Three Weddings and a Dress

by Mary Martinez

  My non-bride stirred on the bed. A miserable groan rent the air. The poor girl must be sick. She struggled to sit up, her head hung, her arms bent at the elbows braced on her knees.

  “Oh…my…God… Why did I mix wine with the hard stuff.”

  She bolted to her feet. My silk chilled as she brushed by me and disappeared into another room. Seconds after the door shut, I heard a strange sound.

  What the scrap was wrong with her?

  My only experience with people was Heidi and her assistants. They never acted like Cecelia.

  Fear ripped down my zipper.

  I heard the water turn on, then a few moments later she stumbled back into the bedroom in her robe. Hair plastered to her forehead, her skin looked like gray cotton.

  She turned to glare at me as if whatever ailed her was my fault. I wanted to roll up my silk and lace into a tight ball, then hide from her stare.

  As she yanked clothes out of her closet, she kept up a running commentary as she dressed.

  “This plan had better work.” She glanced over her shoulder at me.

  I still hadn’t figured out why she continually thought someone was in the room. Then it dawned. She was talking to me, not to herself, just like Heidi used to.

  “I refuse to let my father ruin my life.” She pointed at me as if emphasizing a point. “I’ll show dear old Dad. Chandler won’t care and will thank me when the dust settles. Well maybe not, especially if Broderick actually fires him.”

  Once her clothes lay on the bed, she disappeared into the room she’d gone to earlier. She returned a few minutes later and continued without interruption. “I can’t worry about Chandler.” She faced me and I could see tears shimmer in her eyes. “Bella, I’ve known Chandler all my life. I know neither one of us will be happy if we marry. I have to think of the big picture, for both of us. And that’s not being Mrs. Chandler Evans.”

  Now I knew why there was no magic, no zip over my beads, mostly, why Cecelia Wilson was not my soul mate.

  Cecelia didn’t want to have a wedding.

  Chapter Two

  Water, hot enough to scald, cascaded down Cecelia’s back. The sting felt good. It countered the drummers parading around in her head.

  At least Rae had taken notes or she probably wouldn’t remember a thing. Her efficient friend had given each one of them their assignments before they’d left Charlie’s last night. Alone, the note pages would reveal nothing. Only the five assignments together would give away the plan.

  Since they’d become adults, they’d thought their scheming days over. Granted, they had been. Until last night.

  After toweling off, she quickly applied a little heavier makeup than usual to hide the “morning-after” look, and returned to her room to dress. There was no time to waste. The minutes seemed to accelerate toward the time she’d be expected to put on the magnificent designer gown.

  The beautiful lace seemed to quiver in the sunlight accusingly.

  A shiver ran down her spine.

  Ridiculous, a dress couldn’t feel anything.

  Shoving down any lingering guilt about what she was about to do. She grabbed her briefcase and left her room.

  All had to be in place before the rehearsal dinner.

  No one could suspect.

  It would be nice to live on her own, except for college she’d always stayed in her rooms at her parents. She had an office, bedroom and a separate room for entertaining. It was a bit confining. Since her life had been mapped out for her, it hadn’t seemed necessary to spend money on a separate residence when she had everything at home.

  Now she was glad of her decision. As a result, she had a healthy bank account.

  All the better to start her new life.

  “Good morning, dear.” Her mother sat in her usual place sipping her cup of tea while reading the paper. Her mother favored fancy English tea.

  Nothing but the best for the Wilsons’.

  “Good morning, Mother.”

  Taking a bottle of Tylenol out of the cupboard she popped three extra-strength into her mouth and downed them with water. She needed a brain free of jungle drums for the rest of the week. Who knew how hard starting a new life would be?

  “Something wrong? You’re rather quiet.” Her mother barely lifted her eyes from her article.

  What had she expected, motherly concern?

  “No, a headache is all.”

  “Mm… So what are you doing today? Have you called the florist?”

  Talking a deep breath, Cecelia counted to ten. Her mother had a one tracked mind.

