Reality Wedding

by Laura Heffernan

  “Oh, that would be wonderful,” I said. “I’d love to see Leanna’s face when it’s time for the wedding to start, and I’m not there.”

  “It’s tempting.”

  “But I don’t want to get sued.”

  “Agreed,” Justin said.

  “I could do with a mini-escape, though.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Well, Logan’s in the maze right now, having loud sex and pretending it’s with me. I need an alibi. So, let’s go back to the hospital. You can meet Star, and I’ll get Birdie to swear up and down I was there. We just need Rach to say she came back to the house alone last night.”

  Justin took my hand and led me out through the rear of the property. At first, I kept checking over my shoulder, but once the hedge maze faded into the distance, I let myself relax and enjoy being with him.

  “I’m so glad you’re here,” I said. “It means a lot that you drove three thousand miles so I wouldn’t illegally marry someone else.”

  “No problem. Someone had to be here to stop you from pretending to make the greatest mistake of your life.”

  Chapter 22

  Confessions from the Chapel, Saturday morning:

  Jen: I’m getting married today! Birdie and Star are healthy and happy. Everything is awesome. I’m so excited, I don’t even know what questions you’re asking me.

  Rachel: Joshua’s sworn to be on his best behavior through the wedding. But I can’t promise he won’t try to do a speech, or that it won’t be in rhyme.

  J-dawg: Admit it, you guys want one poem, right? A’ight. Weddings are whack. I can’t wait to get back. This show has been thrillin’, but everyone else is always illin’. The J-dawg knows when he’s being dissed, so I’m headin’ to the bar to get pissed. Peace out.

  Ed: So, I had this idea for modifying my tux to make it just a little more me. No offense to J&J, but basic black is pretty boring. Well, modifying isn’t the best word. I got a new, more awesome tux. I’m sure Jen will love it.

  A couple of hours later, Justin and I returned to the house and made a beeline for the maze. The people setting up for the ceremony weren’t looking at us, and the last thing they expected was the real groom to be wandering around with a baseball cap pulled down over his forehead, avoiding eye contact, hours before the ceremony.

  “This looks great,” Justin said. “We would have had a beautiful wedding, if everything hadn’t gotten screwed up.”

  “It is what it is,” I said. “We knew everything could go wrong. If you hadn’t missed that flight, the Network would have done something else to ruin it for us.”

  “True. Good times.”

  “The things we do for money. Or to not become destitute.”

  “Everything’s going to be okay,” Justin said.

  “I know. We just need to avoid the crew until we get to the maze. Connor’s expecting both of us in a few minutes. It’s time for you to do your first official interview about how you got here and how you feel about me marrying Logan.”

  “That’s awesome.” He raised his voice and spoke slowly in a fairly accurate impression of our head producer. “‘Justin, how do you feel about your bride, the woman you love, marrying someone else because we’re all a bunch of douchenozzles here at the Network?’”

  I giggled.

  He continued in his own voice. “Well, of course, Leanna, nothing makes me happier than seeing my bride about to falsely swear to love, honor, and obey some total stranger. Except you guys must all be high, because you had to know there’s no freaking way she’d go through with it. Of course I would stop her, if she wasn’t planning to stop it herself.”

  “That’s why they pumped in the subliminal messages. Don’t forget to mention those.”

  He sighed, shaking his head. “These people are so fucked up.”

  “That pretty much sums it up.”

  “So what are you going to say in the interview?”

  “Well, they don’t know Vera told me the truth, so I’m going to talk about how sorry I am you couldn’t be here, how close Logan and I have gotten this week, and that I’m sure everything will work out for the best.”

  “Sounds good,” he said. “When they ask me about Logan, I’ll mention how hard Ariana’s death hit me, and how I jumped the gun by proposing when I found out how sick she was. You know, I took her advice to live in the moment to heart, and maybe I made a mistake? Then I’ll talk about how you and Logan seem like a great couple. How does that sound?”

