Lovestruck Forever

by Rachel Schurig

  “Me, too,” Sofie agreed. “And you get to try on dresses in New York!”

  “They’re probably not all that different from dresses at home,” I pointed out. Both Callie and Sofie scowled, making clear their opinion on my knowledge of fashion.

  “It will be a lovely day,” my mother said, looking out the window as the car pulled out from the curb and into traffic.

  “So what have you guys been doing since you got here?” Callie asked. “I can’t believe you’ve been here for three days and this is the first I’m seeing you.”

  “Lizzie has been very busy with her fancy schmancy literary meetings,” Sofie said. “And we’ve been running around the city checking out all the sights.”

  “How’ve the meetings been?” Callie asked, even though we’d texted back and forth several times since the first one on Tuesday.

  “Good.” I almost felt scared to say more. Ciara was feeling very confident. Everything seemed almost too good to be true, and I was afraid I might somehow jinx the whole thing if I appeared too sure of myself. Callie met my eyes, and I could tell she knew there was more I wasn’t telling her.

  “So, what are you thinking for the dress?” she asked, wisely changing the subject.

  “I have no idea,” I said. “I got so confused last time with my sisters. I thought I knew what I wanted and then they started taking over—”

  “Of course they did,” she said, her eyes sparkling in amusement.

  “Yeah, well, by the time we left, I was in worse shape than when I got there. I have no idea what I want now.”

  “It will be easier today,” she soothed. “How many times have I helped you pick out clothes in our lives?”

  “Lots.”

  She snapped her fingers and pointed at me. “You got it. Between the four of us, we’ll figure it out.”

  Thomas had asked Callie to make the dress appointment, figuring she would know the best place for us to go. She didn’t disappoint. The driver brought us to a large storefront in Brooklyn. Inside, we found a dizzying array of dresses and two very helpful boutique owners, Reese and Carla. They got us settled in a pink-walled waiting room furnished entirely with purple velvet. Ornate gold mirrors hung on all four walls, and a giant vase of fake orchids filled one corner. The boutique had a slightly tacky air to it, but I found it put me quickly at ease. I felt much more comfortable here than I would have in a super high-end couture type of place. While Reese went to get our complimentary champagne, Carla asked me about my dress shopping experience up until that point. I explained to her how frustrated I was feeling after my first appointment.

  “We’ll get you sorted out,” she promised. “We’ll start with a few basic silhouettes to see what you feel comfortable in and go from there.”

  I nodded. She seemed so calm and confident, I couldn’t help but trust her. Reese returned with our champagne—and a glass of sparkling apple juice for Sofie—and Carla told us to relax while they went in search of some dresses to start with.

  “How’d you find this place?” I asked, looking around the small room. “It doesn’t really seem like your style, Cal.”

  “Three girls from my office bought their dresses here last year,” Callie explained. “When they described it, I knew it would be perfect for you.” She winked at me. “I didn’t think that you’d be really comfortable in some sleek, over-the-top salon in Manhattan. Besides, the selection here is supposed to be second-to-none, and you get really personalize attention.”

  “That much is obvious so far,” my mom said. She downed her champagne quickly, and I met Sofie’s eyes, grinning. My mom was awesome when she got tipsy.

  Carla and Reese returned with dresses and we got started. “We went plain with the styling on these first few,” Reese explained once we were in the small dressing room, pulling the first gown over my head. “We want you to just focus on the fit and the way you feel.”

  Free not to worry about lace or tulle, I quickly discovered that I felt most comfortable in an A-line gown after all. I knew my sisters would be disappointed by the lack of mermaid cut, but I ordered myself not to worry about it.

  “This is a good start,” Carla assured me. “Now we can begin to have some fun. How do you want to feel at your wedding?”

  “Modern?” Reese asked. “Sophisticated? Elegant? Sexy? Romantic?”

  “Romantic,” I said.

  “She’s a writer,” Callie explained. “She’s all into those old-fashioned romance novels. Jane Austen and all that.”

