Fake Bride Wanted

by Holly Rayner

  It almost seemed laughably obvious. And in fact, I had laughed, while staring out at the pool the night before. How have I missed this? I thought to myself, laughter welling up from deep inside the pit of my stomach. I love Shelby. I felt like I wanted to scream it out loud. I love Shelby Bright! Proposing was the only thing to do. In an instant, I had no fear.

  How could such a powerful feeling be so misguided? How was I so wrong?

  “I’m so, so sorry, Julian,” she repeats. “I—I don’t know how to t-t-tell you this.”

  “Just tell me.”

  She’s going to tell me that she can’t marry me. I know this. I feel the rounded corner of the ring box digging into my thigh within my pants pocket.

  Shelby turns so that she’s facing me. I pivot on the wall so that I’m straddling it. I want to face her squarely. We’ve done enough hiding over the years. It’s time for us to open our hearts.

  “I did something,” she says. She wipes tears off of her cheek. It leaves a smudged, shining stain.

  “What?” I ask. I watch another tear pool over her lower lid and slide down her cheek.

  I can’t help it. I reach out and wipe the tear away for her. She catches my hand, while it still rests on her cheek, and she holds it there.

  “Julian, I’ve ruined everything.”

  Her cheek is hot. I brush my thumb along her skin, desperate to soothe her.

  “No,” I say. “You’re perfect.”

  “I’m not. I’ve always dreamed that you might ask me to marry you. But—but…last night…I…”

  Her voice drifts off. She turns her head downwards, and her face shifts in my hands. I feel the wetness of her lips against my palm.

  I slide my hand down to her chin. Gently, slowly, I coax her face upwards, so that she is looking at me again. She lifts her eyes and looks at me through wet lashes.

  “Your cousin reached out to me. She sent me a message, asking me if…oh!” A fresh torrent of tears crashes over her cheeks.

  I place my other hand up around her face, so that I’m cupping her it. Suddenly, I know. Shelby isn’t saying no to me. She’s worried about something else entirely.

  Fleur. The ring. My cousin has gotten herself involved somehow.

  A weight starts to lift off of my shoulders.

  “Wait,” I say. “Shelby, you do want to marry me?”

  “Yes!” she says. “Yes, of course I do! But, you see, your cousin Fleur sent me a message, asking if I—”

  I don’t wait to hear the rest. I don’t need to. I’ve heard the only part that matters to me. Shelby wants to marry me.

  I lean in and kiss her. Her lips are salty with tears, and I drink her in, my movements gentle yet urgent. She wants to marry me! That is all I need to know. The rest of the details—concerning my cousin—don’t matter at all. My lips move against Shelby’s, and as we kiss, she stops crying. Our kiss has dried her tears.

  When we part, the world is quiet for just a moment. She stares up at me, doe-eyed.

  “Julian…I told her that I would give her the ring. I said that I would give it to her as a gift, so that it would legally be hers. She said that she would give me money—a million dollars.”

  Her words fall like a warm summer’s rain around me. They barely affect me at all. That’s all? That’s all that Shelby is concerned about? Some agreement with my cousin? Money? That is why she’s crying?

  Shelby wants to marry me.

  Shelby wants to marry me!

  I want to pick her up and spin her around. I feel myself smile.

  This seems to confuse Shelby.

  “Aren’t you upset?” she asks.

  “Upset? Shelbs, this is the greatest day of my life.”

  “You’re glad that I agreed to give the ring to your cousin?”

  “I don’t care about the ring!” I say. I feel so light as I say these words, as though I might levitate right off of the stone wall we’re sitting on.

  “You don’t?”

  “No! Shelby…did you mean it? What you just said? Do you really want to…” I pause there. I swing my leg over the wall and hop off of it. Shelby is still sitting on it. As I kneel down on one knee, she’s high up above me.

  I can feel the box in my pocket, but this time, I don’t fish it out.

  I’ll have to do this without a ring.

  “Shelby…will you marry me?”