  “Almost too convincing. They didn’t brainwash you, too, did they?” I gave him the hairy eyeball for a moment before breaking into a smile.

  The maze loomed ahead of us. Justin grabbed my hand and ducked into the shadows, planting a kiss on the tip of my nose.

  “You and Logan are the dumbest, least sense-making couple I’ve ever seen.”

  “That’s not entirely true,” I said. “You and J-dawg would make less sense.”

  He shuddered. “Don’t give them any ideas. I have much better taste than that.”

  I pulled his head down to claim his lips. Our time in the maze had only made me crave his touch more. He pulled me close, hands settling on my waist. A thrill went through me. We didn’t have much time before people would start looking for me, and the rest of the day could go horribly, so I savored these stolen moments. By the time Justin broke the kiss, I wanted to drag him back into the shadows.

  He asked, “Still think I’m brainwashed?”

  “Not even a little bit.”

  “Do you want me to say something else in my interview?”

  “It might make more sense if you talk about us. After all, at some point, we’re going to tell the world we actually got married, right?”

  He shrugged. “Are we? I don’t care what the rest of the world thinks.”

  “Depends. On what happens today, and on the response we get after the show airs. It might be necessary if Talky Ted starts hounding us.”

  “So we give him an exclusive.”

  I choked and stopped. “Him? The guy who plastered the Internet with pictures of Dominic kissing me in Jamaica? Who wrote an article a couple of weeks ago suggesting that we were getting married in a hurry because I’m pregnant or that we broke up in Florida and that’s why I left? Or both?”

  “You’ve got to admit, he’s a master at producing clickbait. You’ve almost got to admire the guy,” he said. “Besides, I think there’s something going on between him and Sarah.”

  My jaw dropped. “What? You’ve been holding out on me this whole time?”

  “When was I going to tell you? While we were in the maze?” Begrudgingly, I admitted that he had a point, and he continued, “He called her for a comment when you landed in LA, and she told him to fuck off. I guess he likes that in a woman, because he came in to the bakery. They started talking. Not about you, just chatting. While we were stranded in the airport, she spent a lot of time texting, and she finally admitted last night she’s talking to him.”

  “I can’t believe it.” I groaned. “Your sister, my best friend and business partner, has a thing for the tabloid guy? Are you sure he’s not using her for a story?”

  “Doubt it. While we were in the car, I heard her say that we’d opened a secret passage to the magical land of Narnia and wouldn’t be back in the States until we destroyed the seventh Horcrux. If he didn’t like her, he wouldn’t still be speaking to her.”

  “Let’s hope for her sake, that’s true.”

  In the entire time I’d known Sarah, she’d never dated anyone. No big drama in her past. She didn’t enjoy casual dating, had zero interest in hookups, and was happy that way. She told me once that she’s demisexual–she needed to get to know a guy before she felt physical attraction to him.

  Before I could pry for more information, Connor and Ed arrived. I did my interview fir
st, hamming it up like Justin and I planned. Then I waited with Ed while my husband gave his interview.

  He shifted, looking back and forth between me and the maze, before he spoke. “Hey, Jen, are you guys totally, one hundred percent sure about this?”

  “Yeah. I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life,” I said.

  “The two of you make a wonderful pair, you know.”

  “Thanks. I think so, too.”

  “I keep thinking back to when you first met. It was so clear to me, to everyone, that he was into you, but you couldn’t see it.”

  My face grew warm at the memory of those days. I didn’t miss the uncertainty at all. “What can I say? I was on the rebound.”

  He pulled me close, resting his chin on the top of my head. “I’m glad you two finally got it together.”

  “I never thanked you for your help with that.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said. “I gave my interview back at the house, and I spent half of it bawling like a baby. I’m hoping to dominate the previews before Big Day airs. All thanks to you.”

  “I feel confident Connor can make that happen.”

  As Justin and Connor exited the maze, Ed planted a kiss on my cheek instead of answering.

