Reality Wedding

by Laura Heffernan

  Jen cannot be reached for comment while she’s in the Fishbowl, and Justin appears to be allergic to answering his phone. Texts requesting comment went unanswered.

  The lovely Sarah Taylor, Ms. Reid’s business partner and Mr. Taylor’s twin sister, did answer the phone at Sweet Reality, but her comments were less than helpful. If Ms. Taylor is to be believed, Jen intends to marry the Loch Ness Monster before Justin joins them for a three-way honeymoon on Pluto. That pretty and funny? Remind me again why this girl doesn’t have her own show? Perhaps the answer lies in her parting comments to me: “Why can’t you people leave us alone?” Oh, Sarah, if only you weren’t quite so entertaining. I can’t wait to visit Sweet Reality next time I’m in Miami to talk to this enchanting woman in person.

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  The next morning, Birdie, Rachel, and I piled into the limo for a trip downtown to find the perfect wedding dress. Mom and Logan waited for us outside the store. Mom flashed questioning eyes at me, but I didn’t want to talk about my father.

  I still needed to figure out how I felt about having him back in my life. If I wanted him around after he vanished for so long. One thing I’d made clear at dinner, though: Patrick Reid would not, under any circumstances, be walking me anywhere. Especially not on my wedding day. I’d traverse the aisle alone, thank you very much. Depending on how the week went, he might or might not be allowed to attend the ceremony. The producers hadn’t argued the point with me yet, although I expected them to push back if I banned him. More likely, they’d invite him anyway, and there wouldn’t be anything I could do about it.

  Logan must’ve called ahead, because the store owner greeted us outside a locked shop with two sales assistants. One carried a pink cardboard bakery box full of doughnuts and the other held a carafe of coffee. Other than us, the store was deserted. The owner told us to dig in, waved at a plush couch in the middle of the room, then went to pull some gowns for me to try on.

  My eyes bugged out at the first dress. Thousands of layers of tulle made up the skirt, leaving the impression of a cake covered in whipped cream. The train extended at least fifteen feet. Two associates had to help keep it off the ground. As much as I liked cake, the dress was ridiculous.

  “Nuh-uh,” I said. “No way. That dress will swallow me. I’m only five foot four.”

  She waved one hand. “You may need some heels.”

  I shook my head. “Bring another one.”

  “You haven’t even looked at the top,” she said. “At least try it on so we can see if the shape flatters you.”

  It wouldn’t, and I’d need stilts to pull off the skirt, but arguing wasn’t going to get me anywhere. It was much easier to step aside for a “private” camera interview where I lamented not wanting to look like a Christmas tree topper, then take the stupid thing into the dressing room. Mom followed to help.

  I’d been so dismayed by the skirt, I didn’t even look at the front of the dress. Nothing but sheer lace, the neckline plunging to my belly button. Now I looked like a doily sitting on top of a Christmas tree. A doily with nipples.

  “My daughter is not wearing that on television,” Mom said.

  “Oh, hell no.”

  “Actually, I’d prefer you didn’t even wear it out to show the others.”

  “I have to. It’s in the contract.”

  Not bothering to put on shoes, I lifted the skirt as high as I could and tiptoed out into the main room, trying not to trip. Bonus, my hands held the front of the dress over my half-naked top. Unfortunately, when I got to the dais placed in front of several mirrors, I had no choice but to drop the skirt and let everyone see this monstrosity.

  “That’s amazing,” Logan said.

  “No, it’s not.” I turned to Rachel. “Can we please make him leave?”

  “It’s not that bad,” she said.

  “Not that bad?” Birdie cut in. “She looks like my grandmother’s afghan fell into bleach, then got attacked by rabid dogs. #EpicFail.”

  In that moment, I could’ve kissed Birdie. I’d missed her—and her way of saying what other people were thinking—so much. With a laugh, I headed back to Mom and the dressing room to see what else the Network had in store.

