Simply Austin

by Gina Robinson

  I looked at Austin for his opinion. My heart was racing and I was smiling so broadly that my opinion was perfectly evident.

  Austin was beaming too. Maybe even more openly beaming than I was, though that was hard to imagine. He shrugged and whispered, "Fine by me."

  My pulse raced even faster, jump-started by complete joy. "All right, then. We have a date. We're getting married on Saturday."

  That one happy announcement started a flurry of activity. Our carefree sightseeing was indefinitely postponed as we met with Flora and put the wedding machine in high gear. Austin called Lazer and Ashley and confirmed they could make the wedding. He made arrangements with the guys to be fitted for kilts and shirts. Now that he had the date, Austin called and made wedding-night reservations for the honeymoon suite at a nearby castle. And I called Beth and made an appointment for a dress fitting.

  Austin was strictly banned from the fitting, from any sight of the dress until I met him at the aisle. Flora drove me to Malcolm's studio outside Inverness on Thursday, giving he and Beth less than forty-eight hours to make adjustments. My health, as predicted, had returned to its full bloom. Including my appetite.

  My bruises had faded, for the most part. My stamina was almost back to normal. And my memory was sharp as ever, except for the hours just before the accident and the accident itself. Those were lost for good. Which was completely typical of a head trauma like I'd experienced.

  Given the return of my appetite, I should have expected to put on a few pounds since arriving in Scotland. In fact, I had put on a few pounds. But it was all muscle. As I said, acting can be a physical job. That, combined with the yoga and other training, had gotten me back into the best shape of my life. And so while I was heavier, I was also thinner and more toned.

  Beth greeted us on the steps to Malcolm's country studio with Malcolm by her side. His studio was on the site of a former farm on a nice, secluded piece of property in a quaint converted barn from the 1700s.

  Beth pulled me into the tightest of hugs. "Blairest! How I've missed you! I have so much to tell you."

  I didn't know quite how it was possible, but she once again looked happier than I had ever seen her. How could she keep setting records for happiness? It was crazy. There had to be a limit somewhere, didn't there?

  We were soon talking at and over each other in our excitement to share our adventures. But it wasn't lost on me that she was measuring me as she hugged me, subtly spanning my waist and putting her hands on my hips.

  "Getting a little handsy, aren't we?" I arched an eyebrow.

  "Oh, smart girl. You caught me." She looked into my eyes. "You're nicely fit and taut. And too thin, Blairest."

  Malcolm, who had given us our space, came up beside us. He opened his arms for a hug and Beth had to let me go.

  "She's smaller," Beth said to him with a worried expression. "She's lost weight."

  "I've gained weight," I said. "It's just all muscle."

  Beth clucked her tongue. "Inches, then. You've lost inches." She gave me a stern look. "And after I told you not to."

  "You can blame Angus for that," I said.

  "Who's Angus?" Beth said.

  "My yoga instructor."

  Beth muttered something derogatory about yoga instructors. I didn't think it was necessarily directed at Angus.

  "There's nothing we can do about it now," she said with a frown. "I can't fatten you up overnight." She gave me an almost hopeful look.

  "I'm not stuffing myself the day before my wedding, no," I said. "No food baby for me in my wedding gown. What kind of a mother of the bride are you, anyway? You're supposed to be encouraging me to lose weight."

  "And you're supposed to be trying to squeeze into your dress." She sighed dramatically. She did drama well when she wanted. She'd picked up the art of the dramatic sigh after all those years working around theater people. "Let's go in."

  Malcolm stepped aside and held the door open for us. Stepping inside the studio felt like stepping into the modern world from a past century. The studio was well lit and a melding of contemporary design with the original eighteenth-century architecture. It retained its character in the original beams, but, fortunately, none of the former tenants' aroma. In other words, it didn't smell like horses or cattle. It smelled like Beth's sewing room at home—of new fabric and sizing. Fresh linen smells that would always remind me of her.

