While seemingly rash, he’d thought this mad caper through from every angle. It was becoming increasingly clear to me that for the rest of my life I should expect wonderful, spontaneous, out of this world surprises from him. Cameron wasn’t a foolish man, prone to flights of fancy or irresponsible actions. Sure, he could be impulsive, but he knew his own mind. He was a man who committed to everything he did, and that included making me his bride.
When our time in Eagle Harbour came to an end, we still hadn’t come to a consensus about what I was going to tell Shanna about her job offer. Cameron wanted me to turn it down but I hadn’t made up my mind quite yet – not only how I felt about the work itself, but also my unresolved feelings about Cameron’s request not to work anymore at all. He wouldn’t force me to decline, and while I had no doubt he’d support me if I said yes, he’d made his position clear and wasn’t likely to budge.
As we’d packed up our things, I’d texted Shanna and asked for more time to think it through. I’d also casually added that we’d locked down the date and location for our wedding and told her that she and Broderick were invited. She’d graciously said I could take all the time I needed on the job front and politely declined the wedding invitation, citing a family ski trip they couldn’t cancel. I’d known about the trip so I’d known she’d decline the invite, but I had wanted Broderick to know that Cameron and I had reached a place where we could consider the last few months stoically and not hold a grudge. While I probably wouldn’t ever look at Broderick the same way I had before, I had at least forgiven him.
As the twin engine Piper Navajo Chieftain made its descent toward the south terminal at Vancouver International Airport, Cameron reached across the aisle to hold my hand. “Did I tell you yet today that I love you?” he mouthed over the roar of the engines.
“About ten times now,” I mouthed back.
He nodded. “Good, only 90 more to go.”
When the wheels hit the runway, the brakes engaged and soon we were taxiing toward the terminal, our idyllic vacation in Eagle Harbour living on in our memories. Gone, but certainly not forgotten. But soon we’d return to the place that had become so special to us to make new memories.
For now I had other things to think about and not a lot of time to do so because we were getting married in three weeks and I didn’t have a dress to wear.
With Cameron expected on set the following day and there no professional reason for me to stay in Vancouver, last night we’d discussed how to manage the next couple of weeks. While I didn’t love the idea, we’d decided it made the best sense for me to fly back down to L.A. for a marathon shopping session and then drive back up the coast with Duke just before Christmas.
Much to my surprise, my mother had insisted on flying in for a couple of days to join Carly and me in the dress hunt. I wasn’t sure what made her happier – the fact that her aging daughter was finally getting married or that she was gaining a celebrity as a son-in-law – but as long as she didn’t harass me about my weight or try to force me into buying a dress I hated, I begrudgingly welcomed her presence.
I’d been firm in laying down some ground rules for her visit beforehand though. While she might try to adhere to them, there was only so much good behavior one could expect from a woman like Jane Travers so I braced myself for some truly cringe-worthy moments over the coming days. I also worried more than a little bit that she would call the paparazzi to tell them where Cameron Scott’s super secret fiancé was going dress shopping. If I stepped out of the dressing room to a bevy of flash bulbs there would be zero doubt exactly who was to blame.
But just in case she got out of hand, I’d bribed Carly in to running interference by making her my maid of honor. When I’d called to ask, she’d squealed and told me how romantic my relationship with Cameron was in spite of, what she called, “that stupid thing with Jillian.” And then, once I’d filled her in on Cameron’s scheming to get me down the aisle as soon as possible, she’d sighed longingly and told me how she hoped to someday find someone who loved her as much as Cameron loved me.
“He’s always looked at you with stars in his eyes, you know?” she’d asked and I wondered – not for the first time and probably not for the last either – how I’d never seen it.