  The next dress looked a thousand times better. A strappy sheath, also topped with lace, but lining kept it from being pornographic. The neckline dipped to a vee, revealing a hint of cleavage. The fabric hugged my body all the way down to my knees, where the skirt flared around my feet. Lace scallops hovered over the ground, and the train didn’t extend halfway to Mexico like the first one. It was summery, light, elegant, and perfect.

  Mom followed me into the room to get everyone’s reactions. When I spotted myself in the three-way mirror, a smile split my face in two. I pictured the look on Justin’s face when he spotted me walking toward him in this dress, and warmth spread through my belly. I never wanted to take it off.

  “I love it,” I said.

  “This is the one,” Birdie said. “You look beautiful.”

  “It’s exactly like I pictured your wedding day, sweetheart,” Mom said.

  Logan shook his head. “Not nearly sexy enough. Bring more like the first one.”

  My jaw dropped. “No. No way. This is perfect.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re not getting the second dress you try on. For one thing, we need a montage for the episode.”

  “Fine,” Rachel said before I could reply. “She’ll try on a dozen more. She’ll hem and haw at the end and pretend to be incredibly torn. But can’t you at least tell the sales associate to keep this one nearby until we’re done filming?”

  Logan glanced from the firm set of my mouth to Rachel’s concerned look to Birdie, who looked like she wanted to tweet the entire exchange. She’d been forbidden, naturally.

  “The sooner we get this over with,” I said, “the faster we can move on to the bridesmaids’ segment.”

  Finally, Logan’s face softened. “I’ll think about it. Try on a few more. But I want at least one bridal meltdown before we get through the day.”

  Of course he did.

  * * * *

  Since we’d found The One and I was only trying on more for the show, Mom left with a promise to meet me at the house later. I didn’t know where Patrick would be, so I sent a quick text to Connor before removing my perfect dress and starting on the rest of the less-wonderful gowns they had pulled for me.

  Keeping my promise to Justin in mind, I tried to be a good sport. I really did. I wanted to fulfill my end of the bargain with the Network and I wanted to create a show that would entertain the viewers while going with the flow. They brought out white gowns, ivory gowns and off-white gowns; ball gowns, mermaid gowns, and Empire-waist dresses that would fuel the pregnancy rumors started by that tabloid jerk; sleeveless, long-sleeved (in June!), cap sleeves, and strappy gowns. For more than two hours, I tried on every single dress presented, and I did it without commentary or complaint. Sure, at one point, I insisted they bring me another donut before I continued, but this was exhausting work.

  But when the owner helped me into a dress with a skirt that poofed out to my knees in the front, with a long train in the back, I almost fell over laughing. I looked like the bride in that superlong music video from the ’90s. The bride whose dress is held up as the model of horrible bridal gowns. This one was made even worse by a four-inch-wide glittery belt around my waist and a gauzy, one-armed white “jacket” to go over the top. The skirt belled out, nearly filling the dressing room. The owner had to squeeze out the door to help me get into it. I couldn’t move without turning into the proverbial bull in a china shop.

  When I finally managed to compose myself and walked out to show the others, Rachel’s eyes widened. She tried to turn a laugh into a yawn, and I glared at her.

  “Th
at is the mullet of wedding dresses,” Birdie said.

  With an impish look at Logan, I feigned surprise. “What? You don’t like it? I think it looks awesome! This is definitely the one, guys. At least for the ceremony. We’ll need another one for the reception. Just like Kate Middleton had.”

  Rachel snorted. “The only similarity between that dress and Kate Middleton’s is, they’re both made of fabric. They’re not even the same shade of white.”

  “Liar,” Birdie said. “I will give you a thousand dollars to walk outside in that monstrosity.”

  Logan stepped forward. “Okay, fine, you guys win. Jen, you don’t have to try anything else. But I do need you to at least pretend to be indecisive.”

  “Fine. Let me go change.”

  Two minutes later, I returned to the room, back in my sundress and flip-flops. The shop’s owner brought out the dress I wanted and the original doily dress. For a good five minutes, I glanced back and forth, eyes shining, before Logan told me to stop hamming it up.

