Blue Shoes #1: New Adult Rock Star Erotic Romance (Morris Music Book 6)

by JJ Knight

I repeat myself, “Take care of yourself, Nick.”

  There’s no way I’m telling Nick a single word about my plans to go wedding dress shopping now. He doesn’t deserve access to my personal life. We take the elevator down and exit the building in silence.

  I wave goodbye, he walks away, and then I signal for a taxi for myself. The visit from Nick was odd, but in my line of work with wealthy, temperamental artists, and the ambitious deal-makers they come with, odd is normal. If I don’t have two or three odd meetings per day, something’s wrong.

  I jump into the back of the taxi and give the driver the name and address of the bridal boutique.

  “Yes, of course,” the driver says. “Very nice dresses for the bride.” He studies me in the rear view mirror. “Are you famous?”

  I look around at the people outside the taxi. Unlike when I’m in Dylan’s new car, nobody’s turning their heads to look my way.

  The driver answers his own question. “Yes, you are famous. You are very beautiful, and we are in L.A. The City of Dreams. You are somebody.”

  I smile. “I’m nobody. Just a tomboy, a country girl.” I reach down and fidget with my engagement ring. Just a country girl… for six more weeks.

  The driver knows all the best shortcuts, and I arrive at the bridal boutique with a minute to spare.

  I step out of the taxi and stop, stunned.

  My dress is in the window.

  Chapter 3

  I’m staring at the beautiful gown in the window. The girls sneak up behind me and grab me in a group hug.

  I complain and try to push them off me, but secretly I love this. Besides Dylan, and my grandma back home, these two are my favorite people.

  Amanda, the blonde, is from the same small town as me. When I came to L.A., she was my roommate. Actually, she still is my roommate, sometimes. I stay over with her and Riley when Dylan’s traveling.

  Amanda pulls out of the group hug and jumps up and down, clapping her hands. “I’m so excited about dresses,” she squeals. “Don’t you think Caleb would look handsome in a tuxedo?”

  Riley, the brunette who looks like an older version of me, lets out one of her sarcastic laughs. “Nobody would recognize him,” Riley says. “Does he even own a shirt that didn’t come from a concert?”

  I have to laugh, because this is just like them. Amanda is the enthusiastic, positive one—the blonde cheerleader. Riley is always the voice of reason. I fall somewhere between their two extremes.

  Amanda ignores Riley and asks if she can try on my ring again. I pull the engagement ring off and hand it to her.

  Riley smirks at me. “One of these days, you won’t get it back.”

  I smirk back at her. “It’s okay. I know where she lives.”

  Riley’s expression gets serious. She stares at me quietly, and her eyes start to glisten. I don’t know what to say. Is she getting all emotional about me getting married?

  Riley is my half-sister, and she’s seven years older than me. We hadn’t seen each other in years, until we reconnected here in L.A. Our whole extended family is kind of a mess, so it’s a miracle we get along so well.

  Riley was living with Amanda when I moved in. I nearly fainted when I saw her face, because for years I’d assumed she was dead.

  That situation was hell at first, but we’re in a good place now. Some days I can’t believe how lucky I am, to see my best friends every day. The girls live in a house Dylan bought as an investment, right next door to his house.

  I’m so grateful for the good things in my life.

  Riley’s eyes pool with water, and her lip starts to tremble.

  Now my vision is getting blurry. I blink rapidly and frown at Riley.

  “Don’t get soft on me,” I warn her. “If you lose it, I will, too.”

  She snorts and rolls her eyes. “I wasn’t going to cry,” she says, acting tough.

  I playfully punch her on the shoulder. “Sure, you weren’t.”

  Amanda barges into our sisterly bonding moment and throws her arms over our shoulders. “Hello? Are we going to try on dresses, or what?”

  “We?”

  Amanda waves her left hand, making the diamond glitter. “My fiancée wants me to wear white.”

  Riley and I give each other a look. Amanda wearing white? Now that’s funny.

  Amanda moves toward the door impatiently. “Come on already, guys!”

  We walk into Verve Bridal. I’ve never been inside a bridal boutique before, let alone one this fancy.