  I looked around with wide eyes, and, to be honest, for my wedding dress as I effused over Malcolm's studio and met several of his key employees, who were busily working on costumes for Jamie. The studio was filled with sewing machines, cutting tables, shelves with fabrics, serger machines, cabinets with notions, dress dummies, and racks of garments in various states of completion. Everything you'd expect to see, except…

  Finally, I had to get to the point. "All right, where's the dress? Do I have to present a security clearance to get a peek at it?"

  Beth grinned. "It has its own room. That's how top-secret it is. We keep it under lock and key, don't we, darling?"

  Darling? At least she didn't call him "pookie." Beth had had boyfriends over the years, but I'd never seen her this mesmerized by one before. And she'd never been the kind of woman to use endearments. She thought they were silly. Well, they are, aren't they? Until you fall in love. People are allowed to be silly in love. It's part of the fun. So maybe this was the real thing. Love in bloom in middle age.

  "Oh, aye," Malcolm said. "This is the public area of the studio, where anyone might walk in. Delivery people and the like. You never know who might show up and try for a peek." He winked at one of his employees, who smiled back. "None of this lot has their government clearances."

  "We're working under nondisclosures." One of the seamstresses rolled her eyes as she bit off the end of a thread. "Ye think he would trust us a wee bit more. I've only see tiny bits and pieces of the thing, such as I've worked on."

  "Need to know, lassie. Need to know," Malcolm said in a congenial tone. "It's the way of it around here. We keep all of Elinor's key dresses secret the same way. Hey," he said to the woman, "we had the same security measures for Elinor's wedding dress, aye?"

  She nodded. "Aye, we did. And there were many trying to get an advanced peek, too."

  Malcolm nodded. "Security measures. The shows count on us to have them. The windows have eyes," he said, pointing to a bay of windows letting the light in. "Telephoto lenses are the death of secrecy in this business. Photographers hanging out in trees. We have reflective coating on most of the windows, but you can't be too careful. We've kept everything, including the design sketches, under lock and key."

  "Your dress," Beth said, "was something of a challenge for more reasons than keeping it secret. They didn't have white wedding dresses back in Elinor's time period. It was Queen Victoria who ushered in the fashion of a proper white wedding gown. And since you insisted on being married in white, we had to stretch to make a dress that looks like Elinor could have worn it—"

  "Blaming me now, are you?" I teased her.

  "We had to improvise," Malcolm said. "It was a test of our skills."

  Beth smiled at him. "It very much was. But Malcolm is a genius."

  "And so is your aunt," Malcolm said. "Come. Let's show the lass the dress, Beth. We can't keep the bride in suspense any longer."

  I had a sudden vision of the dress with a wide pair of panniers. "Please tell me you spared me the panniers? I want to be able to walk through doors and get within several feet of my groom."

  He laughed. "This way."

  The studio, having been a barn in a former life, was a long, narrow building with a lofted second floor. Malcolm led the way up the stairs to a private fitting room at the far end of the barn. The room had skylights, but no windows. He hadn't been joking about security and windows. He typed in a security code on a keypad on the door and took a step back to let Flora and me in first.

  The dress took center stage in the room, lit so it sparkled as it hugged the form of a dress dummy.
And no panniers.

  My mouth fell open. I blinked back tears of total joy. I couldn't speak. My mouth moved, but no sound came out. This beautiful thing was the manifestation of the dress of every one of my dreams from the time I'd been a little girl until now, the most beautiful wedding dress I had ever seen. It was clearly a modern-day Elinor-inspired gown. But it looked like one you could walk the red carpet in.

  "It's perfect. Absolutely perfect." I grabbed Beth and hugged her, starting to sob.

  She patted me on the back and looked over my shoulder at Malcolm. "She loves it. Don't worry. This means she loves it."

  I nodded and dabbed my eyes. Maybe being a bride was starting to work on my feelings. I usually wasn't this emotional.

  Beth took my hand and led me to the dress dummy for a closer look. "Wait until you put it on. I hope Malcolm has some smelling salts. I've pictured making this dress for you your entire adult life."