  She looks down at me, her expression a mixture of confusion and joy.

  “Yes, Julian, but what about—”

  “The ring? Shelby, I was a fool. I cared about a dusty old ring, when the real treasure was right in front of me the entire time. You’re the treasure, Shelbs. I was so blinded by fear that I didn’t see it. I thought this was about the Meijer Ruby…but it wasn’t.” I shake my head. “It never was. This is about you and me.”

  “Really?” Shelby asks.

  I nod. “Let’s forget about the ring. We’ll get another one—I’ll get you any engagement ring that you want. Just say yes, Shelby. Say that you’ll marry me. Say that you’ll never leave again.”

  Her eyes glisten. She starts to smile.

  “Yes,” she says.

  It’s too good to be true. I feel giddy and afraid. I think she said yes. Did I imagine it?

  “Yes?” I ask.

  Shelby’s smile grows. “Yes!” she cries.

  “Yes!” I shout. I stand up and Shelby wraps her arms around me. I lift her off of the wall, spinning her around as I do so.

  When I set her feet on the ground, I lean down and kiss her while she’s still tight in my arms. I don’t want the kiss to ever end. When it does, I feel myself grinning like a fool.

  “We’re going to get married,” I say. I hear the wonder in my own voice. I can barely believe it’s true. “You’re going to be my wife. My best friend, and my wife.”

  She nods, her eyes wide as though she’s having trouble believing it, too.

  “I love you, Shelby.” It is such a relief to say these words. It feels good in my soul. I want to say it as many times as I can, repeating it over and over and over just so that I can feel the shape of the words on my tongue.

  “I love you, Julian.”

  The rising sun bathes us in golden rays. As I stand there, looking down at the love of my life, I know I will remember this moment for the rest of my life. The moment in which, after years of chasing mirages, I finally caught my falling star.

  An hour later, we park the car on the street in front of Uit De Oven. The early risers are rolling in, getting fueled up for a day at the office. Shelby and I can’t stop gazing into one other’s eyes. We’re holding hands and laughing like two lovebirds as we order coffees and a pastry to share, then find a table outside.

  “What are we going to do about Fleur?” Shelby says as she tears off a bite of the almond croissant and pops it into her mouth.

  As she chews, I speak. “I think we should give the ring back to the bank.”

  Shelby nods. “I’m pretty certain that if we do that, the contracts I signed with Fleur will no longer apply.”

  “Yes,” I say. “And I have a whole team of lawyers who can make sure of it. You have nothing to worry about.”

  “But then…what will happen to the ring?”

  I tear off a bite of croissant for myself. It’s delicious—the flaky, buttery pastry seems to melt in my mouth.

  Everything is enhanced this morning. It’s like I’m in another universe: the sun seems brighter, the music more melodic. On our drive back into the city, even the landscape seemed stunning to me. I was taken aback by beauty I’ve seen thousands of times before.

  It’s like the whole world is new.

  Now, as I taste the sweet pastry, I feel like I’m enjoying food for the first time. Food in love, I think, while delighting in the flavors, is different.

  Shelby is waiting expectantly for my answer.

  “The ring…” I pause to take a sip of my latte. “Well, Fleur will still be after it. If it’s housed at the bank, Fleur wil
l have to comply with the same rules that we had to.”

  “She’ll have to use the ring for an engagement?”

  I wink at Shelby. “It worked for us, didn’t it?”

  Shelby laughs. She tips her head back, and for a moment, I’m consumed by her beauty. I have to get used to this sensation. I think it’s going to be happening a lot.

  Her cheeks are bright and her eyes are shining. “It did work for us…didn’t it? It brought us together, though not in any way that I would have ever expected.”

  “You mean most couples don’t stage a fake engagement and agree to marry before they say they’re in love?”

  “Nope,” Shelby says. “That is definitely not what the experts recommend.”

  “But it works,” I remind her.

  “It works,” she repeats. She leans back in her chair. “Do you think that’s why it was still at the bank?”

