Hitched

by Dawn Rae Miller

  “Awesome. We get Brady’s jinxed left-overs.”

  “C’mon, Ellie. It’s not that bad. It’s not like the photographer is jinxed.” She dumps everything on the bed next to me.

  I shrug and stand up. "When's Fletch getting back?"

  "Soon. You need to be to Town Hall by four, and he needs to get ready."

  "Guys have it so much easier than girls."

  "What do you want to do for make-up?" Paige asks.

  "Nothing garish, but I want it to photograph nicely."

  "Hmmm, I think a nice smoky eye would be sexy. Or do you want a natural eye and a red lip?" Paige consults her case full of make-up.

  "Let's do natural eye, red lips."

  "You're going to look phenomenal." She dots concealer over my problem spots, blends it in with her fingertips, and rubs something over my eyelids. "Primer," she says. "It will keep your eye shadow from creasing."

  She plays with a few brushes before selecting one and rubbing it in a taupe-colored eye shadow. “Close your eyes and keep them closed.”

  Something soft drags across my eyelids.

  “I’m going to do the eyeliner now, so don’t move,” Paige instructs. I hold my head still and pray I don’t emerge looking like a clown.

  “You’ll need blush so you don’t look washed out.”

  “Can I open my eyes?”

  “Yes, but don’t look in the mirror. I want you to be surprised.”

  This worries me a little, but I tap it down. Paige always looks cute, so I should trust her. She rubs blush onto my cheeks and adds two coats of mascara.

  “Now for the hard part,” she says, brandishing a lip pencil. “I’ve got to get your lips just right. She begins outlining my lips and coloring them in. Then she takes a lipstick and brush from her makeup kit. Slowly, she places the lipstick on me.

  When she’s done, Paige turns me around so I can see my reflection.

  "Ta da!"

  I blink twice. She was right. I look radiant.

  Chapter Twenty

  After my make-up is done, Paige asks me to do my hair. It’s simple enough because I'm just letting it down out of a bun. The soft waves cover my shoulder and arms.

  "I think the dress you have on is fine for today.” She runs her eyes over me. “Yeah, it will do.”

  I cringe a little. Paige is so into this, I'm going to hate to see her at her own wedding. She's going to be like a giant ball of energy no one can pin down.

  "Are Fletch and Calista back?" I ask. The thought of them having drinks and laughing to distract the paparazzi bothers me. Maybe because I know Calista wants Fletch, or maybe because she’s helping me out. Either way, I seriously question Calista’s motives.

  "Let me go find out." Paige stops fussing over me.

  "Please do. I don't want my groom" — boy, does that sound weird — "Running off."

  Paige rolls her eyes. "Are you kidding? He's been waiting years for this. That boy isn't going anywhere."

  As soon as she ducks out the door, I deflate a little. I've been waiting for this for years, too. So why does it all feel so off?

  Are we rushing things?

  Yes. Yes we are.

  Does that make this a mistake?

  I don't think so. I mean, I've wanted to marry Fletch for a few years now - even when I was busy hating him. Why would that change without a lengthy engagement? In fact, I should be even more excited that it's happening so quickly. It means Fletch wants to be with me as much as I want to be with him.

  A soft knock on my door jars me from my thoughts.

  "Come in," I say, expecting Whirlwind Paige.

  Calista peeks her head in. "Is this okay? For me to be here?"

  My heart bangs against my chest. I thought Fletch was going to tell Calista then send her away. I guess the need to distract the photographers made her stay.

  "Sure," I say, forcing myself to sound perky. "What can I do for you?"

  She slides into the room like a cat, and her eyes glance around. "Where's Paige?"

  "Paige is looking for Fletch. To make sure he hasn't run off." I try to make it sound like a joke, but my laugh comes out too thin and too high.

  Calista creeps farther into the room until only a few feet separate us. "You know, once you marry Fletch, I can't be a diversion anymore. It will look like he's having an affair with me."

  "Wouldn't that benefit you?" I say with a little bitterness to my words.

