Can't Buy Me Love

by Beth K. Vogt

  Strike one.

  She vetoed the second dress immediately after Amanda showed it to her.

  “I’ve seen that same dress a million times on Pinterest.”

  “Ah, the ‘I’ve seen it on Pinterest’ statement. Some brides-to-be use it to describe the dress they’re looking for . . . and some use it to say ‘No, thanks.’ ”

  “I’m sorry—”

  Amanda paused, playing with the silver chain attached to her teal reading glasses. “I have an idea. Wait just one moment.”

  Bellamy slipped back into the robe embroidered with JEANNE’S BRIDAL, pacing the confines of the room. She would not give up. She would find a dress—her dress. She had to.

  With a brief warning knock, Amanda entered the room, followed by the blond bride who’d just broken down crying a few moments ago. She now wore a wraparound robe identical to Bellamy’s.

  “I hope you don’t mind the intrusion—” The other young woman offered a hesitant smile.

  “Um, no, of course not.”

  What was Bellamy supposed to say? And why was the other woman here?

  Amanda stepped forward. “Bellamy, this is Samantha Tate. And Samantha, this is Bellamy Hillman.”

  “And with that very brief introduction—” Samantha leaned against the closed door, one hand still clinging to the doorknob. “—let me explain why I crashed your appointment.”

  “I have to admit I’m curious.”

  “The gown you saw me wearing . . . and having a bit of a breakdown over . . . well, I special-ordered it. The design just hit the runway a few weeks ago and won’t be in salons until next spring. I paid the reserve and the shipping for the dress because I fell in love with it when I saw a photograph of it online. I had to have it. I knew it would be perfect.” Samantha shrugged. “But you saw what happened.”

  “Can’t you return the dress?”

  “It’s a special order. No returns. No refunds. She knew that when she placed the order.” Amanda’s tone was quiet but brisk. “I asked her if you could try on the gown.”

  Bellamy stepped away from the other women. “What?”

  “I agreed.” Samantha twisted her hands in front of her. “There’s no pressure for you to buy it, of course. You don’t have to rescue me from my mess.”

  And with those words, Bellamy liked Samantha Tate—understood her. She knew all about making choices that landed you in a mess. And wanting someone to rescue you—not remind you of all the other impulsive choices you’d made that had been wrong, wrong, wrong. Like the time she was in middle school and went to a slumber party and tried a henna tattoo—and ended up with a horrific allergic reaction all over her hand.

  “If you don’t like it—say so.” Amanda’s voice interrupted Bellamy’s unwelcome memory. “But if you do—and you decide to purchase it—then you’re happy and Samantha’s happy.”

  The least she could do was try the gown on.

  “It’s my size?”

  “Yes. You’re both tall and thin. And it’s not blush.” Amanda offered her a knowing smile in the mirror. “Who knows? Samantha may have ordered this dress for you. God works in mysterious ways sometimes.”

  Samantha exited the dressing room, and within moments Bellamy faced away from the mirror again as Amanda slipped the dress over her head. Arranged it over her shoulders. Zipped the back. Without saying a word, she positioned Bellamy to face her reflection.

  “Well? What do you think?”

  Something akin to electricity thrummed through Bellamy’s veins even as the air seemed to still around her. The dress seemed to cast a soft glow on her skin, and her eyes were a deeper, more mysterious shade of green.

  Where the first dress hinted at pink, this one shimmered golden, the satin underskirt covered by a layer of delicate tulle adorned with hundreds of tiny crystals that sparkled whenever Bellamy moved. When she half turned, the off-the-shoulder neckline dropped down her back—but not so far as to be suggestive or immodest.

  “It’s . . .” Amanda’s voice didn’t disturb the spell cast by the dress.

  “Magic . . .” Bellamy whispered the word.

  “I was going to say ‘superb.’ ” Amanda knelt and swirled the skirt out behind Bellamy. “But you’re right—the dress is magical. On you.”

  Bellamy closed her eyes. Opened them again. Was she seeing something that wasn’t really there because she wanted to?