  “Watch it, Silva,” Justin said. “No one else is allowed to try to steal my bride today.”

  “She’s all yours, bro.”

  Justin and I said our goodbyes, and he went back to the hotel so he could nap before appearing at the right moment. I took a deep breath and reentered the house from the front with Ed. The door slammed behind us, announcing our arrival. Seconds later, the flurry of activity started.

  Ed vanished, presumably to get dressed in his room. The producers whisked me away to the second floor, where curtains separated the smaller sitting room from the rest of the house. First, then they herded me into the shower, thankfully allowing me to go in unattended. They did, however, give me strict instructions not to wash my hair. Apparently, updos worked better that way. Then, a bevy of stylists descended on me. They plucked, tweezed, buffed, and shined every inch of my body. When they finished, a familiar face peeked through the curtains.

  “Angela!” I hadn’t seen the stylist since my audition for The Fishbowl when she gave me the best makeup and hair I’d ever had. I’d wished I could take her home as my personal stylist. “How have you been?”

  She hugged me enthusiastically. “Jen! I was rooting for you all the way during that season. I’m so happy to see you and Justin here. You’re getting married!”

  “Thank you!” As she styled my hair, I filled her on everything that happened during the week. The longer I spoke, the deeper the lines in her forehead grew. By the time I got to the Network’s decree that I marry Logan, she’d stopped working and simply sat, hands over her mouth, shaking her head back and forth.

  “Och, what a mess,” Angela said. “Television, huh? What are you going to do?”

  As much as I liked the stylist, I barely knew her, and she worked for the Network. I couldn’t tell her the Plan. I didn’t even tell her Justin had arrived in Los Angeles.

  Instead, I picked up a mirror to inspect her handiwork on my face, craning my neck from side to side. She’d pulled my hair into a mass of curls, gathered at the nape of my neck. Tendrils escaped on either side, framing my face. “I’m going to…tell you how great my hair looks?”

  “Of course it looks great. Your tone is practically an insult.” She smiled, taking the bite out of her words. “Now stop talking so I can do your makeup.”

  With Angela chattering away, time flew. Before I knew what was happening, Rachel arrived, looking stunning as always, to zip me into my dress. She’d found a white headband with a bow on one side to hold back her cropped hair. The turquoise dress fit perfectly, skimming the ground above the tips of white high-heeled sandals.

  “Do you want to make a run for it?” she asked.

  “Nah,” I said. “Justin landed in Los Angeles this morning. When he appears at the wedding after I walk down the aisle, they won’t stop him. Not in front of everyone.”

  She grinned at me. “I can’t wait to see their faces.”

  I traced the outline of the garment bag, smiling at the memory of the way the dress inside hugged my curves. A hint of cleavage, even with my Wonderbra, but nothing over-the-top. The elegant lace bodice. So simple, so beautiful. The dress represented everything I wanted for my wedding day.

  Just thinking about this amazing dress filled me with joy, almost as much as the realization that this miserable week was nearly over, or picturing the look on Logan’s face when Justin arrived.

  The dress revealed as I unzipped the garment bag did not have lacy straps. It was not a gorgeous sheath that hugged my curves before flaring out above the floor. It did not fill me with joy. This was not my dress. Not even close.

  The bag contained the dress I’d absolutely, one hundred percent, refused to wear. The very first dress they’d brought to me that day in the salon: a poufy, whipped cream–looking bottom with sheer lace on top—and not much of it. This wasn’t the dress I’d picked. It was a monstrosity.

  Rachel came over to see what had upset me, and her face went pale. “That’s not your dress.”

  “No.” My voice sounded strangled.

  “It has to be a mistake.”

  I couldn’t speak, just pressed my lips together and looked at the ceiling, willing myself not to cry and ruin my makeup.

  Rachel patted my shoulder. “Don’t worry. Your dress must be around here somewhere. Even if it’s still at the store, someone can go get it.”