  My heart flutters as I look around. Everything in Verve Bridal has a golden sheen, from the floors to the walls. Above us, small overhead lights on the high ceiling make everything glitter. A white grand piano takes up the center of the large room.

  Amanda runs straight for the white piano. Of course. She starts plinking on the keys. Of course.

  A sharp-featured woman in a burgundy dress walks over to us. She doesn’t even look at Amanda, plinking away on the piano. She also ignores Riley, who is dragging Amanda away from the piano keys.

  The woman’s dark hair is pulled back in a tight bun. From the neutral look on her face, either she’s a calm person, or she’s had a lot of Botox. Either way, I don’t trust her at all.

  After all my dealings with my former co-worker, Nick, I won’t open up to someone who wears their face in a mask. Seeing him today refreshed my memory. I have to be careful.

  This woman will probably try to get to me. She’ll offer us champagne, then she’ll pretend to let her guard down and tell us about her failed marriage or some other sad thing. After the chit-chat, she’ll move on to personal questions.

  She probably gets brides to spill their guts in here all the time. I bet they crack under all the glamor. Then she sells their secrets to the top bidder.

  Whatever happens today, I cannot let it slip that I’m buying my actual wedding gown, and not a spare one for photos.

  And this woman cannot find out the wedding’s in six weeks. Nobody can know. Not even my best friends.

  The woman reaches me and offers her hand to shake.

  “Jessica Rivera, I presume.”

  “That’s me.” I give her the same firm handshake I learned in business school, and that I use in my job. Her fingers go limp in my hand.

  I hate limp handshakes, but I give her a warm smile anyway. She looks me up and down, inspecting me. The girls return from the piano, and she looks them over with equal care. “This must be your entourage.”

  Riley and Amanda look at me, but don’t say anything. They have mixed feelings about being referred to as my entourage. We all treat each other like equals, so it’s weird when the rest of the world doesn’t.

  The woman goes into a smooth speech, “I’m Mrs. Montgomery Hale, the wedding gown expert here at Verve Bridal Beverly Hills.” She waves her hand as if pointing out the glam of the store. “I’m told you’re marrying a very popular singer. That must be exciting for you.”

  I’m not sure if she’s being nice or condescending. Before I can open my mouth, she turns on her heel and starts walking away.

  “Follow me,” she calls over her shoulder as if we’re children.

  Riley rolls her eyes. Amanda mouths, “Is she for real?” Amanda walks in a stiff waddle. I laugh out loud at her imitation. Mrs. Hale turns back to us, one eyebrow raised.

  “We don’t have all day,” she says. “I have another fitting scheduled this evening, after hours. Very private client.”

  “Of course,” I reply. How nice of her to make me feel less important.

  Mrs. Hale continues talking as she walks. “Finding the right wedding dress is more difficult than finding the right husband. In fact—”

  Amanda gasps excitedly and interrupts, “I know, right? That’s why you have to try out a lot of guys. So you know you’ve got a good one. I bet it’s the exact same thing with dresses. Right, Mrs. Hall?”

  “Hale,” the woman corrects.

  Amanda asks, “What’s the hottest style right now? The big trend? Big
and poofy?”

  As they talk, I look around. The showcase room is even more fancy than the store’s main room. The walls are covered in ornately framed mirrors. This is a room for a princess. The floor is gleaming marble, with an inlay of gold tile. Above our heads is a giant crystal chandelier that’s bigger than the cows on the farm I grew up on.

  Amanda keeps asking what styles are trendy, peppering the woman with questions.

  Mrs. Hale’s tight face starts to crack with frown lines. “Hottest? It’s not about what’s hot or trendy, but—”

  “Champagne!” Amanda yells.

  Amanda runs to the sitting area in the middle of the showcase room. There are white leather couches, and tables set up with champagne. Mrs. Hale gives up on her speech and gestures for the girls to help themselves.

  I pass on the champagne. I don’t need anything loosening my lips and letting out my secrets.

  Mrs. Hale pulls a rack of white dresses toward me.

  She says, “Remind me, Miss Rivera, when is the wedding?”