  “Let’s go ask my maid of honor what she thinks.”

  “Wait.” Amanda stepped in front of the door. “Let me add a few touches before we show her the gown.”

  Amanda slipped from the room, leaving Bellamy alone with her reflection. She closed her eyes. Waited. Opened them. The beauty of the dress remained. If possible, the electricity pulsed stronger.

  This was her wedding dress. Nothing Elisabeth might say—or not say—would talk her out of buying this dress.

  Amanda reappeared and, within moments, had fashioned Bellamy’s hair into a loose bun against the nape of her neck. Then she added a pair of sparkly drop earrings and a jeweled clip in her hair.

  “I’m not certain if you want a veil, but this gives you a more polished look.” She presented a shoe box. “The dress is a little long, so I guessed your shoe size and brought these. Of course, we could order some to match the gold color of the dress.”

  Bellamy slipped on the low heels adorned with jewels on the back. “They’re a little snug, but even so, I feel like Cinderella . . .”

  “And now you’re ready to show your maid of honor.”

  Once again, Amanda let Bellamy lead the way to the front of the salon, where not only Elisabeth waited, but also Samantha and her friends. Silence reigned as Bellamy stood in front of the tall bank of mirrors.

  “Belle . . . wow.” Elisabeth exhaled her name and then covered her mouth with her hand, muffling her “wow.”

  Now that they were outside the small dressing room, the crystals seemed to illuminate the dress even more. Bellamy’s eyes mirrored their sparkle. With her hair and makeup done just right, she would walk through a gauntlet of photographers and right past Reid’s parents and not even notice if his father smiled at her.

  Samantha—the rightful owner of the dress—wore a pair of black yoga pants and a long-sleeved wrap top. Maybe her slender figure came from working out instead of family genes like Bellamy’s. One of her friends leaned over and whispered something to her, causing her to shake her head without looking away from Bellamy.

  What was going on? Did she want the dress after all? How could Bellamy go back to the samples now that she’d worn something this perfect? Bellamy traced the neckline of the dress with her fingers. But how much did a dress like this cost?

  Time to let go of the fairy tale.

  Seconds later, Samantha surprised her with a hug, engulfing her with the heady mixture of perfume and hair spray. “I hate to say it, but seeing you in that gown is even more proof it’s all wrong for me.” She released her, shaking her head even as she grinned. “It’s amazing on you. If you want it, the saleswoman said we could work something out.”

  “If I want it?” Bellamy embraced the stranger-turned-fairy-godmother. “It’s . . . it’s . . . fantastical!”

  “But don’t you want to ask how much it costs?” Elisabeth’s query intruded on Bellamy’s dream-come-true moment.

  “It doesn’t matter—this is my dress!” Bellamy gathered the soft, sparkling material in her hands and did a twirl in front of the mirror. “Besides, how much can it be?”

  FIVE

  He managed numbers—money—for other people all the time. But if his clients knew how many times Reid Stanton, CPA, counted down the days to his thirtieth birthday, they’d laugh in his face—and request someone else to manage their accounts.

  December first was his long-awaited financial emancipation day. Freedom from the conditions of his pare
nts’ trust fund. And maybe, if God answered his most prayed-for request, they’d finally acknowledge he was a responsible adult.

  The clang of metal on metal brought Reid back to the present. Lady Antebellum crooned low on the radio. Automotive oil and exhaust fumes mixed with the chilly Colorado night air wafting into the garage bay. The cement wall pressed against his back.

  Reid swallowed some of his still-cold cream soda as he refocused his attention on his best friend. “Did you say something?”

  “I told you twice we’re all good here.” Garrett motioned to the Audi’s engine. “Your car is good to go.”

  “Great.” Reid pushed away from the wall, dusting his hands on the front of his jeans. “Thanks for tuning it up—and don’t give me such a huge discount this time, got it?”

  “Hey, friends give friends discounts.” Garrett pulled a cloth from the back pocket of his dark blue coveralls and wiped some grease from his hands.

  “And friends pay for work well done.”

  “You’ve sent me so many customers, I shouldn’t charge you at all.”