  “Okay, you’re done,” he said. “Let’s move on.”

  “We’re going with the second one, right?”

  “Yeah. Let me just get a couple more reaction shots from the store. You don’t have to put it back on. They can fake it. Just stand on the dais.”

  Obediently, I moved back to the center of the room. I stood on my toes in my flip-flops, held out the corners of my sundress, and spun around in a circle that nearly had me falling into the leftover doughnuts. “What do you think? Isn’t it perfect?”

  Logan stuck his tongue out at me. “Very funny.”

  Rachel gasped, then looked up and waved one hand in front of her face, blinking rapidly.

  Birdie watched her for a moment before turning to me. “I think what she’s trying to say is, it’s perfect. #BeautifulBride.”

  One hand on her chest, Rachel nodded. Then she formed a heart with her hands.

  “Perfect! Now, on to accessories.” Logan said.

  “Oh, hell. We have to do this again?” Birdie said. “#Weddings are such a pain.”

  “It’s okay,” I said. “Accessories are fun.”

  Despite my confident words, choosing accessories went much the same as the gowns. We weren’t picking what I wanted, we were making a TV show. My friends and I were having fun with the experience, but on the air, I couldn’t criticize anything made by one of the show’s sponsors or talk too fondly about anything made by a competitor.

  Logan insisted I try on at least two dozen veils of every color, length, and style. At one point, the stylist brought out a pillbox hat with a veil, like what widows wore in the Old Days. When Logan insisted I try it on, I started to wonder if the Network was paying him extra to make me look ridiculous. His “favorite” headpiece looked like someone had crumpled up toilet paper atop my head and let it trail down to my butt. It even had long pieces of fabric on either side with giant beads tied to it.

  “Absolutely hideous,” Rachel announced when I turned to show everyone.

  “One of the ugliest headpieces I’ve ever seen,” Birdie said.

  Logan let out a wolf whistle, which somehow didn’t seem creepy coming from him. He must’ve practiced. “Oh, Jen, you’re stunning! It’s perfect.”

  My hands found their way to my hips as if of their own accord. “You’re joking, right? Or are you blind?”

  “She’s not wearing that,” Birdie said.

  I swung my head back and forth, letting the beads smack my nose. “This is a problem. Also, ow.”

  Logan shrugged. “Fine. We remove the beads. But otherwise, this is it. It’s exactly what I envisioned.”

  “I thought we were friends, Logan.”

  His eyes met mine, and I gave him a dazzling smile. He grinned back, reminding me why he was one of the most desired bachelors in the state. Possibly in the world, since William and Harry were both taken. It wasn’t fair for a Network shill to be so charming and good-looking and delicious-smelling.

  Logan said, “I like you, Jen, but the Network pays my salary.”

  “Are they paying extra to make her look like a fool?”

  Once again, I adored Birdie for voicing my thoughts. Silently, I blew a kiss at her behind Logan’s back. With this thing on my head, it didn’t matter how I styled my hair. No one would see it. I could’ve left it short.

  “We don’t have to decide right now, do we?” Rachel asked, ever the peacekeeper. “Why don’t you take them both back to the set, and see what your mom thinks?”

  “This one’s paid for.” Logan insisted. “I’m the wedding planner, I hold the credit card, and the Network is footing the bill. This is it, and that’s final.”

  Ugh. With a groan of frustration, I ripped the awful veil from my head and dropped it to the ground. It wasn’t like anything I did could possibly make it look worse. Then I stomped back into the dressing room to put on my regular clothes.

  Time for me to sit, sip a glass of wine, and watch my friends subjected to the same torment I’d just been through. Hopefully, it would be more enjoyable to witness.

  Then again, if I had no say at all in the final choice, which became more apparent by the minute, maybe I should go next door, order a drink, and call Justin to talk about my father’s sudden appearance. Tempting, but my friends were here, and they expected me to stay until the bitter end.