  Carla nodded. “We can do romantic.”

  They brought out satin dresses and silk dresses, some with crystals, some with lace. I realized quickly that I was having fun. Sofie and Callie were ideal shopping partners, oohing and aahing over everything, while giving their honest opinion. Best of all, neither of them demonstrated even an iota of bossiness. My mother seemed to very much enjoy being one of the girls. She giggled and squealed just like my friends. I was sure the third glass of champagne didn’t hurt.

  “Let’s try this,” Carla said, pulling a gown from the back of the rack. “Since you liked the lace accents on the last one…”

  She helped me into the dress, zipping it behind me. There were no mirrors in the small dressing room but a quick look down told me the dress was entirely lace. “Let’s show them,” she said, swinging open the door to the waiting area.

  The room immediately went silent. I looked at Callie nervously—she was staring at me with a hand over her mouth.

  “That bad?” I stepped up onto the pedestal and finally saw my reflection in the mirror.

  “Wow,” I whispered. “This is…”

  “Gorgeous,” Sofie murmured. “It’s gorgeous.”

  She was right. I was wearing the most beautiful dress I’d ever laid eyes on. Ivory colored and covered in lace, it clung to me softly before spreading out in a gentle swell of a skirt. The waist was a bit higher than the other dresses, nearly empire, and the neckline was cut in a subtle sweetheart dip before rising up to meet the delicate cap sleeves. The dress may have been too demure if not for the large cut out in the back, edged with a scalloped lace design.

  My mother promptly burst into tears.

  “Mom!”

  “It’s perfect,” she cried, standing up to hug me. “Oh, Lizzie, you look beautiful.”

  Even Callie was surreptitiously dabbing her eyes. “It looks like it was made for you.”

  “Do you like it?” Carla asked.

  I felt dangerously close to tears myself. It was like nothing I had tried on before, like nothing I had ever planned to wear, yet, somehow, it was perfect. The absolute most perfect dress I could ever imagine.

  “I love it.”

  Sofie clapped her hands. “Yay! I would have been so disappointed if you didn’t like it.”

  “What about the veil?” I asked my mom. “Will it match?”

  She pulled the veil from a carrier bag we’d brought along and held it up to the dress. The color was nearly identical.

  “Hang on!” Reese interrupted. “You need to see the whole thing!”

  She and Carla descended on me with hair clips, earrings, and necklaces, blocking my view of the mirrors while they worked. When they were finished there was another hush in the room.

  “There,” Carla said, her voice satisfied. “Now look.”

  They stepped aside so I could see my reflection. This time, I did cry. They’d pulled my hair up in a loose pile on top of my head, letting some of the curls dance around my face. The clip bearing my grandmother’s veil was fastened into the bun, the long laced edge skimming my shoulders. Sparkling crystal clusters clung to my earlobes and a single fake diamond hovered between my collarbones from a delicate silver chain.

  I looked like a bride.

  “Oh, Lizzie,” my mother breathed. “I want to hug you, but I’m afraid to touch you.”

  “Well someone better hug me!” I cried, wiping at my eyes and laughing at the same time. The three of them jumped up and pulled me into a c
ircle of arms and kisses. Everyone was sniffling and laughing, and I felt so incredibly happy. I was going to marry Thomas in this dress. In this beautiful, romantic, perfect dress that I’d chosen, without any pressure from anyone else.

  “I take it you’ve found your gown?” Carla asked as everyone released me, Callie and my mom reaching for Kleenex.

  “Absolutely.” In the mirror, I looked almost like a different person. More beautiful than I ever remembered feeling. More elegant and composed. But still me. A huge smile stretched across my face, and I knew it was hopeless to try to hide it.

  “Congratulations,” Carla said, squeezing my shoulders.

  “Thank you guys so much,” I said. “You made it so easy.”

  “The dress was just waiting to find you,” Reese said, winking at me in the mirror.

