by Jean Oram
There was hubbub in the main room and soon they were joined by Mary Alice and Liz, who were eager to catch up on all that was new with Lily. The older women made themselves comfortable, helping out when Olivia needed something out of reach. They kept up a steady stream of chatter as they handed items such as veils to shopping brides, plied Jen with accessories, all while offering advice and alternatives, and spreading the news about various townspeople.
It sounded as though everyone was wondering when Devon’s sister was going to get pregnant. So far, quite a few bets had been lost on that one.
“Now about your handsome groom,” Liz said, her voice taking on an air of importance. “What do you have in mind, Olivia? Suit or tux?”
“He’s incredibly sexy in a tux,” Olivia said, her mind flipping back in time. So many memories.
With his new haircut and more chiseled features he was going to look even more deadly handsome, like a gentle James Bond. She’d be ripping those clothes off him before he even had her over the threshold on their wedding night, that was for sure. “Very debonair,” she murmured, lost in the fantasy.
Mary Alice pulled a tin of mints out of her bra and sucked on one. “What’s your color scheme? A blue cummerbund would look nice on him.”
“Employees get a 20 percent discount on everything—even special order items. And because you won’t let me pay you for the alterations, you’re getting the discount,” Ginger said, whipping out a massive catalog. Her eyes were shining with excitement as she began flipping pages. “I see you both in something traditional, but without the stuffiness. Subtly sexy.”
Olivia backed away from Lily, ignoring the wedding planning the women were trying to do on her behalf. “All done.”
Lily stepped down from the platform and turned in front of a mirror.
Liz had a phone to her ear. “If you want something before the fall, the only dates left open for the hall are late October.”
“No, no. I booked June 30,” said Mary Alice. “There was a cancellation.”
“What?” Olivia felt things slip out of control, like too many layers of satin pressed under a speeding sewing machine. “No, I like…autumn—no, winter weddings.”
She needed to set a faraway date so there’d be time to cancel and get their deposits back if the women got too serious about their planning. She’d thought they were joking yesterday, but today they seemed serious. Very serious.
“Oh, the thirtieth is coming up fast,” Wanda said excitedly. She reached for a catalog on a bookshelf behind her. “Do you want a veil?”
“She does,” Mary Alice confirmed.
Out. Of. Control.
“Are you sure?” Wanda asked. “You don’t strike me as the veil type.”
“I am, but no. No dress. No hall. Nothing.” She had to put a stop to this or she’d be married by that very afternoon.
The women paused for a split second.
“Eloping?” Liz asked.
“Justice of the peace,” Mary Alice said wisely, nodding. “I can perform the ceremony.” She pulled her phone from her cleavage and opened its calendar app. “I can fit you in most anywhere. I’ve performed over a dozen marriages in the past year and there are references on my website.” She handed Olivia a warm business card.
Liz’s phone was pinging with incoming messages, and Olivia began to feel anxiety build inside her.
“We want low-key,” she emphasized, trying to slow the train without hurting anyone’s feelings. “Simple.”
“You’ll still need a dress,” Ginger said. “You are wearing a dress, right?”
“Nothing too fancy,” Liz said, joining her in poring over the book. “And not white. Nobody does white anymore. But there’s no time to order one.”
“Or design one,” Ginger added.
“Oh, you design?” Liz asked.
At the same moment, Wanda stated, “Cream.” She pointed to something in her catalog. “Ivory would wash out her complexion.”
“I just…I need to talk to Devon,” Olivia said weakly, backing away from the impromptu planning that had begun around her.
“Don’t wait too long. He’s going to be so busy after the election. Best to have your wedding before he’s sworn in, since there’s not enough time before the election.”
“The mayor’s wife,” another agreed. “Very busy.”
“Best to hurry this along.”
“It’s a good thing she’s got us!”
One of the women held up the gown book. “What about this one?”
The gown was gorgeous. Almost perfect. But not quite right. Olivia closed her eyes and spoke without thinking. “I’m a designer and I’ll be designing my own.” She wanted this her way. On her terms. “And I’ll be the one showing you the kind of dress I want.”
Devon was feeling antsy, unable to concentrate on a basic land transfer contract for the town. He rubbed his eyes and yawned. He was spent from the emotional drain of last night. Completely wiped.
He finished his fifth cup of coffee and stretched, trying to focus on the twenty-page document in front of him. He kept thinking about Olivia. The engagement party. How hot their kisses were. How being with her felt like he was an integral part of something big, strong and important. And when he held her close, his body responding to her generous, soft curves pressed against him, it felt like home. The only place he’d ever felt fully himself was with her.
Which meant he needed to have his head checked. She still loved that proper, upper-crust world, had shone at the party, shone every time she pretended to be the fiancée of the possible mayor-to-be. She was going to walk away, return to her family just like they’d agreed.
But this time it was going to be even worse than the first time.
He found himself ditching work and walking to Ginger’s store, Veils and Vows, where he figured Olivia would still be, ensconced in the things she used to love best.