  "You're not cut out for this life, Ellie. Regardless of what Fletch thinks. You're not a ball gown and gala type of woman."

  "And your point?"

  "Fletch will never be truly happy with just you. He's going to need someone who understands him on a deeper level."

  "Like you?"

  She sighs like my question irritates her. “Possibly. But I would be the obvious choice, wouldn't I? No," she says running her hand down the garment bag holding my dress. "You're going to always worry about him with another woman. Someone that fulfills his more refined needs."

  She's telling me that Fletch will cheat on me no matter what. Just like his dad did to his mom. “I’m not a doormat, Calista. If, and if, Fletch cheats I won’t turn a blind eye like Jenn did.”

  "You're naive if you believe that,” she says.

  I take a step forward. "Thank you, Calista." My hand is on the doorknob. "As always your comments have been enlightening."

  "Don't say I didn't warn you." She slithers past me. "I suppose I'll see you at the wedding tomorrow."

  “Why are you coming to my wedding?”

  She cocks her head. A frown forms at the corners of her mouth. “He may be your fiancé, but I’ve loved him longer. And I will always, always, love him. He just can’t see it.”

  With that she slinks off down the hallway, passing Paige in the process. The two women exchange words I can't hear, but the smile fades from Paige's face.

  If Calista was trying to put the fear of Fletch's possible infidelities in me, it worked. But knowing he's been with no one else since leaving me, makes me think her warning is unfounded. Still, I can't help but wonder.

  Paige pushes me back into the room. "What did Cal say?"

  "She was warning me that I'll never be enough for Fletch."

  "Damn her," Paige says. "Of course she had to try to ruin your day. She can't stand to see either of you so happy."

  I sigh and walk over to the window. Small waves break against the beach. "How's Fletch?"

  "Calm. Almost too calm. It's eerie."

  "How are we on time?” I ask.

  Paige checks her phone. "Oh, we've got to go. It's three-thirty. Can't be late if you want to get your license. They’re closed tomorrow."

  She opens my bedroom door and sticks her head out. "It's all clear."

  “There’s no reason to hide. It’s not the wedding day.”

  “It kinda is. I mean the license makes it official.”

  I skip down the stairs, finally eager to get everything going. The car waits outside. I take a deep breath and let the ball of anxiety building in my gut dissipate. I’m not going to let a group of rabid reporters or Calista ruin my weekend. And it is my weekend now.

  We're to the gates now, and the throng of photographers yells and bangs on the car. I sink low in my seat and give thanks for the darkly-tinted windows.

  "I wonder if it was like this when Fletch left?"

  "No way!" Paige points overhead. “There’s a helicopter hovering over Brady's backyard. The pavilions and everything is still set up. They must think the wedding is happening there. Today."

  "I thought the point of Calista and Fletch going for a drink was to prove there was no wedding."

  "Diversionary tactics only last so long. Besides, we all but told the manicurist the plan."

  Our car speeds down the road toward Town Hall.

  "How much farther?" I ask.

  "About two minutes," the driver answers.

  I gulp. In two minutes, I'm going to be at the place where I'm making it legal to
get married. It doesn't seem real. My hands sweat, and I rub them on my sundress.

  "You okay?" Paige, my default bridesmaid, asks.

  "Just nerves. You know how it is. Second biggest day of my life."

  Paige laughs. "Ellie, I promise tomorrow will be the biggest and best day of your life."

  We pull up to Town Hall, and I notice the other black sedan already parked. Fletch and the guys must be inside.

  My future husband is inside.

  And I'm out here, sitting in the car. Photographers pull up beside us. How will I get out of the car with them all around?

  The driver jumps out of his seat and opens my door. Paige scrambles out behind me.

  "Is it true, Ellie? Are you marrying Fletch Colson?"

  I could ignore them, or I could give them what they want and pray it’s enough to get them to leave me alone. I glance back over my shoulder and give a knowing smile. "Of course I am."