  “It’s great to be able to recommend a good mechanic—and a trustworthy one.”

  Garrett shut the hood with a soft thud, then retrieved a bottle of water from a small fridge in the back corner of the garage.

  “So what’s on your mind?”

  Reid chose to dodge the question. “Did I say something’s on my mind?”

  “You don’t have to. I’ve known you since college.” Garrett wiped the back of his hand on the bandanna tied across his forehead. “When you get quiet—really quiet—something’s bothering you. What’s up?”

  Reid stared at the darkness lurking outside the garage. “Nothing’s bothering me.”

  Garrett cracked a laugh. “Usually when I’m working on your car, you’re breathing down my neck, asking, ‘What’s that?’ and ‘Can I help?’ ”

  “Is it my fault my father didn’t believe in teaching his kids about cars?”

  “Hey, I told you, anytime you want to come over and tear apart an old car, I’m good with that.” Garrett emptied half the bottle of water. “So, what’s on your mind? You nervous about getting married?”

  “No—I can’t wait until the wedding. I wish it were tomorrow instead of the end of December. But that, of course, is not the Stanton way.” Reid retrieved a second bottle of cream soda from the fridge, offering Garrett a nod of thanks. “Do you realize I turn thirty on December first?”

  “Hey, no big deal. We all hit the big three-oh sometime—”

  “Thirty. That means my parents lift the conditions of the trust.”

  Garrett let out a soft, slow whistle. “And you become a very wealthy man.”

  “It’s not that.” Reid shrugged. “Okay, sure, I get that I inherit a lot of money one day. And once the restrictions on the trust are lifted, I have access to my account without some white-haired trustee in a suit controlling how much I get or how I choose to use the money.”

  “My point exactly.”

  “No—that’s not the point.” Reid paced the front of the garage. “The point is for my parents to finally see me as an adult. To realize I can handle money without making a huge mistake—without them worrying that I’m going to embarrass them or drag the family name through the mud or . . . or whatever they’ve been worrying about for the past ten years.”

  “I’m sure your parents trust you—”

  “If they had faith in me then they wouldn’t have limited the trust, would they? And they altered Lydia’s trust, too, so she has to wait until she’s thirty instead of twenty-five—and she didn’t even do anything stupid like I did!”

  “I didn’t realize they’d restricted Lydia’s trust, too—”

  “Yes, same conditions as me. Although I’m going to request they change it for her. I don’t know if it will make any difference, but I can ask.” Reid resumed pacing. “Why should she have to suffer because of my mistakes? I’ve spent the past ten years worried I’d mess up somehow and my parents would alter the conditions of the trust again.”

  “Bellamy knows all about the trust fund, right? And the reason for it?”

  “Are you kidding me? Do you think I’m going to tell my fiancée that my parents set up a trust fund because they were worried I was going to blow all their hard-earned wealth? Because I made a stupid mistake ten years ago? That’s ancient history—it doesn’t involve Bellamy. By the time we get married, the trust’s restrictions will have expired.”

  “If you say so, man.” Garrett mock-saluted him with a tip of the water bottle. “Although I think honesty is the best policy. The past has a tendency of coming back at the worst possible moments.”

  “That part of my past has nothing to do with my future with Bellamy. If it did, I’d tell her. Now let’s finish up here so I can pay you and get home, okay?”

  “Fine with me.”

  SIX

  Disasters were Bellamy’s claim to fame—but this time she’d outdone herself.

  There was no way anyone, least of all Reid, would think her impulsive decision a week ago was charming and let her squirm past the consequences. No, this time she would have to pay up.

  Pay up.

  Bellamy stared down the two wedding gowns—two!—hanging across the curtain rod in her bedroom. She’d brought the second gown—which was actually her original dress she’d ordered—home today. The voice of the saleswoman at the other bridal salon whispered through her mind.

  “Since you’re Mrs. Stanton’s future daughter-in-law, I pulled strings and got it delivered early for you.”

  Wasn’t she a lucky, lucky girl?

