by Beth K. Vogt
“Ten thousand!”
Reid’s shout overlapped the auctioneer’s next call and incited a chorus of laughter, as well as the stares of his family.
“Fine, Mr. Stanton.” The auctioneer bowed in his direction. “Ten thousand, it is. But in the future, just raise your numbered placard.”
Bellamy, who had been walking an elongated figure eight at the front of the room, halted, her eyes searching the darkness. Her hands clutched the skirt of the dress, and she blinked when she heard the auctioneer say “Mr. Stanton.”
Within seconds, Reid found himself embroiled in a battle with an older woman across the room. Why did she want the dress when she was at least eighty? Was she getting married sometime soon? Maybe she wanted it for her granddaughter. And why was he bidding on a dress that, in a very real sense, he’d already paid for? And that he no longer needed?
Bellamy kept walking in smaller and smaller circles. The woman kept bidding. Reid kept bidding. Twenty thousand dollars. Twenty-two thousand. Twenty-three thousand—
What was he doing? This was ridiculous! He knew better than to spend this kind of money on a dress. A dress! What would his parents think?
“Sold to the woman in the corner—number three sixty-five!”
Reid half stood, knocking over his water goblet. How had he lost?
Cheers erupted as Bellamy offered a brief curtsy and then fled the room.
ELEVEN
She had to get out of this dreadful dress.
Out of the dress—and away from Reid Stanton.
Bellamy choked off a sob as she ran backstage. Hidden in the darkness, she could let the tears fall. But she wouldn’t. She wouldn’t.
“Excuse me.” She shouldered her way through the mass of people behind the scenes, lifting the skirt off the floor. “Excuse me.”
One of the stagehands stopped her, a huge smile on her face. “Did you hear how much your dress brought in? That’s amazing! I’ve worked this benefit for the past three years and I’ve never—”
“I know. I’m thrilled.” And she was—for the children’s hospital. “I need to change so the new owner can collect it. Excuse me.”
Bellamy hiked the dress up to her knees and dashed to the room where just a few hours earlier she’d gotten ready. Submitted to Lydia doing her hair and makeup.
And realized there was no magic remaining in the dress.
Maybe the new owner would find the enchantment again.
Only once she was in the room did she realized she couldn’t get out of the dress without assistance. A knock on the door had her whirling around, the dress swishing against her legs, heart pounding. Was it—?
“Bellamy? It’s me—Lydia.”
Bellamy tripped over the material of the gown, yanking the door open, and stared at the other woman. “Thank God. I can’t get out of this dress.”
“I figured—that’s why I’m here.” As Lydia entered the small room, Bellamy whirled back around. “I’ll start unbuttoning you. I’m sorry about what happened out there.”
Bellamy bit down on her bottom lip. She was not going to cry.
“I don’t know what got into my brother—”
“He wanted to humiliate me—”
“Bellamy! How can you say that?”
“Why else would he bid on this gown? He was so angry when I bought it—”
“Bellamy, you didn’t see his face when he saw you. I did. He couldn’t take his eyes off you—and believe me, when he shouted ‘Ten thousand!’ it wasn’t because he was angry with you. He loves you.” Lydia worked the tiny buttons as she talked. “As a matter of fact, I think he’s trying to get back here to talk with you—”
The walls of the room seemed to edge closer. “No. No, I can’t talk to him. Not tonight. I can’t argue with him—”
“But what if he wants to apologize—”
“What if he doesn’t? What if I embarrassed him again?” Bellamy pulled the bobby pins out, causing her hair to fall around her shoulders. “I just wanted to do what your mother asked of me, Lydia. That’s all. I didn’t know she was going to ask me to wear this blasted thing! I hate this dress.”
“Bellamy, it’s okay. I got out of the room right after you did—it’s a crush right now—and you know how people gather around my family’s table . . . wait, maybe you don’t. Anyway, Reid won’t get back here anytime soon. Let’s get you out of this dress and into your regular clothes so you can get home.” Lydia hugged her, despite the gown being half unbuttoned. “I understand. I do. Really.”
“You’ll make certain whoever won will get it, right?”
“Absolutely. I can’t believe how much this brought in tonight—”
“I guess we can be thankful for that.”
“Bellamy, this gown bought in almost as much as the entire live auction earned last year.”
“I’m glad—really, I am.” Bellamy slipped on her sweater and jeans and then sat on the chair and tugged on her boots. “Tell your mother good night . . . goodbye for me.”
As she stood, Lydia hugged her close again. “I am so sorry we’re not going to be sisters. We would have had such fun.”
“Thank you for saying that.”
“I’m not just saying that. I mean it. You’ve had sisters all your life, but I haven’t. And I was so looking forward to it. I’d even convinced Linc to let me fly you over for a slumber party in the New Year.”
“Fly me over—?” Lydia’s words pushed back the ache in her heart—some. “Well, I am sorry I’m going to miss that.”
“Who knows? Maybe we can still plan on one—as friends? What do you think?”
“Sure. Friends.”
“Now go while Reid’s still tied up saying all the proper things to all the proper people. My parents raised him right.”