  This releases a frenzy of shutter clicks. I don't know what's gotten into me, but I turn around on the stairs and smile. Pose, actually. What happened to the hyperventilating, shell-shocked woman of a few hours ago?

  The photographers follow us into Town Hall. Since it's a public place, there's no way to keep them out. Fletch, Brady, and Reid wait for me inside.

  Fletch. Looks. Amazing.

  He's wearing linen pants and a button-up shirt.

  "Ellie," he says, taking my hands. "You look stunning."

  I laugh. “It’s the same dress from earlier today.”

  “Still, you look beautiful.”

  I tune out all the calls from the photographers. My heart is skipping, jumping, beating. I know this is all so very right.

  "We have to fill out some forms, then we can get married tomorrow." He chokes up on the word married, but I give him a giant smile.

  He leads me over to a window where a woman sits behind a desk. "Yes," she says.

  "We're ready."

  The woman takes two papers out of a file and pushes them through the small opening in the window. "Fill these out, and I'll need proof of name and age. Driver's license is fine."

  I giggle, and take my paper and one of the pens she's shoved through.

  I carefully fill in my name, date of birth, and place of birth. When I'm done, Fletch takes it from me and slides it with his back through the window.

  "IDs?" The woman says while typing our information into the computer.

  We both produce our driver's licenses. She scans them before giving them back. She's completely oblivious to the group of photographers shouting our names.

  "Here you go," the woman says, sliding a piece of paper toward us.

  'Marriage License' is printed in large script across the top. My breath hitches. We're really doing this.

  Fletch laces his fingers through mine, and we press through the throng of photographers to the door.

  “I want to ride back with you. Is that okay?”

  “I’ll ride with the guys,” Paige says. “Give you two some alone time.”

  Photographers press in on all sides of us, forming a little tunnel for us to walk through.

  "This is a really big deal, isn't it?" I whisper to Paige.

  "Are you kidding me? Fletch is one of the world's most eligible bachelors. And he's marrying you!" She squeals. "Yes, it's a big deal."

  Fletch opens the car door for me, and I climb in. Reporters shout at us, but the driver shuts the door behind Fletch, blocking out some of the noise.

  “Ellie,” Fletch begins. “I heard about your panic attack. Are you sure you’re going to be okay with all this?”

  I nod. “It won’t last forever. We’ll be old news by the end of the year.”

  Fletch tilts his head. His green eyes meet mine. “I can’t guarantee that.”

  “I know. But it won’t be like this forever. It wasn’t like this for your parents.”

  “No, it wasn’t.”

  I slide my hand beneath his. “Change of topic. My dad will be here tomorrow morning, but I have no idea when the wedding is.”

  Fletch laughs. “Small detail.”

  “Very small,” I answer.

  “Well, my mom gets in around noon, so I thought three would be a nice time – unless you want it later.”

  I’ve always imagined Fletch and I have a nighttime wedding, but a daytime wedding could be beautiful. “Won’t a tux look funny in the middle of the day?”

  He shrugs. “I don’t really care, but it sounds like you do.”

  “Not really.” And I don’t, as long as I get to marry Fletch. “Three sounds great. We could party after, and have an early dinner.”

  Fletch brings my hand to his lips and kisses it. “If that’s what my bride wants, that’s what we’ll do.” He places my hand back down on the car seat. “I’ll talk to the caterers when we get back.”

  “Is that going to cost extra?”

  “Probably.”

  I shift uncomfortably. “Are you…are you okay with spending that kind of money?”

  Fletch nods. “And don’t worry about the cost of the dress. Paige has already spoken to me, and it’s taken care of.”

  “I just can’t get used to the way you guys spend money.”

  He swallows. “To be honest, I don’t think about it. I send my receipts to my accountant, and he tells me if I’ve spent more than the previous month.” He stretches his arms overhead. “But really, Elle, don’t worry about it. What’s mine is yours.”

  I study him for a minute. “Is that why we don’t have a prenup?”

  Fletch gapes at me. “We can always do a post-nup if you want. But personally, I want to marry you for you, and I hope you feel the same about me. I’d like to think that you’re the one girl in this world who doesn’t want to marry me for my money.”