  Marry her daughter off to the Evans heir. Then her life’s mission would be complete. The woman could do whatever her heart desired. Cecelia had always known her mother counted the minutes since the day she was born, for this moment.

  Then Sandra Wilson could travel. Ignore her husband and daughter because she’d filled her obligation to the contract.

  Yes, her mother and father had married per contract also. Hadn’t Cecelia heard a gazillion times, as she grew up, about how well their union had worked. Cecelia and Chandler’s would be just as successful.

  Over the years she’d noticed that not once was happiness mentioned.

  An arrangement made in hell was not for her.

  A new resolve entered her. She would take control of her life for the first time in her twenty-nine years.

  It was up to her to find her own contentment.

  “Yes, Mother, I called the florist.” Her first lie was out. Hadn’t they hired the florist because, like everything else, they were the best? They didn’t need her to call, she had more important things to do. “I’m going to take my coffee on the run this morning, Mother. I don’t want to be late.”

  Without a glance, her mother nodded. “Mm…”

  Nothing had changed.

  Spring had sprung over New York City. The air had freshness to it—if you ignored all the blaring horns and exhaust from the taxis—that matched her mood.

  Even the offices of Wilson and Evans seemed to have a lightened mood. Maybe it was just her. The pressure of her upcoming marriage lifted.

  The thought of adventure had replaced her dread.

  “Any messages?” Cecelia sang her question to the receptionist.

  “Just one, from a Ms. Change.” The girl’s brow wrinkled as if in wonder at the strange name. Maybe it was Cecelia’s singsong voice.

  Cecelia snagged the message out of her fingers with a grin. “Thanks.”

  Her process began. Fanny had the name change assignment. Cecelia had a vague idea of what it involved. Because security at the firm monitored internet activity, she hadn’t dared investigate anything.

  She’d been so vocal in her opposition to her wedding, she wouldn’t put it past her father to also monitor the home network.

  Hence, the reason she had her friends guarding her back. Or as Skye would say, her ass.

  She made it to her office without anyone stopping her, such as her future intended. She planned to avoid him like the plague until the rehearsal dinner. At which time, she’d be celebrating new beginnings.

  Let them all assume she meant to accept her new life as Mrs. Chandler Evans.

  She squashed the guilt that surfaced, if only she could break the band that seemed to tighten whenever she thought of Chandler. He would find someone who loved him. She just needed to remind herself of that whenever the vise threatened and remorse tried to rear its ugly head.

  After taking a deep breath, she settled more comfortably at her desk and deciphered Fanny’s message.

  Holy shit!

  She swiveled her chair to stare at the clock above the window. What was Fanny thinking? Cecelia had ten minutes to get to Java Cup by Rockefeller Center. The firm was at 390 Park Avenue. It was doable. She glanced down at her three-inch heels. Maybe.

  Oh hell, this was part of the adventure.

  She grabbed her purse then bee-lined to the elevator. Please God, let no one stop her.

  “I won’t be a
vailable for an hour,” she tossed to the receptionist and slipped inside as the doors slid shut.

  Was foot traffic always this dense? Or was it just her urgency that made it seem so?

  Almost there, she could see The Top of the Rock Observation deck, well not literally. However, she was close enough to see the building.

  Fanny was not a patient person. If Cecelia was too late, she’d miss her.

  Only one minute passed the appointment time, she pulled the double glass door open of Java Cup. Fanny sat in a corner booth, Cecelia’s favorite low fat vanilla latte waiting.

  God bless her.

  She slid onto the opposite chair. Not wanting to waste time with chit-chat. “What do I need to do?”

  “It’s not hard, except it won’t be done by the wedding.” Fanny slid a paper across the table to her.

  “What’s this?”

  “The petition, it’s straight forward. I filled out everything or as much as I could.”

  Cecelia read the document over and frowned. Fanny had answered question number ten: of grounds for application as “not fulfilling the marriage contract”.