Halfway there, he ducked into the flower store that his sister used to live above before marrying Frankie. He picked out a bouquet of roses, fingers tapping against the countertop while the woman behind the counter tied a ribbon around their stems.
“Olivia is a lucky woman,” she said.
“I’m a lucky man.”
“My husband and I will be voting for you!” she called, as he left the store with his bouquet.
“Thank you!”
He smiled, dodging a small group of kindergarten kids on their way to a field trip at the fire hall.
“Election day is coming!” one of the parent helpers said as she passed him. “My husband’s going to run a shuttle from the downtown businesses so they can slip out to vote. He figures it’ll earn you an extra twenty to thirty votes for sure.”
Devon smiled. “Tell him thanks in advance.”
“No, thank you. And anyway, it was Olivia’s idea!” She beamed and hurried to catch up with the kids.
Devon stopped to look up at the pure blue sky and count his blessings. Him as mayor could really happen, and all because he’d taken a chance and found the woman who’d once broken his heart. Now they were healing, forgiving.
Go figure. Mayor and more.
Wait. He was considering Olivia, wasn’t he? Really considering her.
Yesterday in the hospital he’d been hoping to find love and start a family…yet when he paused to think, he realized he already had the start of some of that. But how would he turn a fake relationship into something real?
He dragged a hand down his face. It was fake. This wasn’t what he was looking for, even though it felt real.
Wanda met him at the door to Veils and Vows, taking one quick glance at the flowers before tipping her head toward the fitting room. “She’s in there creating magic.”
“Thanks.”
For guys there were man caves and for women there were bridal shops. And as Devon headed to the large room done up in cream colors, flowers and ribbons—basically, a room so feminine it lowered testosterone levels simply by looking at it—he realized h
e was more than happy to give up his man card if it meant being closer to a woman such as Olivia.
He walked through the expansive arch that joined the salesroom and fitting area, and came to a halt. There on the stage in front of massive three-way mirrors was a bride. She was in charge, pointing out various parts of the dress, bunching handfuls here and there, creating an image for the women surrounding her. There was something about her that made his blood stop moving. Something…electrifying.
The bride straightened and the air left his lungs.
It was Olivia.
She was in a wedding gown, looking radiant and absolutely stunning. He wanted to walk up to her, drop to his knees and propose for real.
He had to blink emotion from his eyes as the flowers went slack in his grip.
Last night they’d let go of the grief, letting each other in. But their charade…it was going too far. He was in too deep and someone was going to get hurt.
And he knew it was going to be him.
Olivia had gotten a bit carried away with the gown of her dreams, as she now referred to the pretty-close-but-not-quite-perfect gown. She loved that everyone around her was on board, thought she was good for Devon, thought the dress was beautiful. And after last night things seemed different, as if enough of it was real that the two of them could skirt by, build something new.
She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her cheeks were flushed with excitement, like a real bride.
One day.
One day, she was going to marry the man of her dreams: Devon.
There was a flicker of movement behind her in the mirror.
It was her fiancé, his jaw hanging low.
He looked as though he was fighting whether to be awed or to give in to dread.
He didn’t want this. Any of this, and Olivia felt her heart roll down onto the floor.
“I’m not supposed to see the bride,” Devon said, his voice choked.
Ginger, who’d been fussing with the hem of Olivia’s dress, gasped. “Devon! Out! Now!”
“But I brought flowers.” He came closer, despite Ginger’s attempts to shoo him away. “It’s beautiful. I mean, you are. It’s…” He cleared his throat and raised a fist to his mouth, just about whacking himself in the face with the roses.
Olivia giggled, loving how she’d knocked him off center. Maybe, just maybe he felt it, too. That special something they had when they were together. That dizzying feeling as if she could do anything as long as he was her man.
That wasn’t something they could pretend. That wasn’t part of the act.
Devon offered the flowers, but Wanda plucked them from his grip. “We don’t want to soil the dress.”
“Devon needs a cummerbund,” Mary Alice said, furiously flipping magazine pages. “Periwinkle? Powder blue? No. Aquamarine?” She held up a page.
“Definitely aqua,” her sister agreed.
Devon paled, taking one step back, hands raised. “We’re waiting until after the election before we get into planning.”
“If we don’t start now you won’t be getting married for years!” Mary Alice cried.
“We’re…eloping,” Devon said.
Olivia nodded. “It’s true.”
One of the women held a fabric swatch up to Devon and nodded. It was so ridiculous, so out of hand that Olivia began laughing. She’d never seen Mr. Aloof so scrambled before.
“It’s not funny,” he said hotly, and she bit down on her laughter.
She knew it wasn’t funny. It really wasn’t. But she’d felt so light and full of love all day…why couldn’t he just play along? Be him? Fun and loose and free? Nobody was going to get hurt. Let the ladies have their fun. All the two of them had to do was drag their feet for a week, then slowly break up.
Or stay together.
“If you’re worried about the cost, I get discounts all over town and it’ll barely dent your wallet.” Ginger was prodding at Devon. “Don’t you love her? Give her what she wants. What she deserves.”
