The Wedding Dress Yes (Crossroads Collection)

by Amanda Tru

“Do you want me to remove the balloons for the reception?” she asked quietly.

  Ashley looked longingly back at her veil. “I guess. I wish I could keep them on, but they might make eating and dancing difficult.”

  She stood still while London quickly removed the balloons. The tired veil finally fell flat, and she tied up the balloons in a big bouquet.

  “Oh, Mom, have you met London Hutchins?”

  London froze. No, please!

  “No, I don’t think I have,” a matronly woman in yellow responded.

  “She’s the famous designer who created my gown,” Ashley said proudly.

  Alarm shot through London. “No, I didn’t. Really,” she hurried to explain. “It’s not my dress.”

  But the mother didn’t hear her. “Oh, so you’re responsible for the balloons,” she said appreciatively.

  “Well, yes, I did do the balloons. But it’s not my dress. I didn’t design it, I just—”

  “Oh, Darlene, you must meet London Hutchins. She’s the famous designer of Ashley’s dress.”

  Before London knew what was happening, she was paraded along from person to person. With each introduction, blame for Ashley’s look was credited fully to her reputation.

  “I know, maybe we should get a picture of London and Ashley for the magazine cover!” someone said.

  “No, please,” London protested. “It isn’t my dress!”

  “Let’s do it after Ashley eats something,” one of the bridesmaids said. “The poor girl hasn’t had a bite yet. I’ll get her a plate.”

  A plate suddenly appeared in London’s hands. “Here, London, here’s a plate for you. Try the shrimp. They melt in your mouth.”

  Not wanting to appear rude to the mother of the bride, London tried the shrimp and nodded appreciatively, which was a mistake. The woman then proceeded to fill London’s plate with even more food, urging her to try just about every item on the table. London felt so stressed that she simply put each selection in her mouth, not actually tasting anything.

  “I think Ashley might be ready to cut the cake,” she finally said, pointing the mother in the direction of her daughter.

  “Oh, let me check,” she said. “But don’t go anywhere, London, dear. I want that picture.”

  London smiled. Then, pretending to throw away her plate, she kept going. She kept to the sides of the yard so as not to be noticed. At this point, she felt like she’d already met everyone at the reception, and she knew they’d recognize the awkward wedding dress designer with mussed hair and dirty blue jeans. When she’d worked her way to the end of the yard and had a clear shot to weave her way around front to where her car waited, she suddenly paused, seeing Rhonda less than five feet away.

  London marched up to her, not even caring if she interrupted. “Rhonda, I’m leaving. Everyone here thinks that I’m the designer of Ashley’s wedding dress. You need to make sure the media doesn’t get the incorrect information. I didn’t design that thing at all. I just tied balloons on it.”

  “Oh, yes, I’m well aware that you didn’t design the dress,” Rhonda replied pleasantly. “If you don’t like the credit for that dress being given to you, maybe you should have given her a dress you would rather have your name associated with. I’m not sure what the problem is.”

  London gritted her teeth, working to stay calm. “The problem is that you could be facing some legal issues if the media gives the wrong report on the dress designer. I’m sure the gown’s real creator won’t like her design being attributed to me. And since you were the one who supplied the dress…”

  Rhonda’s expression changed from aloof to alarmed. “I’ll take care of it.” She immediately scanned the crowd and took off, leaving London to sneak off around the house without notice.

  London slid into her car and breathed deeply for several minutes before turning on the engine. Her emotions felt raw with the trauma of the last few hours. Sure, it may not be traumatic in the traditional sense, but she had never before survived such a ridiculous, awkward situation. Reflecting now, she supposed she’d handled it the best way she could. She hadn’t lost her temper with matching her attitude to Ashley’s. She also hadn’t let Rhonda bully her.

  Instead, she’d chosen to help. Unfortunately, it certainly sounded like that help may end up costing her. Would her reputation ever recover from the pink balloon incident?

  London groaned and turned the key in the ignition, feeling the need to get away from this place. Yet, as she drove away, she felt she couldn’t quite escape the cloud around the day.

  After all, no good deed goes unpunished.

  London’s stomach rolled, and she crawled over to the toilet. Again.

  She didn’t remember ever being so sick in her life. She’d long ago emptied her stomach, and yet, the dry heaves continued.

  After arriving home from the wedding, she’d gone to bed only to wake up several hours later with horrible nausea. She’d never made it back to bed, choosing instead to lay on the bathroom floor waiting for the next bout to find her and necessitate the use of the toilet yet again.

  Her phone rang, and she fumbled to pick it up from the floor beside her.

  “Hello?” she moaned into the phone.