During our conversation, Carly had also confessed that when Mike told her what Cameron was planning, he’d asked if she wanted to fly up with him. Cameron and I had thought for awhile now that something was brewing between those two, but both kept their cards close to their chest where the other was concerned. Now, however, when I asked if she was interested in Mike, she’d hemmed and hawed but in the end had admitted he had a certain boyish charm that she found compelling. I didn’t know that I agreed with her assessment, but if she was interested in hooking up with him, I’d be happy to help it along any way I could. When I asked if she thought their trip up to Eagle Harbour could be the beginning of something, I could practically hear the blush creeping up her neck when she responded that we’d just have to wait and see what happened.
When I relayed all of this to Cameron later that night – making him promise on penalty of death not to tell Mike what Carly had shared with me in confidence – he’d hooted with laughter and told me Mike had specifically asked after her and had ditched his New Year’s Eve date in favor of going stag to our wedding.
Well then.
***
By the end of my first day of dress shopping I knew two things: (1) high-end bridal gown designers hated plus size women, and (2) I didn’t know if I’d survive my mom’s visit.
At each of the three stores we’d visited so far, she’d taken the bridal consultant aside and asked them to bring me a couple of big, puffy tulle ball gowns to try on in addition to whatever ones I requested. The exact type of dress I’d told each and every one of them I had no intention of putting on, much less purchasing. I’d also discovered, much to my chagrin, that most dresses above a sample size twelve were of the strapless, bedazzled variety, weighed down by the acres and acres of tulle that my mother preferred for my wedding gown. One of them, I was pretty sure, was an exact replica of Cinderella’s ball gown.
“But Sarah, you’ll look like a princess!” she’d whined when, for the fourth time, I’d shaken my head and told the sales associate, resolutely, to take the offending frock out of my sight.
“Which would be fine, mother, if I was a 25-year-old virgin.” My patience with her scheming and undermining me had reached the end of its rope. “Look,” I’d said, zipping my brown leather riding boots over a pair skinny jeans that had been much tighter a couple of months ago, “if you can’t respect my wishes I’m going to have to ask you to go home.” I crossed my arms across my chest and waited for her answer.
“Fine, be that way,” she’d huffed, stalking out of the dressing room ahead of me, the heel of her spiky black Manolo Blahniks clacking with each punctuated step she took.
I’d looked at Carly and rolled my eyes. “You’d think I was being difficult or something, not wanting to look like a giant, white skein of cotton candy on my wedding day.”
Carly shrugged and, like the perfect shopping wingwoman I knew she’d be, told me the only person I had to please was myself. When I’d hugged her goodbye a few hours later, weary to the bone over the day’s misadventures, I’d clung to her like a lifeline amidst the storm known as my mother.
Two days later we were back at it again but this time my mom – making sure I knew just how dejected she felt through loud huffs and dramatic sighs – thankfully otherwise kept her opinions to herself. As much as she was able to, that is. She didn’t try bribing any consultants to bring me any princess style dress but she did roll her eyes whenever I walked out of a dressing room in a lace or chiffon dress that wasn’t bedazzled to within an inch of its life. It wasn’t that I particularly loved any of the dresses I’d tried on so far, but I had at least hoped I wouldn’t have to endure her passive aggressive hostility when I showed them off.
Finally, an hour before they
closed for the night, we arrived at a boutique I’d been told actually carried elegant, simple gowns for those of us who had some meat on their bones. By then, however, I wasn’t feeling all that bridal. I was sweaty and somewhat gross from getting in and out of dresses that weighed as much as Duke while locked in overheated dressing rooms, shop owners having turned up their heaters to max temps in order to combat what Angelenos thought was a frigid sixty-two degrees. I was disheartened, disinterested, and ready to give up when Carly returned with a sales associate carrying yet another dress for me to try on.
“I know this is a long shot,” Carly said as the petite blonde unzipped the white garment bag and pulled the dress out. “But I think it could look amazing on you. It’s not like any of the others and while it’s a bit fussier than you said you wanted, there’s just something about it.”
