Hitched

by Dawn Rae Miller

  "Don't ask," Paige says waving away my questions. "Just accept this is how things work in our world."

  Our world. It sounds so ridiculous. Like it’s a secret club or something.

  Paige climbs into the car after me and shows the driver her phone. "We want to go here."

  I lean back on the town car's leather seat. How different this ride is than the one I took to get to the Cape. We pass the cars waiting outside Brady’s gates. They’ve grown in number since yesterday.

  "So, obviously, you're not going to have a color scheme or theme, but you can have a nice dress."

  I turn my hands palm side up. "Are you serious? Where are we going to find a wedding dress and have it altered in three hours?"

  "Who said anything about a traditional wedding dress? You're getting married on the Cape. You don't need a fancy gown."

  My face falls. The truth is I always had an image of Fletch and me on our wedding day. He'd be in a tux and I'd have on a fabulous wedding gown. I hope whatever Paige has planned looks good. I want to be radiant.

  The car zooms by quaint little towns and finally hangs a right. He pulls up to a small cottage.

  "Where are we?" It looks like someone's house.

  "The dress shop!" Paige clucks her tongue. "Now, out you go."

  I follow her to the front door, and Paige turns the knob and enters. There, lining the room, are hundreds of dresses.

  "See," Paige says. "I told you we'd find something."

  "Hello, ladies," a woman says, rushing forward to greet us. She looks like she’s about forty and has lived her entire life on the Cape. "How can I help you today?"

  Standing here, in the middle of a room full of dresses, makes everything seem so real. I'm getting married. Tomorrow.

  Have I lost my mind?

  "My friend, Ellie, is getting married tomorrow, and she needs a dress."

  The woman sizes me up. "I don't sell wedding gowns but I think we can find something suitable. Where are you getting married?"

  "I don’t know." Add that to my list of things to work out with Fletch.

  "And the groom is wearing what?"

  I hadn't given any thought to that, either. Probably the tux from Brady's wedding. "I think a tux."

  "So it's formal?"

  "I don't know," I say again.

  Paige jumps in. "He'll be wearing a tux, so she needs something long, but not too beachy. More refined."

  The woman nods her head. "Let's see. You're about a size four?"

  "Yes," I answer.

  She begins digging through the racks and occasionally pulls out a dress and drapes it over her arm. I notice they're all white.

  "Let's start with these," the woman says, handing me a stack of dresses. "The changing room is over there."

  With a nervous heart, I enclose myself behind the fitting room’s red curtain. I immediately discard a white eyelet, knee-length dress. Not because it isn't pretty, but rather I think it's too casual. Next up is what I'd call a Marilyn Monroe dress. The bodice is fitted and the full skirt has accordion pleats.

  When I emerge from the dressing room, Paige wrinkles her brow and shakes her head. "No, not that one. Try another."

  The only dress left is a long white Grecian style. I eye it suspiciously. I've never worn a dress like this. I slide it over my head and find I can't zip it all the way up without help. The mirror is outside, so I can't see how I look. When I pull back the curtain, Paige gasps.

  "Oh, Ellie. That's it. It's perfect."

  "Can you zip me?"

  I turn around to face the mirror, and my breath hitches. I look stunning. Sheer pieces of fabric float from my waist, and the fitted bodice clings to me perfectly. It's like the dress was made for me.

  Then I look at the price. $2,000! Oh no. No. No. No. I don't even have a credit card with that much money on it. And I can’t ask Dad to pay for this. It’s too much.

  My disappointment must be obvious because Paige says, "Don't worry about it, Ellie. I'll pay for it and settle it up with Fletch later."

  "But it's two thousand dollars. I can't afford that."

  Paige waves her credit card. "No, but your future husband can, so relax."

  My stomach flips and flops as I carefully remove the expensive dress. What Paige says is true, but does that mean I can just spend Fletch's money willy-nilly? Will he be okay with me buying this dress? And how comfortable am I spending that kind of money?