  “It’s such a stupid thing to be upset about, in light of everything else.” I sniffled. “But my dress was basically the only okay thing in this entire fiasco. They pulled a bait-and-switch on me. I can’t appear on national television wearing this.”

  “You won’t have to. If all else fails, we’ll swap. You can wear my dress instead.”

  Rachel’s legs were about four inches longer than mine, but what the hell. I’d still look better tripping over her dress than in the nightmare the Network wanted me to wear.

  My first instinct was to race down the stairs and raise a fuss, kicking and screaming until they brought me the right dress. But I didn’t want to do it in the panties and button-down shirt I wore while getting ready. It didn’t even conceal as much as the body paint. And I knew, if I put that dress on, the Network wouldn’t let me take it off until after the ceremony. Rachel took it and left, promising to see what she could do.

  With nothing else to do, I paced the room, texting Ed. By the time Rachel returned, I was too emotionally exhausted to care that she still carried the same awful dress. She held it out, apologizing profusely. I shook my head sadly.

  “Maybe it’s not as bad as I remembered? Help me get it on?”

  “Of course. Do you want my dress?”

  The gesture touched me, but I couldn’t do it. It didn’t matter, anyway. “Nah. One of us should look good.”

  As she helped me get dressed, the only sounds in the room were the swishing of fabric and rubbing of buttons through buttonholes. Neither of us spoke until the last fastener closed. I avoided her eyes and my reflection on the wall behind me.

  Then Rachel pulled out that dreadful headpiece, and my stomach revolted.

  “I’m sorry, I just can’t do it.” I said.

  “I don’t blame you,” she said. “Want me to accidentally drop it in the toilet?”

  I shuddered. “Please don’t. They might make me wear it anyway.”

  “Good point. I’ll hide it in the laundry room. No one ever goes there.”

  “Do you know where it is?” During our first stint in the Fishbowl, Birdie and I wound up doing most of the laundry for the house. Rachel, on the other hand, had brought so many suitcases, I didn’t think she ever needed to wear the same thing twic
e.

  She put her hands on her hips and cocked her head. She would’ve looked indignant if she hadn’t had to clamp her lips together to keep from giggling. When I raised my eyebrows at her, she lost the battle and doubled over.

  “Oh, this has been so much fun,” she said when she got control of herself. “Don’t make me cry, you’ll ruin my makeup.”

  “Then we’ll both look awful!”

  She blew me a kiss. “Not if I can help it. This nightmare is going in the garbage disposal. I’ll see you down there.”

  “You’re the best!”

  After she left, I stood in the center of the room, examining myself in the full-length mirror. Angela, while apologizing profusely, had slathered so much makeup onto my features, it held my face in a smile. They’d have to chisel it off when this day finally ended. My hair looked awesome. Angela used enough hair spray to drown a horse, so at least I didn’t have to worry it would get messed up. But the dress… Oh, the dress.

  Nibbling on one thumbnail, I paced back and forth, wondering if I wanted to wear my panties and button-up shirt after all. Then I started to think about all the other things that could go wrong. So many questions, no way to answer any of them. When the curtains parted, I breathed a sigh of relief.

  Mom showed up in the opening. When she saw the dress, she burst out laughing. “Oh, Jen. I’m so sorry! But…that dress is just the icing on the cake of a terrible week. You might as well go to Vegas and ask Elvis to marry you.”

  Her laughter was infectious. There was no point in crying. This wasn’t my real wedding. Once I started laughing, I couldn’t stop. I fell onto the couch, stomach heaving, until my sides hurt.

  “Thanks, Mom. I needed that.”

  “Any time.” She pulled a small jewelry case out of her purse and held it out to me. “I brought you something old. And borrowed. I need it back.”

  The case creaked open, revealing a stunning heart-shaped sapphire pendant on a chain, matching dangly earrings, and a gold diamond-encrusted wedding band. My grandmother’s jewelry.