I was about to protest, tell her I didn’t want anything too busy and explain, once again, that I knew exactly what type of dress I wanted and this lace frock wasn’t it when I stopped short. As she held it aloft for my inspection I admitted that on at least one front she was right – it wasn’t like any of the other dresses I’d gotten in to and out of the past couple of days. Whereas they’d been all wrong, this one – a Battenberg lace sheath with a square neckline topped with beaded soutache sleeves that dripped with dangling, delicate pearls, lending the gown a uniquely vintage feel – had potential. The back had a keyhole opening, adding a touch of drama that made the dress both prim and sexy at the same time. The short, sweep train was the absolute right length for an informal wedding and, best of all, I wouldn’t need to worry about a stupid bustle.
In a word, it was stunning.
I grabbed it greedily out of the associate’s hands and practically dove into the private dressing room where I threw it on haphazardly. Despite it not being zipped and buttoned properly I knew immediately. This dress was the one. Looking at my reflection, I saw myself as I’d be when I said my vows. When I became Cameron’s wife.
I quietly stepped out of the little room and into the larger octagon that contained a platform in the dead center where brides could show off their gowns. I glanced at Carly and her face split into a giant, ear-to-ear grin. My mother hadn’t even glanced up. Instead, she continued looking down at her fingernails as a file swung back and forth across her already perfect manicure.
“Jane,” Carly intoned, not wanting to break the spell. “I think you’re going to want to see this one.”
My mother didn’t raise her eyes from her hands. “Why? It’s just going to be another basic white gown with no shape or sparkle. Why she insists on those plain dresses is beyond me.” Her dismissive language and derisive tone made something inside of me snap.
“Mother, if you can’t at least be civil to me, you need to leave. Now.” I didn’t bother to disguise my anger. There was being nice to your mother because she had given birth to you and was the only one you’d ever have and then there was indulging her drama as she did her level best to tear you down, but right then I was done with both.
“Now Sarah,” she chided, finally looking up from her nails to take in the sight of me standing in front of her in the dress I’d already fallen in love with.
“Oh my!” she stammered, bringing her hand up to cover a gasp of surprise. “Oh,” she breathed out before going completely silent, her hand dropping back down to her side. And then her eyes filled with glassy tears and she walked over to me and enveloped me in a light hug, careful not to crush the dress, before she stepped away.
“It’s … you’re …” She stopped, took a deep breath, and started again. “You’re beautiful Sarah. Cameron is a lucky man.”
“I know mom, but thank you for saying so.” I hugged her back.
My time in L.A. passed by in a blur of wedding-related activity and dodging the paparazzi’s questions about what they’d started referring to as my “Cinderella story” paired with allusions to my “whirlwind romance with the world’s hottest movie star.” Of course, what they perpetually failed to mention was the fact that Cameron and I had known each other for years, been best friends for at least half that time, and that he was only just now becoming a star. The truth, however, wouldn’t garner clicks so they’d anointed him and created a false narrative about me.
Thankfully, they hadn’t taken to stalking me at home and I hoped they wouldn’t since they’d already gotten thousands of shots of me entering bridal boutiques and other sundry retail outlets. While they seemed to respect my privacy when I wasn’t out in public, on three different occasions I’d found them camped outside my favorite coffee shop or restaurant, and strangely, at the farmer’s market. I thought the last one a coincidence though since I’d spotted Nicky Reese and Ian Somterhaus shopping at the same time and everyone knew she called the paparazzi herself.
Most of the photographers assigned to cover me were as professional as you could be when your career bordered on harassment, and as long as I gave them a smile and wave they tended to get their shot and move on to the next starlet or scandal. Unfortunately, there were a few incredibly sexist and misogynistic assholes among the bunch who seemed to get off on screaming offensive and disgusting things at me, only once the others had packed it in for the day, of course.