  Her eyes narrow in that way that they do when she’s thinking hard.

  “Maybe,” she says, tapping the side of her coffee cup with her pointer finger, “every time someone claims the ring, they end up falling in love for real, just like we did. They find the real treasure, and then they don’t care about the ring anymore!”

  “Aha!” I smile. “I think you’re on to something, Detective Bright.” I have no idea if she’s right or not, but I’m having so much fun with her that it doesn’t matter. “The real, true power behind the Meijer Ruby: it leads to love!”

  Chapter 20

  Shelby

  One Year Later

  I look up at the clock.

  It is half past ten and my mother isn’t here yet! I’m panicking. Where could she be?

  She’s been late before, of course. She loves the cottage that Julian bought her in the countryside outside of Amsterdam, and she has a tendency to get caught up in her activities. “Oh, sweetheart, I was so wrapped up with the roses that I completely lost track of time!” she’ll say, or: “I was out for a walk and the light was just so stunning, I didn’t turn around when I should have.”

  Usually, I don’t mind. On any other day, I would not be bothered in the least by the fact that my mother was supposed to be here thirty minutes ago.

  But today? Today of all days!

  The wedding coordinator has stressed to us—during literally every meeting that we’ve had with him—how important it is to stay on schedule.

  That’s right…today is my wedding day! A fact that I am over the moon about. However, I would be even more over the moon if my mother would just get here so that I can take a deep breath and…

  “Shelby?” my friend and old college roommate Serena interrupts my train of thought.

  I whirl around.

  “Guess who’s here!” Serena waves her arms as if she’s a magician’s assistant, presenting the coming attraction.

  My mother steps into the room, a sheepish grimace on her lips. “I know, I know,” she says. “I’m late.”

  “Mom! You were supposed to be here half an hour ago! We sent a car and the driver said that he was with you at nine-thirty! Where have you been?”

  My mom rushes into the bridal suite and places her bag on one of the empty chairs. “We had to make one quick stop!” she says. “I’ll explain later. I hope I didn’t hold things up too much!”

  The beauticians begin to swarm around us like worker bees around a hive. I give my mother a hug. It’s impossible to stay mad at her, now that she’s here, safe and sound. Half of my annoyance was really worry, anyway. My mother might be late sometimes, but she knows how important today is. She wouldn’t be late if she could help it.

  My stylist practically pushes me into a swiveling chair, which is set up in front of a row of mirrors. Another makeup artist tackles my mother, getting her into the chair before she can be distracted by the tabletop full of mimosas, fruit salad, pastries and parfaits just a few steps to our right. My stylist wraps a black smock around my chest and shoulders, then ties it behind my neck.

  For the next few hours, I feel like a princess…which is actually how I’ve been feeling for about a year, now, since Julian and I got engaged.

  I wasn’t sure how I would adjust to my new lifestyle, but it turns out that being pampered and adored is pretty darn easy to get used to. I find that I love having a home gym, a private chef, an Olympic-sized swimming pool, and a personal stylist.

  Not to mention, the most wonderful fiancé that a girl could ask for.

  Even if it wasn’t for all of the material luxuries that I’ve enjoyed since moving in with Julian, it still would have been the best year of my life, no doubt about it.

  When Julian holds me in his arms, I feel like I’ve died and gone to heaven—only better, because I didn’t have to die first.

  Miraculously, despite my mother’s mysterious, unexplained lateness, we get back on schedule. At one, it’s time to take the bridal party photographs. The photographer sweeps into the suite and takes command of us as though we’re a herd of cattle that need to be corralled.

  “This way!” she calls out, intermittently snapping her fingers or flapping her arms. Serena is camped out by the buffet table, and the photographer actually has the nerve to snatch a small plastic cup of fruit salad right out of her hands. “Chop, chop!” she orders.

  I gather my long, flowing gown in my hands and fall into line behind her.