  When she didn’t appear to marry Chandler she needed to change her name, not her first, just her surname. She wanted a fresh start without any connection to the Wilson firm.

  Even the daughter of the great Broderick Wilson couldn’t defy him without consequences.

  Then she came to number eleven. She had the right per the Civil Rights Law §64-a, to request exemption for publishing her intent because her life was in danger. Technically hers wasn’t.

  “You’re trying to decide if your life is in danger?” Fanny sipped her green tea frap. “No one can make you marry Chandler. You’re just getting your affairs in order so you won’t have your bank accounts frozen.”

  “You don’t think my father would do whatever it took to stop me? Even lock me in my room until the wedding?” Cecelia smiled at Fanny’s exaggerated shiver.

  “Being locked in your room and forced down the aisle? I don’t believe we can say that’s life-threatening.” Another sip of her frap, then Fanny asked, “Do you even call him ‘Dad’?”

  “Broderick? Are you nuts? And at work, it has to be Mr. Wilson.”

  “You’re fuckin’ with me, Cecie.” Fanny laughed as if it were a joke.

  Cecelia didn’t laugh. It wasn’t funny. “No, I’m not. I am not allowed to address him differently than any other employee. I’m not even a partner. Can you even imagine? He’s not a father to me, he never has been. Fanny, if he can stop me, he will.”

  “Shit. No, I can’t imagine how it must be for you. My Dad is great. We’re very close. I’m sorry you don’t have the same.” Fanny took a moment to enjoy a bite of bagel before she continued. “You know, I have no idea why I’m surprised, I shouldn’t be. I’ve heard of the great and powerful Broderick Wilson and not just from you.” Fanny glanced around the shop, as if spies were everywhere.

  “If I file these papers today how long do you think it would be before they are published?”

  Fanny set her briefcase on the table, riffled through it to find the file. After she’d studied it for a few moments she returned her attention to Cecelia.

  “When you file they set the hearing date which can be anywhere from one to four weeks. Wish we could file in Brooklyn; they have the hearing on the same day you file. Sorry it doesn’t say anything about a timeline for public notification.”

  Cecelia took her time, sipping her latte letting her mind process the situation. Then decided she might as well use Fanny to brainstorm. “A name change is inevitable, not mandatory though. It’s not going to be complete before D-day anyway. Should I file after?”

  Fanny wiggled in her chair a bit. “Are you positive he’d see it in the paper?”

  “Every page is either read or at least scanned. I can’t guarantee he won’t see it.”

  “Can you file the day before? It shouldn’t take too long. The form is done and you pay a fee and have a hearing date set.”

  Cecelia pulled out her appointment book, opened to Friday. “Luckily I’ve been clearing my calendar for the wedding. My day is fairly free until the rehearsal dinner.”

  “Good. Cross out the publication part then and sign it, I’ll meet you Friday morning. What time?”

  “Say nine o’clock at the courthouse? Unless something changes with some of our other arrangements, I’ll have Skye meet us.”

  “Skye is over the bank change, right?”

  “Yes. Thank you, Fanny. I know you’re busy and probably have a million things to do.”

  “Hey, what are friends for? I’ll take this with me and bring it Friday.” Fanny threw the paper in her case and stood.

  Cecelia followed her example, gave her a brief hug then trailed her out of the coffee shop.

  What to do next? She glanced at her watch. Joy was in charge of setting up appointments to see apartments. She hadn’t called yet.

  That didn’t matter. She wanted to throw back her head and squeal. Let her exhilaration bounce off the buildings and spread through the mundane. Part one of her five-part plan was in motion and she could barely contain the excitement.

  Chandler, to be fair, would not have tried to manage her. Maybe they could have been friends.

  She wasn’t going to marry him to find out.

  The most important thing now, her father didn’t control her life. She did.

  Dear Diary;

  Things work in Mysterious Ways

  Today I met Carla. After my bride left, loneliness crept over my silk and constricted my bodice. I wasn’t sure what was going to happen to me.