The more I took stock of the world Cameron and I lived in, the more I realized I no longer wanted to be a part of it. Just because he was now a bonafide movie star didn’t mean we had to continue living here among the filth that clung to the industry like a parasitic vulture. Modern transportation and telecommunications being what they were, I didn’t see any reason why we couldn’t move somewhere cleaner, fresher, less tainted by the ugliness of the business. I didn’t think I was ready to make the move to Ohio just yet, but there had to be somewhere we could happily settle down for the time being. I decided to broach the subject once I was back up in Eagle Harbour with him.
And then, before I knew it, my days in Southern California were up and it was time to pack up my clothes, my dog, and my wedding dress and drive to Vancouver. From there I’d take the ferry across the Straight of Georgia to Nanaimo, and then continue on to Eagle Harbour where I’d meet up with the love of my life and future husband.
As I locked up my house with Duke perched at my heel, I looked around my yard, my street, and the world I’d occupied for the last several years and saw all the times Cameron had pulled his truck into my driveway, the nights we’d spent with our friends in my backyard over the fire pit, all the little, mundane moments we’d spent together never knowing how we truly felt about the other. Some of the paparazzi were right. We’d had a whirlwind romance and to the outside world it might have looked like we’d rushed into marriage, but I knew differently. Cameron had been a fixture in my life for longer than some marriages and as I stared back at the house I was leaving to go marry him, there wasn’t a moment I could remember where he hadn’t been a part of my heart. The physical structure sitting before me might have been where I’d lived, but the man I was about to marry had always been my home.
***
Just before sunset two days before Christmas, I pulled my car into the cedar-lined driveway of the house where we’d get married. I took a deep breath and exhaled, letting the tension of the drive leave my body. The roads over the mountain pass had been covered with snow and the drive had been grueling but Duke and I had made it to Eagle Harbour no worse for wear. I stared down at my hands locked in a vice grip on the steering wheel and forced myself to release each finger one by one.
Next to me Duke barked and shimmied in his seat before standing up and wagging his tail excitedly back and forth. He barked again and when I looked out the window Cameron was making his way to us, a huge, welcoming grin on his face. He opened my door and pulled me into his embrace before dropping his lips to mine for a long, lingering kiss that conveyed exactly how much he’d missed me. Duke whinnied from inside the car, anxious for his own affection.
“Hey buddy.” Cameron leaned in and ruffled the fur on top of the dog’s head
as Duke leaned into Cameron’s hand and accepted his master’s greeting.
“You’re here,” I stated, surprised but ecstatic to see him. The schedule he’d shared with me yesterday had the crew in Vancouver until later tonight, with Cameron planning to take the noon flight to the island on Christmas Eve.
He shrugged and smiled happily down at me. “Jillian and I wrapped up our scenes earlier than expected since we had a lot of motivation to get everything right on the first take.” He pulled me into another quick hug and then walked to the rear of the car to retrieve my luggage. I ran around the other side to cut him off before he could remove my dress, which I’d laid out across my suitcases to prevent it from wrinkling.
“Turn your back,” I commanded, locking the trunk with my remote key so he couldn’t open it. “You can’t see my dress.”
He indulged me but laughed as he did. “I can’t even see the garment bag it’s wrapped in?”
“Nope.” Carefully I draped the bag over my arm and jogged into the house before he could sneak a peek. Hiding it in the guest room’s walk in closet, I was back outside, standing on the porch, before Cameron had a chance to remove the rest of my luggage from the trunk. I watched as he pulled my bags behind him, Duke happily trotting along next to him, his big pink tongue lolling out of his mouth in a huge doggy smile.
As I watched my two favorite guys come up the stairs, it hit me all at once that this was it. This, right here, was the life I wanted. I would have gone anywhere if it meant I’d get to keep Cameron by my side, but as I watched him approach I knew that this place, this time, was special. It was meant for us. This was home. I hadn’t known when I’d left L.A. three days ago where we would end up, but taking in the man in front of me and our verdant, frost-tinged surroundings, I suddenly had the perfect idea of where I wanted it to be.
Lucky Star: A Hollywood Love Story Page 32