• • •
“Bellamy? Bellamy?”
Reid knocked on the closed metal door to the back room—the one he’d been directed to when he asked where Bellamy Hillman was—tonight’s “bride” for the benefit auction. Waited. Knocked again. Waited, tugging at his bow tie, and then stepped back as the door opened . . . and found himself face-to-face with his sister.
“Lydia?”
“Hello, Reid.”
Reid advanced into the room, resisting the not-to-subtle urge to shove past Lydia. “Where’s Bellamy?”
“She’s gone.”
“What do you mean, she’s gone?” Reid scanned the corners of the room, as if Bellamy were hiding in one of them. A small leather suitcase sat in one. A rectangular table shoved back against one wall. On it rested the dress—Bellamy’s dress, the sparkling gold material spilling over onto a chair set in front of it.
“She’s not here. She left. She went home, most likely—”
He stopped her words with a quick wave of his hand, turning to leave. “I need to find her—”
“Don’t, Reid.”
He paused in the doorway. “What do you mean, don’t? I want to talk to her.”
“And what are you going to say?”
“I don’t know yet . . . tell her I love her . . . that I want to marry her . . .” He pulled at his bow tie again. Why wouldn’t it loosen?
“Why?”
“Why? Because I love her.”
“And what are you going to do the next time you’re upset with her, Reid?”
“What kind of question is that?”
“A legitimate one.” Lydia motioned to the wedding gown cascading over the edge of the table. “I may be your little sister, Reid, but I’ve learned there’s a lot that happens before a wedding—and after.”
“I’m sorry, Lydia. I really don’t have time for a lecture.”
“Then I’ll spare you the lecture and get straight to the point. Before I married Linc, the reporters and the paparazzi were all about our fairy-tale weddi
ng—and a few of them were hoping to find the flaws in our relationship. Since the wedding, they’ve been all about how soon our marriage will fail. How soon Lincoln will cheat on me—or I will cheat on him. Behind all the headlines, well, there’s the real marriage. And that takes enough work on its own.”
“Work, huh? What happened to my romantic sister?”
“Oh, I still believe in romance. But my one-word definition for marriage? It’s work. W-O-R-K.”
“And your point is?”
“I believe you when you say you love Bellamy. I do. But do you love her enough to do the work it takes to marry her and stay married to her?”
“I . . . I’ve never been asked that question before.”
“Well, now you have been.” Lydia gathered the dress into her arms. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to deliver this dress to someone who just paid an exorbitant amount of money for it.”
TWELVE
Reid pulled his car up alongside Garrett’s house, shutting off the engine so that it no longer disturbed the quiet of the autumn morning. The leaves on the trees behind his friend’s house were fading from their earlier brilliant reds, yellows, and oranges. As he stepped out from the driver’s seat, the front door opened and Garrett appeared carrying his youngest son, Timothy, who was bundled into a warm coat.
“Hey, Reid. It’s a bit early for you to show up on a Saturday morning. Cheryl’s still asleep, but once she smells the coffee perking, that won’t last long.” He shifted his son higher on his hip. “The Audi running rough again?”
“The car’s running perfectly. I’ve got a great mechanic.”
Garrett settled on the top step of the porch, his son on his knee. “Then what can I do for you while we wait for the coffee?”
“I blew it, Garrett. And I don’t know how to fix it.” Reid settled on the step beside his friend. “I don’t think I can fix it.”
“Whenever I’m staring at an engine thinking I can’t fix it, I remind myself I just haven’t figured out the right way yet. I may have to reread the manual—or I may have to throw it aside and think outside the box—but there’s almost always a way to fix a problem. If I think about it and pray about it hard enough.”
“You pray about car engines and spark plugs and turbochargers?”
“Sure. It’s what I do, Reid—it’s my life’s work.” Garrett jiggled his knee, causing his curly-haired son to giggle and ask for another horsey ride. “You’re a CPA. I’m a mechanic. You work with numbers, I work with cars. Both are important to people—both are worth praying about because they are important to people.”
“I never thought about it that way.”
“Listen, I’ve told you this before, but I think you may finally hear me even without caffeine. When we both got mixed up with that poker group in college? And we screwed up our grades and ran up all that debt and had to leave college? God worked it out for good in the end for me. I was never supposed to be an accountant, Reid. I love working with cars. I’m happy with my life.”
Reid rubbed his hands together against the chill of the morning air. “But I was the one who got you involved with the poker club—”
“Reid, I made my own choices. Yes, you invited me to play cards the first time. But I stayed. And then I came back—again and again. Stop blaming yourself for your bad choices and for mine, okay? You were my best friend—you still are. But you are not responsible for me. Can we settle that once and for all?”
Reid stared into his friend’s eyes. Saw the truth staring back at him. “Yes.”
“Now, I know that’s not why you came up here this morning.” Timothy squirmed off his father’s lap and toddled across the porch to a small pile of toy cars. “What else is on your mind?”
“I’m still in love with Bellamy, but I don’t know how to fix things between us.”
“Have you told her?”