  “Well, I’m glad it did!” I don’t know how long I stood there, staring at the dress in the mirror. The idea of taking it off, of returning to my normal street clothes, was terrible. If they would let me, I would wear it out of the store. It was only when Sofie finally cleared her throat and informed me that her unborn baby was demanding food that I agreed to change.

  “Don’t worry,” my mom told me as I finally stepped off the pedestal. “You’ll be wearing it again in no time.”

  “Not soon enough.” I took one last look at the dress in the mirror, wishing I could somehow speed up time. More than ever before, I was ready to marry Thomas. In fact, I wasn’t sure how I was going to last until October.

  Chapter Seventeen

  My flight to London was scheduled for an hour after my family’s flight home, so we all headed to the airport together on Thursday evening.

  “You’ll call us as soon as you hear anything?” my mother asked, holding my hands outside their gate. Ciara had told the publishers we’d begin accepting offers that afternoon, and my family was more anxious about it then I was—if that was possible. Ciara said she wanted us to wait until we had final offers on the table before we made a decision on Monday. I had no idea how I was going to sit through an overnight flight while my agent was out there, negotiating my first book sale.

  “I promise, Mom.”

  “Even if it’s the middle of the night in Detroit. You call me, Lizzie.”

  I laughed, hugging her. “I promise.”

  After I said goodbye to my dad and Sofie, they all boarded the plane, and I wandered around the airport in the general direction of my gate. I stopped in a bookstore, thinking about my first flight to London with Callie. I had been so excited that day I couldn’t sit still, and had headed off to a bookstore in an attempt to keep my brain occupied. It had been my first international flight, and only my second flight anywhere. Now, nearly two years later, I’d crossed the ocean a dozen times.

  “Can I help you find anything?” the clerk asked as I approached the magazine shelf he was stocking. I was relieved to see that the covers with pictures of Thomas and me had been replaced.

  “Just browsing,” I told him, edging past him to a bookrack filled with new releases. I ran my fingers across a glossy dust jacket. Would I find my books here, eventually? I shivered a little at the thought before plucking up a paperback I’d been meaning to read and heading to the cashier. On impulse, I grabbed a bridal magazine on the way.

  It was going to be hard enough to keep myself from going crazy imagining what might be happening with the book negotiations. I hoped that, if the paperback didn’t keep me occupied, maybe wedding fantasies would.

  I landed in London the next morning, as groggy as if I had flown uncomfortable and cramped in coach. In spite of the fold-down bed pods of first class, which I usually got an enormous kick out of, I hadn’t managed to sleep much. It was just too difficult to quiet my mind. I knew it was too early for Ciara to have called with any news—it was still night in New York—but I hated the fact that my phone had to be off for such a long stretch of time.

  Thomas was already shooting for the day, so he arranged for a car to pick me up. I had tried to convince him that I was perfectly capable of taking a cab, but he insisted. It was my first time back in London since the engagement news had officially broken, and he wasn’t taking any chances.

  There were half a dozen reporters and photographers waiting outside of his apartment, which I found odd. They surely must have figured out that he wasn’t there. When I climbed out of the car, they turned en masse toward me, shouting out questions, the camera flashes going off in every direction. I wished I’d stopped at the airport bathroom to wash my face and brush my hair.

  “Excuse me,” I said firmly, crossing the sidewalk as confidently as I could, praying they would step aside. Thomas’s doorman was up ahead, holding the door open for me, but he was no security guard. He’d be no match for this many people if they decided to get in my way.

  “How’s the wedding planning going, Lizzie?” one called.

  I ran through the reminders from Jade, the media relations specialist at Heidi’s office as to the best ways of dealing with unexpected reporters. Be friendly. Be polite. Smile. Walk with purpose. Avoid stopping. Answer briefly or simply say, no comment.

  “It’s coming along great,” I said, trying not to wince as another flash went off. I said a silent prayer of thanks that they were letting me through, that they weren’t crowding too much or blocking my path. So far so good.