  After I put my clothes back on, I leave all the dresses in the fitting room. "Thank you," I say to the woman helping us. "But I really can't afford that dress."

  "Too bad," Paige says. "I've already paid. Now go get your dress, and let's get out of here. You still need your to get your nails done.”

  I look down at my hands. They're a pale pink, but admittedly chipped in some places. Not bridal at all.

  "And your hair. What do you plan on doing with it?"

  "Leave it down and wavy. That's how Fletch likes it."

  Paige nods in approval. "I'm thinking a French manicure for your nails."

  "Don't you think we've had enough French everything for the weekend?"

  This causes Paige to double over in laughter. "You know we're going to party at Brady's tonight, don't you?"

  "Without the French contingency, right?" We walk outside, my dress slung over Paige’s arm.

  "Absolutely," she says. “I think most of them are leaving today. There may be a few stragglers.”

  We slide back into our seats, and the car zooms off. Paige keeps smoothing the dress that lies between us in a black zipped-up bag. “I’m positive Fletch is going to love this. You looked amazing in it.”

  “I hope so.” What I don’t add is that I hope he doesn’t die over the cost.

  We pull into another parking lot. "Nail time!" Paige says, jumping out of the car. She’s acting like this is the most important day of her life. Acting like a bride-to-be. Maybe I should try for more enthusiasm. Bounce around like a maniac.

  Sigh.

  I’m hurtling toward the most important day of my life, and I’m not giddy.

  What is wrong with me?

  Chapter Nineteen

  I can barely sit still as the manicurist works on my cuticles. "You're getting married tomorrow?" she says.

  It sounds so ridiculous. Me married. To Fletch.

  A week — heck two days — ago I would never have said we'd be talking, let alone getting married.

  It's all a bit overwhelming.

  "Yes," I say, trying to get my nervous energy out by tapping my foot. "But we need to get the marriage license by four o’clock today."

  "And the groom, is he handsome?"

  Paige says, "They've known each other since high school. Isn't that romantic?"

  The manicurist studies my nails. "Ah, young love."

  "Yes," I say. "He's handsome." And Fletch is. His sandy blond hair, green eyes, and bronze skin all make me weak. "But it's his personality that I love."

  "They broke up for two years and just reconnected this weekend," Paige says.

  "What?" The manicurist drops my hand. "You mean you haven't seen this guy in two years, and you're going to marry him tomorrow?" She rolls a bottle of polish between her hands.

  "Yes," I say.

  "Honey," she says. "It's none of my business, but what do your parents think about all this?" She lifts my hand and begins dragging the brush over my nails. A deep red colors them.

  "My dad is excited. I don't have a mom."

  "Well, that's the problem right there. No mother would agree to this."

  Paige wiggles in the chair next to me. "Ah, but you don't know the story of Ellie and Fletch."

  "So tell me," the manicurist says.

  Paige grins at me. “Correct me if I get it wrong, okay?"

  "Fine."

  "Our senior year of high school, Fletch's friends dared him to be just friends with Ellie." Paige looks at me, and I nod her on. "The two of them slowly fell in love and on the last day of school, afte
r graduation, they ran off together."

  "Let me get this straight, the two of you ran away, and no one came looking for you?" My finger nails are looking good, one hand is done and the other nearly so.

  "Well, yes," I say. "But I checked in with my dad everyday. Fletch's parents weren't happy, but they didn't cut off his credit card or force him home."

  "Anyway," Paige says. "The two of them dated for three years. Part of it was long distance, with Fletch flying back and forth to see Ellie at college. But then his dad died, and he had to take over the family business. And it took up all his time, and he and Ellie drifted apart."

  "Wait," the manicurist says. "Are you talking about Fletch Colson? That kid that runs GroundFloor who’s on the Cape this weekend?”

  Heat pricks up the back of my neck, and I swallow hard. What should I say?

  Paige jumps in. "No. Are you kidding? If she were marrying Fletch Colson, don't you think the tabloids would be all over that?"

  "Yes, I do." She sets my right hand down. "There. Now let it set in the drier for a minute. The gel polish dries much faster than normal polish."

