. “We were separated and we are now divorced.”

  She took him at his word. But he was everything she didn’t want in a man. Someone who couldn’t commit for the long haul. So many people got divorced so quickly. Instead of trying to work out their problems, they just gave up.

  Samara’s parents, her friends, her colleagues were prime examples. Despite her sister’s recent marriage and the bliss that lit up her face whenever she saw or even thought about her husband, marriage just didn’t work. And it could get messy when you tried to dissolve it.

  “Samara?” Justin called her back to the present. “We could start over.”

  “Why do you bother with me? There are so many women in this town. You can have your pick.”

  “You’re beautiful, intelligent, people like you, and we have chemistry.”

  “Chemistry?” She stared at him, her eyes opening wide.

  “Don’t deny it. The first time we saw each other, you could feel the attraction between us.”

  “You’re flattering yourself.”

  “Maybe,” he said. He reached for her hand and slipped it into his. “But I don’t think so.”

  Samara eased her hand free with as much finesse as Justin had taken it.

  The limo stopped in front of her apartment building. The District was a collection of apartment buildings, row houses and classical monuments. The farther you got from the Capitol area, the apartments melted into single-family homes before the District blended into Maryland or Virginia. Samara lived at the Majestic Apartments on Sixteenth Street, a beige-colored, pre-World War II building that had high ceilings, louvered doors and large rooms. Her building hadn’t been cut up into tiny bits of square footage to accommodate more people and allow the management to collect more rent. On good days she could walk to the White House and the Archives a little farther away.

  The driver opened the door and she scrambled out. Justin followed her. Samara turned on the sidewalk and stared at him.

  “I’ll be fine from here,” she said. She wanted to be rid of him.

  “I’ll see you to your door,” Justin stated as if he wasn’t willing to negotiate the point.

  “This is a protected building. I’ll be fine.” Her building had a guard at the door and you had to be announced or known in order to get past the locked doors.

  “I’ll see you to your door,” Justin repeated.

  Samara looked at the lighted doorway and went up the three steps to the landing. Between the landing and the double doors that led to the lobby was a long strip of concrete flanked by manicured hedges. Justin put his hand on her elbow and fell into step beside her. Samara felt the warmth of his hand.

  She walked straight toward the entrance, but wondered how she could do it. For some reason she didn’t understand, him holding her felt both strange and wonderful. Samara wanted to move her arm across herself and link hands with him. But she didn’t. She continued to the entrance and straight to the elevator, not even acknowledging the night clerk whom she always smiled at and had a few words with before going up to her apartment.

  As they got out of the elevator on the fourth floor, she wished her apartment was at the farthest end of the building. She needed time to decide what to do at her door, what to say. She had the awkward moment of saying good-night at the end of a date. This hadn’t been a date, but it had all the earmarks of one as they approached the louvered door of her domain.

  Samara pushed her key in the lock and opened the door. “Thank you, Justin.” She turned back intent on telling him she was safely home and he could leave now, but she never got the chance.

  She didn’t know how she got in his arms, or why his body was pressed against hers, why her hands were on his forearms. His breath fanned her mouth. Swallowing, Samara couldn’t speak. Her heart leaped into her throat, pounding with the same force as a tornado swirling from sky to land. She lifted her head and looked into his eyes. When did they get to be so brown? And why did it feel so right to be in his arms?

  “Just—” she started, but Justin covered her mouth again. Samara submitted without resistance. Holding her, he had taken her resistance away. His mouth was strong, determined, insistent. Samara opened hers and his tongue swept inside. Laser-sharp sensations slashed into her body, attached themselves to erogenous nerve endings and let the need in her flow freely.

  Her body acted on its own. Her feet pushed her up on her toes and her arms curled around Justin’s neck as she joined him in a kiss that was rapidly turning desperate. Waves of pleasure Samara had never felt before coursed through her. H
eat inched up from her toes, then burst through her body, suffusing it like a suddenly opened furnace.

  Justin’s hands caressed her back. Heat followed their movement to the point Samara thought she’d melt under his touch.