  “Oh, not for a while yet. We haven’t set a date.” I give her a polished, professional smile. “I’m just here today to get a pretend gown, for taking photos.”

  She pulls two dresses from the rack, her dark blue eyes piercing into me. “Pretend gown?”

  “Yes. For photos.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  She must be playing dumb to dig for information. I roll my eyes and sigh, pretending it’s such a chore to have to drop massive cash on expensive gowns.

  “Just rock star stuff,” I say. “A lot of my fiancé’s songs are about me, so we want some footage of me in a gown for a video.”

  “Hmm,” she says.

  I get the feeling she’s not buying my story.

  I change the topic by pointing to a random dress on the rack. “That’s pretty.”

  “Good. You do have taste.” Mrs. Hale pulls the dress off the rack. She doesn’t know I lied. This dress looks like the business suit version of a bridal gown, and not pretty at all.

  She coos, “This is by one of our newest designers. It’s cutting edge and ahead of its time.”

  She sweeps the dress up to my body, then guides me over to a wall of mirrors. This suit-dress is not as hideous as I expected, but definitely not me.

  “Too cutting edge,” I say.

  Her eyes narrow. She whips the dress away and replaces it with a silk monstrosity wrapped in ribbons. About a thousand ribbons. Is she messing with me?

  I glance over my shoulder at Riley and Amanda. They are wide-eyed and speechless, quietly sipping champagne.

  Mrs. Hale says, “Don’t you love these ribbons? Think of all the classic movies. Elizabeth Taylor could have worn this, or Betty Davis.” She goes on to name a dozen more actresses, most of them people I’ve never heard of.

  “Too classic,” I say.

  Mrs. Hale takes my rejection like a champion. She whips the ribbon monstrosity away and keeps going, holding up dress after dress. With each one, she lists off what makes it unique.

  I don’t want something unique, though. Or cutting edge. Or inspired.

  Finally, I just tell her the truth. “Mrs. Hale, I’m a simple, country girl. Of course I dreamed about getting married, but I didn’t see myself as a princess. My dreams were simple. I used to hang the sheets out to dry on a clothesline, and then I’d stand on the ground below, wrap myself in the sheets, and imagine it was my wedding day.”

  Amanda calls out from the leather couch, “We can get you a sheet, Jess. It would be a lot cheaper.”

  Riley clamps a hand over her mouth before things get more awkward.

  I turn to Mrs. Hale. “I don’t want a sheet, of course. But I do want a simple gown. On my wedding day, I want the focus to be on the people there, not the clothes.”

  She presses her lips together for a moment, then says, “You mean for the photo shoot, right? You are buying a pretend dress for a music video or some nonsense, aren’t you?”

  I can feel my cheeks getting hot as they redden. She’s on to me, I can tell.

  “I want a simple dress,” I say, letting my irritation put grit into my voice. “Get me three of your simplest dresses. Please.”

  She runs off quickly, her high heels clattering.

  Chapter 4

  “Wow,” Riley says. “My baby sister is turning into a bridezilla.” She turns to Amanda. “We should take video of her being a bridezilla, and sell her out to the gossip sites for big bucks.”

  Amanda tips back another glass of champagne, giggling. They would never sell me out, but they like to joke about it.

  Riley says, “I can see the headline now. BLUE SHOES BRIDEZILLA.”

  I want to laugh along with them, but I can’t. The secret wedding is coming up so soon, and I have a million things to worry about. There’s so much going on at work, with the music deals in Europe, and I do take my job almost as seriously as this wedding.

  Dylan teases me sometimes about my career. He says he makes more than enough money, and that I could shop all day if I wanted to. I think shopping all day would be fun at first, but I’d miss my job. I like working, and I like being good at my job.

  There’s another reason I’m still with Morris Music. I don’t talk to Riley and Amanda about this, but I worry about money. Even when Dylan tells me not to, I do. Maybe it’s because I grew up with so little. I just don’t take it for granted that good things will keep coming to me.

  Plus there’s the issue of Dylan’s spending. He does earn a lot, but he has extravagant taste, especially in cars. I fear that one day the cars will get repossessed and my income will be the only thing keeping us afloat.