  She gets up and wanders into the backroom.

  "Paige," I say, casting glances at the curtain separating the nail salon from the backroom. "She knows. She knows, and she's going to tell."

  "So what? Don't you want people to know you're marrying Fletch?"

  "Yes," I say. "I do, but I don't want it turning into a tabloid free-for-all." My shallow breathing and racing heart signal a panic attack coming on.

  I yank my hand out of the drier and tap my nail. It’s dry.

  "Oh no,” Paige says, looking over her shoulder toward the door.

  “What?” I say.

  “Looks like you're not going to get your wish."

  I turn my head. A car idles at the curb, and a photographer jumps out.

  "How in the world did they get here so quickly?" I ask. A ball forms in my gut.

  Paige cocks her head. "They've been crawling all over the Cape this weekend, hoping to get a shot of Fletch." She pauses. “Probably Calista, too.”

  "Why didn’t I think of that?"

  "You've kind of been in you're own little Ellie world. The word got out that Fletch was somewhere on the Cape and the ‘reporters.’” She uses air quotes. "They swarmed like sharks to chum."

  I nod, remembering the cars parked in front of Brady’s gate.

  My heart bangs against my ribcage. Is this what life married to Fletch is going to be like? Everywhere I go, are reporters going to be in my face? Is this what Fletch had meant when he said he didn't want this life for me?

  The manicurist still hasn't emerged from the back room. What's taking her so long?

  Paige, who has more experience with this stuff given that her father is a big-time record producer and she grew up around rock stars and going to industry parties, taps my finger. "It's dry," she says. "Let's get out of here."

  "How?" the lone photographer has turned into a swarm. All of them pressing up against the window, snapping pictures of Paige and me.

  "Like this," Paige says. She throws a handful of bills down on the front desk and takes my hand. She yanks the front door open and elbows her way through the throng of reporters. She never lets go of my hand until we're safe in the car. My dress is a crumpled ball on the ground. Paige picks it up and sets it back between us.

  Photographers bang on the darkened car windows, and I jump. This is so not what I want.

  "Where to, ladies," the driver says.

  "Back to the house," Paige answers.

  Outside, the photographers yell, "Ellie, is it true? Are you marrying Fletch Colson?"

  I bury my face in my hands, and wish our car could fly. The constant banging on the windows is making every fiber on my body tense up, and beads of sweat form along my hairline.

  "Can we just go?" I say.

  "I'm trying, Miss Ellie, but they’re standing in front of us."

  Paige whips out her cell phone. "Fletch," she says. "We're being swarmed by reporters, and Ellie is freaking out. Can you give us a distraction?"

  I can't hear what he says, but Paige sits back and looks satisfied.

  "What?" I say.

  "He's taking care of it in the best way he knows how."

  "Which is what?"

  Paige folds her hands together. "You have to trust us, okay?"

  "I don't like the sound of this."

  "Fletch is going to go out with Calista. Just some meaningless outing, but it should be enough to get all the attention off you."

  "Calista would do that?"

  "That's what she's been doing all along, Ellie. She's been keeping the limelight off you. Think about it, how come no one ever really dug into your relationship with Fletch?"

  "I don't know?"

  "Because Calista has always been there, giving them something to gossip about. There never was a need to dig."

  My lips press together in a slight grimace. "I never thought of it that way."

  "All the events she attended with Fletch, the little things they'd do together, it was all to keep you from all of this."

  Calista may have been doing it for Fletch because she certainly wasn’t doing it for me. That much I know is true.

  Our car lurches forward, and the photographers scatter. My breathing starts to even out as we zoom along the road back to Brady's house.

  Sure enough, reporters wait for us. We speed up the long driveway, out of sight of the cameras. My breathing is erratic, and I grasp at my chest. "I think I'm having a heart attack," I say.

  Paige eyes me carefully. "No, you're having a panic attack."

  All I know is that I need to get out of this car. Get out and get far away.

  "Where's Fletch?" I gasp. My words come out jagged, and I hate how weak I sound.