  Sliding her mouth free, she gasped for air, her body so weak that only Justin’s arms were keeping her upright. Resting her head on his shoulder, Samara was trying to get her breathing under control, trying to make sense of what had happened, while still being enclosed in an embrace that had her craving more. She’d never experienced anything like that. It was a kiss. It’s not like she hadn’t been kissed before, but she felt as if she hadn’t. She’d never been so thoroughly, desperately wanted and aroused that she felt the communication from his mouth through her entire body. Never been so well-kissed that she had no ability to hold herself erect.

  “See what I mean about chemistry?” he asked, his voice scratchy and lower than normal.

  “Oh, yeah,” Samara said. “I think I know all about chemistry now.”

  Chapter 3

  Samara was avoiding him. Justin knew she would do that. He’d known as he had walked back to the elevator that took him to the main floor and out to the waiting limousine. The kiss had been the capstone of the night. It was natural. He hadn’t planned it, but she looked so beautiful. He’d been thinking of it all night. When she turned, he knew she was about to leave him. His arms were around her waist before he’d thought of putting them there.

  And now she was retaliating.

  Justin stared down into the Declaration of Independence case. Samara seemed to prefer this part of the Archives. When he found her in the Rotunda, she was usually here. But he’d come to the Archives every night since his impromptu drive to her apartment and the subsequent good-night kiss, and Samara had yet to appear.

  He knew she had to exit the building on the street level. There were several exits other than the one the employees used. Unfortunately, there was a subway stop only a few steps from where Samara worked. She could easily leave and disappear without him seeing her.

  Justin had looked for her on the street, had followed the movements of total strangers when he thought he had seen her. He’d been in the Rotunda for an hour. Samara wasn’t here and he didn’t expect she would come.

  Leaving the building, he turned quickly and nearly walked into someone.

  “Excuse me,” he said, his arms coming out to keep them both steady. “Samara,” he said, surprised to find the object of his thoughts.

  She stepped back out of his arms. “I want to talk to you,” she said.

  “I thought you were avoiding me.”

  “I’ve been very busy. We have an exhibit going on tour and cleaning and getting it ready to leave the building is a major undertaking.”

  “Let’s go somewhere and have a drink.” He didn’t give her time to refuse. Taking her arm, he pulled her down the steps and into a waiting taxi. Moments later they were seated in a secluded booth, hugging glasses of white wine.

  “What was in the trunk?” he asked.

  They weren’t here to discuss the auction, but bringing up the kiss was something she wasn’t ready to do right at the moment. Maybe he wasn’t either and that’s why he asked about the trunk.

  “There wasn’t much in it.”

  “You were hoping for what?”

  “Old books, letters, diaries, documents.”

  “And it was empty?”

  “There was a dress in it.”

  “That’s all? It was a large trunk to only hold one dress.”

  “It was large dress. A wedding dress.”

  “Oh,” he said. “Did it fit?”

  The smile on his face told her he knew the story of her sister trying on a wedding gown that didn’t belong to her.

  “I’m not Cinnamon. I would never do such a thing.”

  “I thought women loved to try on clothes.”

  “Clothes, yes. The ones they intend to buy. Not another woman’s clothes.” She frowned, knowing in high school she had exchanged clothes with her friends all the time. And she and Cinnamon had also worn each other’s clothes when they visited each other. But she was no longer sixteen.

  Samara took a sip of her wine. Justin was staring into her face. He had a Cheshire-cat smile on his face.

  “What’s so funny?” she asked.

  “It’s not funny,” he said. “I was imagining how you’d look in a wedding gown.”

  “We won’t be finding out because I’m never going to wear one.”

  “Why not? Are you the navy-blue-suit type? Or don’t you ever intend to marry?”

  “No, I do not,” she said in a voice that sounded as if it was right out of the Victorian period.

  Justin smiled. “There’s a challenge if I’ve ever heard one.”

  “It’s not a challenge,” Samara argued. “I don’t accept challenges. I simply stated a fact.”

  “You’ll change your mind when you meet the right man.”

  Samara dropped her chin so Justin couldn’t see her roll her eyes. She’d heard that litany from everyone.

  “You know statistics don’t put faith in the ‘till death do us part’ stuff.”

  “I know what the current stats are.” He paused and Samara remembered he was one of the statistics. “But the divorce rate doesn’t stop people from trying or from falling in love.”