  I still couldn't speak. The dress was done in a princess cut—in white with a full skirt. No panniers, but the fullness of the skirt gave a similar illusion to Elinor's. The sleeves were made of handcrafted lace, studded with glittering crystal beads. The dress had an even brighter white inset made of a different fabric and hand-embroidered with beautiful white and cream petals and leaves. The dress was an off-the-shoulder style with a very low neckline.

  Beth clasped her hands together. "Well, what are we waiting for? Let's get it on you." She turned to Malcolm. "You'll have to leave us now. Flora can help me get Blair in it. I'll call you when we're ready."

  Malcolm nodded and left the room, closing the door behind him. I couldn't tell whether he was disappointed to be excluded. I imagined the actresses he worked with weren't as modest as I was.

  Beth pulled out the undergarments they'd designed and made for the dress. Flora and I helped her get the dress off the dummy. And then we began the process of dressing me.

  Getting into almost any wedding dress is a process. This one was a process and a half, at least. First, I got into the undergarments—fortunately modern shapewear and a press-on bra that pulled my breasts together and up. Next, a large, full, multi-layer slip. A corset that shoved my breasts up even higher. After slipping the dress over my head—which took both Flora and Beth to accomplish—I stood on a platform in front of a trifold mirror while Beth and Flora buttoned and cinched me in.

  The back of the dress had hundreds of tiny silk buttons. It took so long that I wondered not whether, but just how impatient Malcolm was growing.

  "Will I be in this dress by Saturday, do you think?" I said.

  Beth shook her head. "You've always been an impatient one, child. I remember the same attitude when I was putting you in your princess dress when you were little."

  "And here I am, still wearing princess dresses."

  When they were done, I had to work hard to find my voice. "It's…" I sucked in a breath. "There are no words adequate enough to describe its beauty."

  Beth had tears in her eyes. "You're beautiful, Blairest. It looks just like I imagined."

  I studied myself in the mirror and put a hand to my bare neck. My shoulders were bare. I was nearly naked halfway to my waist. My breasts were pushed up and nearly out of the dress. Pushed up so far, I was afraid my nipples would show. It was very sexy, but a bit dangerous. One false move…

  "Self-conscious?" Beth smiled. "You have nice breasts. Why shouldn't you show them off?"

  "I'm just worried I'll make a sudden turn and have a wardrobe malfunction," I said.

  "Not in one of our creations." She was pleased, I could tell. And I hadn't missed her us of the word "our." But she was also studying me closely.

  "Yes, you have lost inches." She pinched the sides of the bodice, getting a bit of fabric between her fingers. "This should be skintight. I shouldn't be able to pinch a thing." She frowned. "It will take some work to fix. Let's call Malcolm in and see what he thinks."

  I stared at myself in the mirror. "What are you talking about? It fits like a glove."

  "An ill-fitting glove." She opened the door and called out to Malcolm. When she returned her attention to me, she said, "You have to promise not to gain or lose so much as a millimeter around your waist or bust."

  "Which means I can gain all I like selectively elsewhere? Say, in my thighs?" I said. "I wish I was that talented."

  "Anywhere that isn't fitted," Beth said. "And don't grow or shrink any in height, either."

  "I don't think we're in any danger of me doing either in the short time before the wedding."

  We heard footsteps approaching.

  Beth turned toward the door to look. "Malcolm! Thank goodness you're here. As we suspected, we have a fitting emergency on our hands."

  Chapter 13

  Austin

  I hadn't counted on being so nervous and excited on my wedding day. Guys aren't supposed to be emotional. But for a guy like me, a geek, a nerd that the women hadn't noticed for most of my life, to have scored such a beautiful, intelligent woman? Unreal. Fucking unreal. I was the luckiest bastard on the planet.

  And nervous for reasons beyond taking the plunge—security. One little slip and our wedding ceremony could turn into a nightmare. If the wrong people got hold of the date, location, and time, reporters would swarm. Our beautiful private ceremony would become a public spectacle. I wouldn't let Blair's dream wedding be ruined. There was so damned much curiosity about us and our wedding. It wasn't enough that Blair and I were "Jamie and Elinor, the real-life lookalike love story" and a PR machine for the show.