  I caress his arm. “I most likely am.”

  “Ellie?”

  “What?”

  “How did I get so lucky as to have found you?”

  “I don’t know. But I do know that I love you with everything I have.”

  Fletch sighs like a balloon deflating. His shoulders relax, and he rests his head on the back of the seat. From his pocket he pulls out the marriage certificate.

  “It looks so official,” I say.

  “Because it is.”

  My heart skips. Tomorrow at this time, I’ll be married to Fletch.

  Time can’t move quick enough.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  When we arrive back at Brady’s, everything is chaotic. Brady’s mom is yelling at Sophie’s mom about who is going to pay for Brady and Sophie’s farce of a wedding. Confused workers stand around waiting to see which woman will emerge victorious.

  “Brady,” I say. “Haven’t you spoken to the caterers yet? Or the set-up crew?”

  He shakes his head. “I thought Fletch did.”

  “Fletch?” I say.

  “I spoke to the caterers, but not the people putting up the pavilions or doing the decorations.”

  “Mom,” Brady yells across the room. “It’s okay. Fletch and Ellie are getting married, so they’ll just use the stuff Sophie and I had.”

  “Are you sure that isn’t bad luck?” I whisper to Paige.

  “Positive.”

  Mrs. Pearson swings her body around so that she’s facing us. “Well I’m definitely not paying for your wedding, Fletch.”

  Fletch holds up his arms. “I wouldn’t expect you to.”

  “Should someone go talk to them?” I ask, jerking my head in the direction of the set-up/tear-down crew.

  Calista steps forward. “I’ll do it.”

  I move closer to Fletch. If Calista does the wedding planning, what will we end up with? “Paige,” I whisper. “Can you help her? I don’t want any voodoo dolls or bad mojo.”

  Paige giggles. “I’ll do my best.”

  With all the commotion today, I haven’t eaten since breakfast, and my grumbling stomach reminds me of that fact.

  “Is anyone else hungry?” I ask.


  Brady runs a hand over his tight abs. “I am.”

  “Me, too,” says Reid.

  “We should eat.” I look around the room. Nothing is set up for the wedding – at least not the food.

  “We could go out and grab something,” Brady says.

  I shake my head. “And deal with the paparazzi again? No thank you.”

  We follow Brady into the kitchen. He starts rustling around in the fridge. His head pops out, and he tosses a loaf of bread at Reid. “Peanut butter and jelly with chips?” he asks. “Because I’m not sure any of us know how to cook for six.”

  “Five,” I respond.

  “Not if you include Cal.”

  I resist rolling my eyes. Because mature, soon-to-be married adults don’t roll their eyes. At least I think they don’t.

  But the bigger issue is that I don’t know how to cook anything other than mac-n-cheese, hot dogs, and salads. If it’s not made for me, I eat like crap. I sigh.

  “What’s wrong,” Fletch says nibbling my ear.

  “I can’t cook. Wives should be able to cook something for their husbands.”

  Fletch laughs. “Ellie, that’s so sexist, I don’t even know where to begin.”

  I nudge him in the ribs. “I’m serious, Fletch. Shouldn’t one of us know something about cooking?”

  He grasps my hands between his. “I can get us cooking lessons as a wedding gift if you’d like.”

  A smile stretches across my face. “And what good would that do us if you have a cook who prepares every meal for you?”

  “Are you or aren’t you in favor of the cooking lessons?”

  “In favor.”

  “Meanwhile, the rest of us starve to death while the two of you try to kill us with cuteness,” Brady says, slathering peanut butter onto a slice of bread.

  “Here,” Reid says, tossing the loaf to me. “Take your bread and get in line.”

  We take turns making our sandwiches, and when Paige is done, Brady guides us to the long dining room table. We arrange ourselves and begin eating.

  “This is some party you have going, Fletch.” Brady’s joking, but it’s the truth. It’s the night before our wedding, and we’re eating pb&j and chips. Hardly romantic.