Devon looked up, locking eyes with Olivia. She felt that special current run through her. She knew he truly saw her, that they were connecting on a level reached only by those who were truly soul mates.
“Livvy claimed my heart back in school,” he said, “making it useless to anyone but her.”
Olivia’s eyes welled. “Oh, Devon.” She could barely speak, she was so choked up. She just wanted to hold on to him and never let go.
“That had better be waterproof mascara!” Wanda cried, waving a tissue at Olivia. Mary Alice was there in a flash, digging through her bra for more, despite Wanda having an entire box at her disposal.
Ginger sighed happily. “You two are the most in-love couple I’ve seen in a long time.”
Olivia rolled her eyes. Her friend might be taking the act a bit far with that one.
“And that’s saying something,” Wanda said, handing Olivia a fresh tissue.
“Would you consider moving up the date if you had help?” Mary Alice asked.
Olivia looked to Devon. He opened his mouth and she feared he was about to reveal the truth. She took a step forward.
“Ladies,” he said, “I love and appreciate your support, but we all know how much time and effort goes into wedding planning. We just want to spend time together before things get truly crazy.” He reached out, giving Olivia’s hand a squeeze, leaving her heart a mushy mess in her chest. His smile wavered. He paused, then skipped up the two steps to where she was standing and kissed her hard and fast.
All she could think was I love you.
13
“What on earth is going on out there?” Ginger asked. She was facing the front of the store, where massive windows overlooked the street. “Grandma? Did you plan another sale without telling me? There’s a mob out front.” She lowered her voice and muttered, “I swear, even though it’s my name on the deed she’s never going to fully give up control.”
Devon shared a look with Olivia, who stepped down from her perch where she’d been showing off the gown. Outside, the noise was growing exponentially, keeping pace with the horrible feeling in Devon’s gut.
He stepped into the main salesroom, where it became instantly obvious what was happening. And it wasn’t anything good. Olivia was right behind him and he heard the air escape her lungs in a gut-wrenching gasp.
Protesters and reporters alike were out front, some of them banging on the glass.
One of the reporters came in, her perky smile in place. “Hi! We’re here to talk to the mayoral candidate’s fiancée. Oh! There she is.” She turned to the cameraman behind her. “Get a shot of that.”
Devon was on the man in a flash, hand in front of the lens.
This had to be the work of Barry Lunn. Had to be. Devon had heard a rumor the man’s mother had been pushing on him to take the race seriously, and that morning Logan’s old pal Zach had discovered Barry was doing some digging into Olivia’s past. Extensive digging.
“What do you have to say about your sister’s illness, Olivia? Doctors say it was caused by her constant exposure to the toxins in Carrington Cosmetics.”
Devon went slack, his hand falling from in front of the lens. Barry had found pay dirt and had set his lasers to Destroy.
Ginger stepped up, trying to shepherd the reporter out of her store. The cameraman took his shot of Olivia as the reporter pushed Ginger back with an arm, holding out her microphone so she’d catch anything Olivia uttered.
“Don’t say anything!” Devon said. Olivia was smarter than that, and by the looks of it, too traumatized to let out even a pained croak.
Logan came storming into the store, looking like a bull about to take out a china shop. He picked up the reporter and carried her to the threshold, placing her outside. He glowered at the cameraman, who hustled out after her. Logan finally snapped the lock on the door and faced the room, his shoulders lowering only when he’d confirmed that Ginger was okay.
Olivia was behind a rack, still in the beautiful gown
, looking as though someone had just crashed into her crystal dreams.
Rich, raw emotion rolled through Devon and he stepped to where she was trembling, trying to act tough, brave. His heart tumbled like a loose boulder.
Seeing her glowing in her gown had felt real. Like destiny. The woman he loved in a white dress. A bouquet of roses. His ring on her finger.
It was all he wanted.
Her body language changed and he immediately knew she was going to go confront the protesters and reporters for her sister’s sake. Devon wanted to protect her, tell her to stay put, not engage the disaster waiting to happen. But he also knew Olivia wanted to protect her sister. She was going to do what she felt was best, but it also meant she was going to choose her family—Emma—over staying in Blueberry Springs with him. His campaign, his affection, weren’t enough to hold her here.
He needed to do something, say something. Convince her to stay put and ride this out.
He strode to her, words and emotions locked in his throat. He hooked her arm, pulling her to him, kissing her mouth like he used to when they’d been in their twenties. Possessive and full of everlasting love.
Outside the store the mob kept growing. Olivia needed to do something. Anything. She couldn’t just sit here and let them send Carrington down in flames, as well as Devon’s campaign.
Everything she cared about.
Devon had just about kissed the living daylights out of her a moment ago and now held her hand in his. Solid support.
He had her back.
She needed to solve this, protect him, even if it meant pushing him away, shutting him out until the coast was clear. He would understand. They were different now, stronger. They’d lie low so her mess wouldn’t taint his campaign, then find a way to come back together.
That’s what she’d planned to do with their baby. Let things settle down with her parents, then give her parental rights to Devon when their child was born. Let him raise her, not a stranger. And then maybe, one day, she’d find a way to come back to him as well.