  “Are you excited for the wedding?”

  “Very excited, thanks.”

  I was just about at the porch and I breathed a sigh of relief, freedom in sight.

  “Any news on the book deal?”

  I froze in the act of lifting my foot to the first step, caught off guard.

  “We’re hearing you’re selling a book based on your experiences dating a celeb,” the same reporter continued. “Any truth to that?”

  “That’s definitely just a rumor,” I said, hoping my voice sounded unaffected.

  “You weren’t just in New York meeting with publishers?”

  Be friendly. Be polite. Smile. Walk with purpose. Avoid stopping. Answer briefly or simply say, no comment.

  “I’m an author,” I said cheerily, urging my feet to begin moving again. I was nearly there. “A fiction author. Meeting with publishers is part of the job.”

  “Lizzie, is there any truth to—”

  Before he could finish, I turned and gave them all one last smile and wave. “Thanks for the welcome to London.” There was some laughter and more flashes, but then I was turning and passing through the open door, the doorman shutting it firmly behind me.

  “Good morning, Miss Medina,” he said. “You handled that very well.”

  “Thanks, Ted.”

  “I called Heidi’s office when they arrived a few minutes ago,” he explained. “She was going to send security, but they didn’t get here in time.”

  “Don’t worry about it, Ted. It worked out okay. I’ll see you later, okay?”

  I made my way to Thomas’s flat, letting myself in with my key. I left my bag by the door and flopped down onto the couch, exhausted. I pulled out my phone and sent a quick text to Thomas. Got here safe. Reporters downstairs. Think I handled it okay? Call when you can.

  Less than thirty seconds after hitting send, the phone rang in my hand. Thomas.

  “Hello?”

  “There were reporters there?”

  I sighed, knowing he was going to get all worked up about it. “Not that many. They let me through okay; it wasn’t really a big deal. Hello to you, too, by the way.”

  “Sorry.” He sounded slightly more calm. “How was your flight?”

  “It was fine. I couldn’t sleep much, too nervous.”

  “Any news from Ciara?”

  “It’s the middle of the night there,” I reminded him.

  He paused and I knew he was eager to switch back to the reporters issue.

  “It really wasn’t a big deal, Thomas. I tried to remember everything Jade told me about dealing with reporters and it worked—they didn’t crowd me or anyt
hing. Just asked a few questions and took a few pictures.”

  “I don’t understand why Ted didn’t call Heidi’s office. He’s supposed to do that whenever reporters show up so she can make sure there’s proper security.”

  “He said he called, but there wasn’t time to get the security here before I arrived.”

  “Then Heidi should have called you to warn you.”

  I sighed. I understood why he got worked up about this kind of thing, but I wished he would give me a little more credit. “If Heidi called me, I would have just been nervous about it. I really did handle it fine, Thomas.”

  “I don’t like that you have to handle it.” He was quiet for a moment, and I imagined him closing his eyes, trying to get control of his feelings. When he spoke again, his voice was calmer, more cheerful. “So, what are your plans for the day?”

  “To be honest, I’d love to take the world’s longest nap. But that probably wouldn’t be a good idea.”

  “You’ll be up all night. Not that I couldn’t think of a few things we could do to keep ourselves occupied.”

  I grinned around the empty flat, wishing he were there. “What’s the shoot like today? Will you be out very late?”

  “It shouldn’t be too bad. And I have the entire day off tomorrow, so we can spend some time together.”

  “That sounds nice.”

  “I figure we’ll stay in bed all day,” he continued confidently.

  “You have a lot of faith in your bedroom prowess,” I pointed out, and he made a sound of mock outrage. “Besides, I thought we were looking at houses tomorrow?”

  “We are. But that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t rather ravish you for hours.”

  “That sounds rather exhausting, dear.” I sighed. “You should get back to work,” I told him, though I would have been happy to continue this teasing for hours.

  “Yeah, they’re going to call me in a few minutes, and I need to review the scene.”