  I glance around the fancy boutique. These dresses are all small fortunes. Weddings aren’t cheap, that’s for sure.

  I wish I could stop worrying about everything, but this secret wedding has me on edge. I want to tell my best friends. I hate keeping secrets.

  I take a seat on the leather sofa across from the girls.

  They keep teasing me about turning into a bridezilla, but I can hardly hear them.

  I look down at the shoes I’m wearing today. They’re the blue suede shoes I was wearing the day I met Dylan. He was just a street busker then, a nobody. He wanted to get my attention, so he made up a song about my blue shoes.

  The song, and the video of us meeting, went viral, but not in a huge way. His really big hit was a song called Where You Belong.

  I don’t know how many millions of dollars that song will have to make before I stop hating it. The song is about Dylan dumping me, when he found out I lied to him. Every word in the song is like a knife in my heart.

  “Jess?”

  I look up at Riley and Amanda. They’re both wide-eyed, worried about me.

  Amanda hands me a tissue. I don’t know what it’s for, so I stare at the tissue blankly. Then I feel the wet tear on my cheek. I can hear the clip-clop of Mrs. Hale’s shoes, so I quickly dab away the tear.

  I’m always imagining the worst. First I think of us going broke, then I think of him dumping me. It’s like my brain has a full-time job torturing my heart.

  My tears slow down. This is crazy. Just thinking about bad things has made me cry. The wound from that night he hurt me is still there.

  I think I’m always afraid—afraid it might happen again—that he’ll get angry and leave me with no warning. That’s why I don’t always tell him how I’m feeling.

  I hope this insecurity goes away once we’re married.

  The girls keep asking what’s going on.

  “Talk to us,” Amanda says.

  My voice comes out in a croak. “I’m fine. Honest.”

  “We can come back another time,” Riley says. “If this is too overwhelming to do in one visit. Even a pretend dress is still serious.”

  “I’m okay,” I tell them with forced cheerfulness. “There’s a lot of heavy perfume in this room, don’t you think? It’s really triggering my allergies.”

  They nod slowl
y. I’ve never mentioned allergies before, because I don’t have any. They smile back at me, assuring me they’ll go along with my lie about allergies.

  I can’t tell them that for a moment, I was looking at all the wedding dresses and getting an awful image.

  I could see myself in a dress, alone at the altar. Alone forever.

  It’s such an awful thought. I dab my eyes and blow my nose. I keep looking down at my feet, in their blue shoes. Whenever people back out of a wedding, it’s called cold feet.

  I need to stop wearing these shoes and tempting fate.

  Mrs. Hale returns with dresses in her arms. She’s breathing heavily.

  “Sorry it took me so long,” she wheezes. We wait as she draws another ragged breath and fans her face. “I had to escort some photographers out of the store. Don’t worry. I’ve locked the door. You’re safe in here.”

  My heart starts to race as I imagine the paparazzi outside.

  How could I have been so stupid?

  The taxi driver must have tipped them off. I should have told him to drop me off at a nearby restaurant, not at a bridal shop.

  No wonder he was asking me all those questions about whether or not I was famous.

  Mrs. Hale gives me a nervous look. She’s worried I’ll have her fired.

  “It’s totally my own fault,” I tell the three of them. “My nosy taxi driver must have called in a tip.”

  Someone’s phone starts to ring. It’s my phone, and it’s Dylan calling.

  When I answer, I put on a brave smile so I won’t worry him with nervousness about the photographers in my voice.

  “The beach was boring without you,” he says.

  “Sure it was.” I let out a laugh. “You won’t believe this, but the paparazzi has us trapped. Inside a bridal boutique.”

  “That doesn’t sound so bad. Do they have champagne?”

  I look up at the girls. “I think Riley and Amanda left a few drops.”

  “Did you pick out a dress yet?”

  I answer in a whisper, “No.”

  He growls, “Then we’ll have to get married naked. The whole thing will be naked, and then we’ll throw a blanket on the ground and I’ll take you under the moon… and fireworks.”