  Then I heard a loud humming. At first my lace quivered. When the door opened a lady in some kind of uniform entered pushing a vacuum. Heidi had several of these machines to clean up scraps.

  At least this was something with which I was familiar.

  Carla had on earphones and danced as she cleaned. I was thoroughly entertained. Then she surprised me. After she’d clicked the vacuum off and silence settled over the room she walked up to the hook where I’d been carefully hung.

  She looked intently from every angle. I felt more than a little vulnerable. Then she did the most amazing thing, she faced me front and center to address me as if she knew I could understand.

  “Miss Bella, you’re bound for disappointment. Miss Cecie isn’t going to marry Chandler Evans. Not that there’s anything wrong with the man, he’s just not her hero.”

  Surprise ruffled my ribbons. How the scrap did she know? Sure, my bride hadn’t really said anything, though I’d had plenty of time to consider her odd behavior.

  Again, as if understanding my question, she answered. “I raised my Cecie to be smarter than that. I’ll bet my right hand she’s got something cooking.”

  I couldn’t make much sense of her rambling since I always thought the mother was the person to raise the daughter. I did understand that Carla was speculating. Heidi did this while working on her creations.

  Worry raced over my bolero. Would someone else figure out what Cecelia was planning? If so, would they stop her? It didn’t seem Carla would, except my bride’s mother or father may.

  Oh, if only I had a way to warn her that her secret wasn’t so secret.

  After Carla left, quiet filled the room again. Not for the first time I questioned why Cecelia had settled for me. What was I supposed to do?

  Not long after Carla left, Cecelia entered, her face wreathed in smiles.

  This was the first time I’d seen her happy. Joy shot through my beads and though she wasn’t my soul mate, I was delighted for her.

  Cecelia went to her desk and dropped her case. Her posture straightened and I wondered what had caught her attention. She turned and in her hand, I saw the brochure for Heidi’s designs.

  Her gaze rose and she studied me from bolero to train. Dropping the catalogue to the desk, she slowly walked to me. Then Cecie laid her hands on the shoulders of the hanger that anchored me.

 
“Bella, the brochure says Heidi believes all of her creations are magic.” Her hand gave me a gentle squeeze then she smiled. “It’s true. You have changed my life.”

  I was surprised, how had I done that? Heidi said we were only magic with the perfect bride.

  Cecelia took a couple of steps back and let herself drop to the edge of her bed. “When I tried you on and saw myself in the mirror, that’s when everything hit me.”

  I wanted to ask what hit her, thank goodness she answered.

  “I looked like a fairytale bride. But I didn’t have a prince charming.” A tear slipped down her cheek.

  My beads tensed. I wanted to use my silk to wipe it. Then she grinned.

  “That’s when I knew I had to find my prince charming. I deserve one, don’t I?” She tilted her head at me in question. “I’m not going to become my mother. No one is going to tell me what I want or need. Chandler is being forced as much as I am, and maybe we’d work well together. It’s not what either of us want.”

  She jumped up from the bed, grabbed the shoulders of my bolero again, and lifted the hanger off the hook. Wonder of wonders, she danced me around the room.

  I felt as light as a feather, and her joy shimmered over my lace. If this is what happiness was, I wanted to stay this way forever.

  She dropped to her bed again. With me gathered in her arms, her warmth enveloped me. She rubbed her cheek against the fabric on my bodice. Her excitement raced over me, my ribbons quaked in pleasure.

  “Oh, Bella, you deserve to have the chance to bring your bride joy. Neither you nor I deserve to be served up on a Wilson-Evans platter.”

  I wasn’t sure exactly what she meant. So I enjoyed the moment of human touch against my satin.

  “I promise when this is over I’ll ask Carla to send you to me and I’ll return you to Heidi’s by Design and you’ll have your day.”

  Hope radiated over my entire gown.

  I’d have my chance to meet my soul mate.

  In that moment I truly believed in Heidi’s magic. I was meant to meet Cecelia to show her what she needed to do to grab onto her own happiness.