  For the venue, Julian and I have chosen a gorgeous country castle outside of the city. The grounds are truly stunning: an expanse of perfectly manicured grass is dappled with tall, sculpted shrubbery and thick, colorful flower beds.

  The photographer is leading us across the lawn. My mother is by my side, and three of my closest friends, including Serena, walk behind me. There’s only one person missing from my bridal group. I would have been happy if she’d said yes, but even the future Mrs. Meijer doesn’t get everything that she wants, I suppose.

  When I asked Fleur to be in the bridal party, she said that she would think about it. It was only a few short months after Julian and I returned the ring to the bank, and I think that she was still upset with me for going back on our agreement. Though she said she would consider my invitation, she ultimately called me and declined. It wasn’t a big deal, but I still felt bad.

  As I follow the photographer, I find that I’m a little nervous to see Fleur today. I haven’t seen her in person since high school, and we haven’t talked since she said no to being a bridesmaid. She didn’t turn up at our engagement party, nor the bridal shower. But she RSVP’d yes to the wedding, so I know that she’ll be here this afternoon.

  Breathe, I remind myself. It’s like the wedding coordinator has told me many times: this day is only going to happen once, and I can’t spend it worrying about every detail.

  “Are you doing okay, sweetheart?” my mom asks.

  “Yes,” I say. I smile at her. “Just a little bit of nerves. I want everything to go well.”

  “I understand,” she says. She looks nervous, too, but I’m too wrapped up in my own head to ask her why.

  I do take the time to note how evenly she seems to be breathing, despite the fact that the photographer is trekking our party across what feels like a half mile of springy sod.

  “How are your lungs doing lately?” I ask.

  She grins. “Every day, I feel better. I don’t know if it’s the country air, or the new doctor that Julian found for me…but whatever it is, I’m grateful.”

  “Are you sleeping better?” I ask. I feel a crease in my forehead as I think about my mom’s health.

  Even though she’s been experiencing such rapid improvement over the last year, I can’t quite seem to let my guard down when we talk about it. Maybe in time, if she keeps improving so dramatically, my habitual responses will soften.

  She reaches out and places her hand on my forearm. “I’m sleeping better than I have in years, honey,” she says. “And that’s enough about my condition. Let’s not talk about it today. I’m feeling good, and that’s thanks to you and Julian.”
>
  “Good,” I say. “I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for the advice you gave me, when I first visited Amsterdam. You said that I had to focus on opening up to him—and let him do his own healing. Remember?”

  The photographer stops us. “Right here!” she says, pointing to a beautiful bed of tulips. “I want you to line up. Two ladies on either side of the beautiful bride!”

  As we start to take our places, my mother says, “I’m glad that my words helped you. Actually, I took my own advice, too.”

  “You did?” I don’t know what she means by this. I search my mind, and vaguely remember that she had said something about the scars from first love.

  “Turn slightly,” the photographer says, stepping towards my mother and pushing lightly on her shoulders. My mother turns her body so that she’s facing me.

  The photographer’s talking again, instructing us on how to inch left or right. Then, she reaches into a basket of flowers that she’s holding. One by one, she starts handing us our bouquets. Once I’m holding mine, I find out just how clueless I am about posing for wedding pictures.

  “Lower!” she says. “Down, down, down. Hold that bouquet low! We want to see your beautiful dress—don’t block it with your flowers!”

  Finally, I get it right. But as soon as I do, the photographer has us move, and she has to correct me again. She leads us to two more settings within the vast castle grounds, and soon, it’s time to freshen up our makeup one last time before the ceremony begins.

  I can’t believe how fast the day is going. I’ve nabbed a cup of fruit and am trying to wolf down some strawberries without smearing my lipstick when my mother sidles up to me.

  “There’s something I want to talk to you about,” she says.

  My mother is usually very serene and positive, but there’s something about her energy now that’s making me nervous. I set down my cup. Serena and my other girlfriends are heading towards the door. The wedding coordinator has just informed us that we need to “stage” for the ceremony.