  I was also the first marriage success story for Pair Us, Ashley and Lazer's matchmaking company, which would be a great Seattle PR story when our marriage was announced. I was another recently made Seattle multimillionaire, and everyone loves a geek-to-riches story. Half of Seattle was filled with nerds looking for their rich-ever-after. Half the reason was so they could get the girl.

  I was also one-quarter of Seattle's Hottest Bachelor, and my bachelorhood was at an end. My new wealth had generated stories about the guys and me in so many financial magazines that I had lost count. And finally, the US government still wanted my services and was almost certainly keeping an eye me. I had skills. They'd be a fool not to.

  And as if that wasn't enough to make me nervous, add Randy on the loose. Constant cyberattack attempts on the guys and me.

  Malcolm came to me days before the wedding concerned that his business had been experiencing more cyber-threats and hacking attempts than usual. Than ever, to be exact. He was concerned.

  There were always people trying get the first scoop and sneak peeks at the costumes he was designing for the insanely popular shows he worked on. And other unscrupulous designers trying to copy his work and beat him to market to make a quick buck. But this was something more.

  The guys and I spent hours going over his system, evaluating his weak points and strengthening his moat. I hoped it was enough. Whoever was attacking him was sharp. And determined.

  Anything could leak. Anything could happen. But now, as I stood at the altar, waiting for the first look at my bride, I was filled with deep satisfaction and a sense of relief. All the wedding hassles—how the hell did women deal with them?—were almost over. Who to invite. Who not to invite. What to wear. We'd tried to simplify all that. And then had come the battle with the Jamie PR department over my best man.

  The guys had conveniently voted Lazer into the role back at Tintagel. We'd all agreed that Lazer was the fair choice. He'd be best man at all of our weddings. No hurt feelings that way. It had to be that way. Because there was no way to choose between the other three of my best friends. No way.

  All well and good until the show, which was paying for the wedding, decided they wanted Connor as best man. After all, they argued, it was because of Connor that Blair and I had met in the first place. If I hadn't dressed up as his character and gone drinking at the pub that night before Comicon, if he hadn't been drinking there too and invited us to join him, if he hadn't given us all VI
P passes to the Jamie panel, I wouldn't have invited Blair along as my guest, and the rest might not have been history.

  One could argue that I deserved a little more credit than that. I would have found another way to make a move on Blair and ask her out. After all, I had a world-class matchmaker working with me, a billionaire for a wingman, and a whole lot of determination. But my arguments fell on deaf ears.

  I really had nothing against Connor at all, not in principle. Working on the show promos together, Connor and I had become great buddies.

  But I wasn't going to un-best-man one of my best friends, the guy who made me rich and paid for the matchmaker who'd coached me on how to win Blair's heart. So. Here I was, waiting in the wings for the ceremony to begin and the minister to give us the signal to come out and line the altar. One of the few guys in history to have two best men—an American dressed elegantly in the finest hand-tailored suit a billionaire could buy, and a Scot dressed identically to me in a period dress kilt, right down to the jacket and frilly shirt, from Jamie.

  The only difference between us was that my boutonniere had a white rose, and his a red. Which seemed vaguely symbolic of the War of the Roses. But all right. Whatever. In the end, as long as Blair and I ended up married, who gave a damn? At least the show had the decency to make the kilts in the historical MacDougall plaid, not Jamie's Sinclair plaid. I had some family pride. And it was me getting married, not Jamie.

  Lazer took sharing the role better than I expected. He and Connor thought being co-best-men was a grand joke. They divvied up the duties according to their strengths—Connor took on the duty of the bachelor party and getting me drunk on whisky the night before the wedding. Lazer plied me with hangover remedies, made sure I got to the wedding venue on time, arranged for a car to take us to the castle for the night, and carried the ring.

  However, they each felt the need to give me marriage advice and instruct me on how to behave on the wedding night.

  I finally put an end to it when the other guys joined boisterously in. I yelled, "Why the hell am I taking marriage advice from a bunch of bachelors?" I must have looked fierce. For once, they shut up. For almost a second. And then they broke into gales and peals of laughter.