Reid stared out across the field in front of Garrett’s house. “I was going to—and then my sister told me not to.”
“Why not?”
“She seems to think I have some things to learn about marriage.”
“So you learn them with Bellamy. Go and talk with her.”
“It’s not that simple, Garrett. She spent all that money on a second dress and I went ballistic and she doesn’t even know why.” Reid accepted a toy truck from Timothy, who toddled back across the porch. “And then she donated the dress to my mother’s annual charity auction and I ended up bidding on it—”
“What?”
“I know—it’s ridiculous. She came walking out in this wedding gown and all I could think was that it was the dress she was supposed to be wearing when she married me. And the next thing I knew some lady was bidding on it . . . and then I was trying to outbid her—”
“Did you win?”
“No. And then Bellamy left before I could talk to her—and that’s when I had the little discussion with my sister.” Reid turned to face his friend. “What am I going to do, Garrett?”
“It’s pretty simple.”
“What?”
“Talk to Bellamy.” Garrett stopped Reid from responding by holding up his hand. “I mean it. Just talk to her. That’s what you should have done weeks ago. After your first argument, you should have apologized—”
“I tried to, but she’d canceled our wedding—”
“Stop interrupting me—and stop defending yourself. Do you want to get back with Bellamy or don’t you?”
“Of course I do.”
“Then stop worrying about being right all the time. As a matter of fact, you are going to have to admit to your mistakes. Does she even know about what happened in college?”
“No.”
Garrett shook his head, rubbing his hand across his jaw. “Why not? No—let me guess. That’s all in the past.”
“It is.”
“But it isn’t. You’re still reacting to it.”
“Only because my parents haven’t lifted the conditions of the trust yet.”
“Reid, you were going to marry Bellamy, right?”
“Yes. What kind of question is that?”
“Then why weren’t you talking to her? Being honest with her? Haven’t you heard that finances are one of the major reasons couples get divorced? And being less than honest certainly contributes to that. Yes, Bellamy made a huge mistake, but at least she admitted it.”
His friend was making a lot of sense. “And when she did admit it, I blew up.”
“Let me give you something else to think about. You may go after Bellamy. You may tell her you’re sorry. Tell her you still want to marry her. And she may turn you down. Have you ever thought of that?”
Reid had no response to Garrett’s question—because he hadn’t ever imagined Bellamy not waiting for him, not being there when he showed up, when he asked her to marry him again. He hadn’t ever imagined her not saying yes again—because he couldn’t imagine a future without her. He didn’t want one.
“I know you want to ask Bellamy to marry you again, Reid.” Garrett’s words interrupted Reid’s unwanted musing. “But should you? Have you prayed about it? Have you asked God what he wants you to do? Did you even ask God about proposing the first time?”
First his mother. Then Lydia. Now Garrett. How many hard questions was a man expected to answer in such a short space of time?
“I’m a praying man . . . but did I pray about proposing to Bellamy?” Reid braced his arms on his knees, resting his head in his open palms. “No. I love her. I wanted to marry her. And I proposed. Is that wrong?”
“How about we not debate right and wrong about stuff in the past? Waste of time. Let’s pray. Now, that . . . that’s never a waste of time.”
THIRTEEN
And then there were three.
Thanksgiving dinner had been traditional—Reid’s mother had made sure of that. And Lydia
was missing for the first time this year, but it shouldn’t have felt all that different.
Turkey with chestnut stuffing. Grape salad tossed with a sour cream and cream cheese sauce and topped with a mixture of chopped pecans and brown sugar. Mashed potatoes. Candied yams. Fresh rolls. Cranberry sauce.
The Stantons did not skimp on Thanksgiving even if only a trio feasted.
And now that the chef had served up slices of pecan or pumpkin pie, it was time to talk. Reid shoved his gold-rimmed china plate aside—the Stanton china, which they always used on holidays. Even the aroma of fresh-brewed coffee didn’t tempt him.
“Mom . . . Dad—” Reid played with the heirloom silver spoon beside his coffee cup. “—I wanted to discuss several things with you.”
“And what’s that, son?” His father sliced into his preferred piece of pecan pie.
“First, about the trust fund—”
His father nodded. “Your birthday is a week away, and then the restriction is lifted.”
“I don’t want the restriction lifted.”
The unmistakable whisper of “Well, bless me!” came from his mother across the table, and Reid couldn’t help but smile.
“Why wouldn’t you want us to release the trust?” His father set his fork aside.
“I won’t accept it unless you also remove the restriction from Lydia’s trust. I don’t want her to suffer for my mistakes.”
“Reid, this is a decision that your mother and I thought over carefully—”
“Yes, we did.” His mother’s voice was soft, but strong. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t rethink it.”
“I have thought about this since it happened—and I have no problem with the decision you made after my colossal fail in college.” Reid focused on his father, knowing his mother listened to every word he was saying. “All I ask is that you don’t make Lydia pay for my poor choices. And if you decide to make her wait until she’s thirty, well, then I’ll wait until I’m thirty-five for you to lift the restrictions off my trust fund.”