  “Love makes them blind,” she told him. “And not only blind. Like teenage hormones, it makes you crazy, too. But hormones eventually settle down and you return to normal with not much harm. Love can make you crazy for life.”

  “Samara,” he said, surprised at her words. “You’re a cynic.”

  “I prefer to think of myself as a realist.” She stared him directly in the eye. “What are you? One of those people who thinks he’ll find the perfect woman, wife and mother of his children?”

  He nodded his head slowly. “I think I’ve already found her.”

  Samara smiled widely. That was wonderful news. Now maybe he would leave her alone.

  “Great,” she told him. “Who is the lucky lady?”

  “You.”

  Samara’s mouth dropped open and her wineglass slipped from her fingers.

  The day was a waste of time. Why Samara chose to go to work was a mystery. She should have stayed in bed. But she’d told herself that Justin’s little bombshell from the night before would not bother her in the least.

  But it did.

  She’d thought of nothing else, even when she was working on the sensitive paper of the Red Letters. “Red Letters” was a name she and her colleagues had given to a collection that had been donated to the Archives. The letters were more than one hundred years old and written on paper that was red. They were between a woman and her fiancé, covering several years of separation.

  He was in Colorado and she’d been left in the District. The letters reported the day-to-day life of an affluent woman and chronicled everything from the popularity of the bicycle to the marriage of President Grover Cleveland. The family had donated them after finding them hidden in a spring-locking drawer of a piece of antique furniture.

  Normally, this kind of thing would block out any other thoughts, but today Samara couldn’t get Justin out of her head.

  She was thankful it was time to go. And also thankful she had a diversion. Geri called earlier in the day and insisted she come to Shadow Walk after work. She said she had wonderful news. Samara didn’t try to figure out what it was. Her mind was selfish and only interested in her own problems at the moment.

  “Samara.”

  She turned at the sound of her name. Alan Stackhouse stopped her at the elevator. She didn’t usually see him on this level and it surprised her.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked, looking around in case anyone else saw them.

  “I have something for you.” He handed her an envelope. It was plain white, nondescript, with her first name printed in heavy, dark block letters.

  “Who’s it from?” she asked
.

  “Open it,” he responded. Then he walked away with a knowing smile on his face.

  The elevator doors opened and for a moment, Samara stood there deciding whether to get on or follow the guard. Stepping inside, she looked at the envelope as the doors closed and the small room lifted toward the street level.

  Turning the envelope over, she found it wasn’t sealed. The doors opened and she stepped out onto the granite and limestone flooring. There was a crowd heading toward the exit and she was in the middle of it. She smiled to herself as she walked outside.

  The heat hit her like a wash of volcanic lava. Putting the envelope in her purse, she hurried for the subway and the blessed coolness of air-conditioning. She imagined a secret admirer, and wanted to open the envelope in a private place, without the prying eyes of whoever was sitting next to her on the ride to her apartment.

  She needed her car to get to Shadow Walk and it was parked in the space allotted her under her apartment building. The letter would have to wait.

  Taking the time to quickly change out of her work clothes and put on a short cotton shirt and a pair of pants, Samara rushed out the door and off to Shadow Walk.

  “You’re late,” Diana accused as Samara walked into Geri’s office. Samara had passed the main salon, as Geri called her halls. It wasn’t in use, but there were people being shown around who were planning a wedding. Samara assumed Diana’s reception would take place at Shadow Walk.

  “You are the last person in the world who should point at someone who’s late.” Samara stared at her.

  “The rest of us have been waiting for nearly an hour and Geri won’t tell us anything about why we’re here.”

  Looking at Geri, Samara also wondered what the reason was for her calling them together. They were friends, good friends, the kind of friends you could call at a moment’s notice and have them come to your aid whether it was breakfast time or the middle of the night.

  “Well, Geri, what’s the story?” Samara asked.

  “Come with me. I’ll show you.”

  They left the office as if they were members of a parade. Geri passed familiar rooms that the five of them had been in many times. Samara glanced into the room where the auction had taken place. Justin’s face came to mind as quickly. She saw the room as it had been set up that day, with seating and a one-step stage. Although it was empty of everything except the essence of memory, she felt as if Justin had just looked over his shoulder and smiled at her standing in the doorway.