  Brady appears and helps me from the car. "He's with Calista having drinks somewhere."

  I nod and allow myself to be led inside. Outside the gate, photographers continue to yell my name.

  "You don't look well," Brady says. "You need to do some deep breathing exercises. Like this." He inhales deeply through his nose and exhales through his mouth. "It will calm you."

  I try to follow along, but all I feel is dizzy. "I need to lie down."

  Brady scoops me up and carries me into the house.

  "Here, Ellie," Brady says, setting me down gently on a couch.

  I lie down and close my eyes. All my focus is on slowing my heart rate. Behind me, Brady and Paige whisper.

  "Ellie?" I flutter my eyes open. Brady stands over me. "Are you okay?"

  I shake my head. "I don't know what happened. I saw all the photographers, and I kind of had a meltdown."

  Brady takes my hand. "You know, you don't have to go through with this if you don't want to."

  My racing heart quivers. "It's not that. I want to marry Fletch. I really do. But all the photographers, the chaos, I couldn't deal." I squish my eyes shut then open them. "What am I going to do? Is this what my life is going to be like?"

  Paige sits on the couch next to me. "When you marry someone like Fletch, you're marrying into a lifestyle, not just the man."

  "I don't know if I want all of this," I swing my hand around, taking in all the elegant trappings surrounding me. "I just want to be with Fletch."

  Paige peers down at me. "Things will settle down after you're married. The reporters mostly stay away from Fletch unless they have good gossip about him."

  "Like him and Calista having drinks," I say.

  "Exactly," Paige answers. "Let them take some of the pressure off you." She holds out the black, nylon bag that houses my wedding dress. "Are you feeling better? We need to start getting ready for your trip to the courthouse.”

  My hands have stopped shaking, and I'm no longer hyperventilating. "How are we going to get to Town Hall without every photographer on the Cape following us?"

  Paige gives me a smug smile. "Did you forget you have a rock star in your presence? And a fabulous
friend in me?"

  "Sometimes I do forget. I forget a lot."

  I gently swing my feet off the couch and onto the floor before sitting up. The room has stopped spinning, so that's a good sign.

  Paige shakes the bag holding my dress. "Come now or forever hold your peace."

  Brady lays his hand on my shoulder. "Are you positive this is what you want?"

  "Yes," I say. "I want to marry Fletch despite all the other stuff."

  Paige puts her arm around me. "You're going to be a beautiful bride, Ellie. Especially in the dress we found."

  I shudder at the thought of the $2,000 dress - and at Paige paying for it, so Fletch could pay her back.

  Is this my life now? Expensive dresses, manicures, and paparazzi? And if so, will I ever get used to it? I don't remember Fletch saying his parents had to deal with this, so why should we be any different? Maybe Paige is right. Maybe once the fascination dies down, the intrusion into our life will disappear.

  Paige and I enter my bedroom, and she hangs the dress in the closet next to the evening gown I was going to wear tonight to Brady's reception.

  "Wait here for a minute," she says, running from the room.

  I wander over to the window. The pavilions are still up and prepared for Sophie and Brady’s wedding. Beyond the tents, white caps slam into the shoreline. The wind must really be picking up.

  I fling myself down on the bed and study the ceiling. All this time, I’ve been hating Calista, and she was helping Fletch protect me – whether she liked it or not. Like today. She has to know Fletch and I are getting married, and yet, she’s willing to help distract the paparazzi so that I don’t freak out.

  I owe her, I guess.

  “I’m back bearing goodies,” Paige says as she rushes back into my room.

  I sit up and take stock of her. She has an armful of makeup, hairbrushes, and a blow dryer.

  “What’s all of that?” I ask.

  Paige glances at her haul. “Things to beautify you. Not that you’re not gorgeous already, but this will help define your features in pictures.”

  “Pictures?”

  She nods. “Since Brady already hired a photographer, and he’s here, you get to use him. He’s here for two days. I figured you could use him at Town Hall and tomorrow at the wedding.”