  Back in the viewing area of the shop, I settled onto the plush couch, crossing my legs away from Logan toward the dressing room. Then I grabbed a glass of sparkling wine from one of the sales associates and chugged half of it.

  “Are you okay?” Logan asked.

  “Fine.”

  “You don’t seem fine.”

  My resolve to go with the flow shattered. “Why would I possibly be upset? Because you led me to believe I’d have some say in how I’d look on my wedding day? Because you made me buy a headpiece that looks like something I should’ve flushed? What could I possibly have to be upset about?”

  “You knew what you were signing up for. I lied before. We have to take the veil because the maker donated it. We can get them to make some alterations, but that’s it. I’m sorry.” He glanced to where Great Hair filmed us, then lowered his voice. “I know it’s hideous. If I can come up with anything to make it better, I will.”

  “Promise?”

  “Hey, look at me.” He moved around the couch to grasp my hands in his. His blue eyes peered into my soul. “I want this wedding to go well. My ass is on the line here, too, remember? I’m doing this to promote my own show. You’re only in this for a few weeks, but I’m trying to get picked up for multiple seasons. If I don’t do what the Network says, they’ll replace me in a heartbeat.”

  As he spoke, a knot formed in my stomach. I’d become horribly self-involved, not thinking about why other people were here and what they might have to give up to do the show. I squeezed his hands. “I’m sorry, Logan.”

  “It’s okay. I’m here for you. But I still work for the Network.” His eyes twinkled at me. “Can we hug it out?”

  “Sure.”

  Logan tugged on my hands, pulling me into an embrace. His musky scent filled my nose, and I inhaled deeply. My arms went around him. I’d intended this to be a quick pat-on-the-back tight hug, but when I started to pull away, his arms tightened. He drew in a long, deep breath, smelling my hair. He was excellent at seduction. I still didn’t know his endgame, but he was doomed to fail.

  “I’m sorry, Jen,” he whispered in my ear.

  “It’s okay,” I said, pulling back.

  One of his hands grazed the side of my breast, sending a jolt through me. With a sharp inhale, I froze. I suspected it wasn’t an accident, but it wasn’t time to call him out yet. At the same time, I couldn’t bring myself to lean in or take this any further. No matter what Justin and I agreed, I didn’t want Logan touching me. I pulled away.

 
; Before letting me go, he tilted my chin up to meet his eyes. “Friends again?”

  “Of course.”

  Leaning forward, Logan brushed his lips against my cheek, a hair too close to the corner of my mouth. We were playing a dangerous game, and I didn’t know all the rules.

  We stared at each other for a long moment. His tongue darted out, moistening his plump, soft-looking lips. The longer I sat in his arms, taking in his nearness, the more confused I got. That was some good cologne. My body screamed for me to move forward, while my brain held me in check. No one had affected me like this since I met Justin.

  The thought was like a bucket of cold water, dousing my emotions. Justin. The man I loved. The man I was marrying on national television in a week, who I’d already secretly married. The man I planned to spend the rest of my life with.

  Rustling fabric and squeaking wheels broke the last remnants of the spell between us. Behind Logan, the salon owner approached with a rack of bridesmaids’ dresses. We shot apart. Part of me wondered what she’d seen, but Great Hair stood in the corner, silently filming, so it didn’t matter. At some point, the producers would start asking me questions about my response to my wedding planner. When they did, my fake answers would be ready.

  Grateful for the interruption, I went to the rack and made a big show of reviewing each dress. Sure, no one cared about my opinion, but the viewers didn’t know that. Logan stood nearby, close enough for the heat of his body to leech into mine, asking my opinions and making comments intended to steer my choices.

  This came as no surprise. From the moment I walked onto the set, the wedding had been out of my hands—not that I’d had a choice in whether to come on the show, either. Logan was here, like Connor said, to steer the wedding along and stir things up. The Network had even paid him to increase the drama. I suspected they’d paid him to flirt with me, to feign an attraction, to make me fall for him. What could increase the drama of a reality TV wedding more than the bride announcing at the altar that she was ditching the groom for the wedding planner?