  She’d shown up for the final fitting, forced a smile the entire time, and said thank you she didn’t know how many times. She now owned two dresses for her one upcoming wedding. She had the individual NO RETURNS, NO REFUNDS receipts to prove it.

  “Bellamy. Bell-a-my!” Elisabeth’s voice jerked her attention away from her how-did-this-happen-to-me bridal calamity. “Did you hang up on me?”

  “No.” Her words came out small. Tight. “I’m still here.”

  “You need to stop hiding. You’ve kept this from Reid for a week. Go to the family dinner. Talk to Reid—”

  “I can’t tell him, Elisabeth. I can’t.” Bellamy pressed her fingers to her temple. How could something so beautiful make her want to hide it in her closet—dragging her quilted bedspread with her and disappearing under that, too?

  “You didn’t think about this before? Do you think he’s not going to find out about the second dress?”

  Elisabeth’s questions were almost comical. Her best friend knew her so well.

  “Didn’t you two discuss the budget?”

  “No, not really.”

  “Come on, every couple talks about their wedding budget.”

  “We did at first. My parents gave me fifteen thousand dollars—the same as they gave each of my sisters. And then Reid’s parents said the whole, ‘We want you to have the wedding of your dreams. Reid is our only son. Have fun. We’ll cover the rest.’ ”

  “But surely you still budgeted things—”

  “Yes, of course we did. We outlined overall costs and said we’d be careful with incidentals that came up—”

  “I don’t think this dress is an incidental, Belle. At some point, he’s going to find out that you spent—”

  “Don’t. Don’t say it.”

  “Whether I say it or not, it’s still true. You spent twenty thousand dollars on that magical dress, Belle.”

  Bellamy’s stomach seemed to turn end over end again, as her friend quoted the price of her enchanted wedding dress, as if she’d forgotten. Surely Cinderella’s fairy godmother fashioned her dress for free.

  “What am I going to do? Twenty thousand dollars . . . that’s more than what my parents gave toward the wedding—and some
of the money Reid’s parents gave us.”

  “Then why on earth did you say ‘This is my dress’ and ‘How much can it be’?”

  “I know what I said!” Bellamy turned her back on the wedding gown quandary. She needed to get out of her room. “I was under some sort of bridal-salon spell. I wasn’t thinking clearly. Why didn’t you stop me?”

  “Oh, now this is my fault?”

  “Yes. No. Of course it isn’t your fault.” Bellamy closed her bedroom door. “What am I going to do, Lis?”

  “If only Reid could see you in this dress. One look, and he wouldn’t care how much you spent. You really do look stunning.”

  Her friend’s compliment did nothing to calm her emotions or her stomach.

  “Reid’s a traditionalist. He doesn’t even want to do the ‘first glimpse’ photos that some couples do nowadays. He insists on waiting to see me until I’m walking down the aisle toward him.”

  “Well then, girlfriend, it’s a good thing Reid Stanton is madly in love with you. Because as Ricky Ricardo used to say, ‘Lucy, you’ve got some ’splaining to do.’ ”

  “Thanks, Ethel.” Elisabeth’s fake Cuban accent conjured up a weak laugh. Despite Lis playing Ethel to her Lucy since middle school, the only time Bellamy had red hair was thanks to another calamity of her own making. “I’m not sure I’m going to be able to ’splain this.”

  “Reid loves you—”

  “Yes, yes, he does. Let’s hope that counts for something.”

  “Bellamy!”

  “What?” Bellamy slumped against her bedroom door.

  “What a thing to say. Of course Reid’s love counts for something.”

  “You’re right. I know you’re right.”

  “Can I pray with you before you head over to the family dinner?”

  “Of course. You always remind me to pray. It’s one of the reasons you’re such a good friend.”

  • • •

  From the moment they’d met, Reid Stanton made Bellamy believe in happily ever after.

  Of course, her adolescent daydreams hadn’t included playing a princess with a client’s squirmy Lhasa apso puppy in one hand and a pair of nail trimmers in the other to Reid’s striking Prince Charming. But she hadn’t planned on him coming to pick up his mother’s dog, either.