  “Hi, London!” Mason greeted brightly. “I’m sorry I didn’t call you last night like I said, but my flight was delayed. I’m back in the states now. I’m waiting for my last connection to L.A.”

  London could only manage another moan.

  “London, what’s wrong?” Mason asked, suddenly alarmed.

  “I’m sick.” Tears pricked the edges of her eyes. Just admitting the words made the nightmare of the past hours real. “I’ve been throwing up all night with no end in sight.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Mason said. “I wish I could help in some way.”

  London closed her eyes. “There’s nothing you can do. Just pray that it passes quickly.”

  “I will. Gotta go. My flight is boarding. I’ll call you later.”

  London laid her head back on the cold, tile floor and shut her eyes. Before long, the ringing of her phone roused her again. This time, she only managed a soft moan as a greeting.

  “London, is that you?” Adam asked, his voice filled with concern. “I didn’t see you at church today. Is everything okay?”

  “I’m sick,” she managed. “Really sick. It must be the stomach flu or something.”

  “Oh, no!” he sympathized. “Can I bring you anything?”

  “No, I’ll be fine. I don’t want you to get it, too.”

  “I’ve heard it’s going around,” Adam offered. “When I saw TeraLyn at church this morning, she said her mom became deathly ill several hours after coming home from a wedding last night.”

  The wedding. Oh, no, no, no!

  Not bothering to even say goodbye to Adam, she disconnected the call and scrolled down to the contact for her sister, Geneva. She pressed the button and held the phone up to her ear.

  “Hi, London! What’s up?” Geneva greeted.

  “I’m really sick,” she said.

  “What’s wrong?” Geneva asked, immediately shifting to her doctor tone. “I texted you earlier when you weren’t at church, but you didn’t respond.”

  “Horrible stomach problems. I’m wondering if it’s food poisoning.”

  “Oh, no. Tell me you didn’t go to Ashley Claybourne’s wedding yesterday.”

  “I did,” London sobbed. “Not willingly. Mrs. Claybourne practically force-fed me every food item at the reception.”

  Geneva groaned. “It’s food poisoning. We’ve had several cases of it overnight at the hospital here in Crossroads. An alert was sent out, and several more cases were seen at the ER in Brighton Falls. There’s already a formal investigation where authorities are trying to figure out the source from the reception. Food poisoning can be serious. Tell me the exact symptoms you are experiencing.”

  London then completed a thorough questionnaire that included a rundown on all the fluids entering and exiting her b
ody the last twelve hours. The only way London got away with not also providing a complete medical history was because Geneva already knew it.

  “I think you’re fine to stay home for now,” Geneva finally pronounced. “But if anything changes or the nausea doesn’t let up in the next six hours, you need to come into the ER. You need to keep some fluids, or you’ll dehydrate very quickly. I’d come over and be your nurse except I’m on the schedule to be at work in Brighton Falls in an hour. I’ll call you when I’m on break to see how you’re doing. Do you want me to call Mom to come over?”

  “Mom and Brooke are having a special wedding shopping day in Brighton Falls,” London said. “It’s the only day Brooke could do it. I’ll be fine. If I get too sick, I’ll call.”

  Nausea rushed over her in a wave once again, and her mouth started watering. “Gotta go,” she managed right before lunging for the toilet.

  After dozing off and on while on the bathroom floor, London finally crawled back to bed. The feeling of nausea lessened a little, but she still felt so weak that she wasn’t conscious of time passing. She stirred when her phone rang beside her.

  “Hi, London,” Adam greeted. “I just left you some cans of soup and some lemon-lime soda outside your apartment door. I didn’t want to bother you, so you can just pick it up when you’re ready.”

  “Ok, thanks,” London said weakly, not sure when she’d be physically able to make it to the front door, let alone open a can of soup to heat up.

  “I wish I could do more, but that stuff is so contagious. I didn’t think I’d better risk it.”

  “I’m not contagious,” London assured. “It’s food poisoning.”

  “Oh, really? Well, I guess you can never know that for sure. Probably better to be safe than sorry. Let me know if you need anything else, and I can get it and leave it outside the door again.”

  “Ok, thank you,” London said simply.

  Adam was sweet to do that for her. She hadn’t pegged him as a germophobe. He was probably just overly-cautious. A lot of people felt that way and didn’t want to risk getting sick, especially with something nasty like this. London couldn’t blame him at all. Now, if she could just manage to get to the front door.

  She pulled herself into a sitting position, but she couldn’t make her feet swing off the bed. I’ll try again in another few hours, she thought weakly.

  Eventually, London made it out of bed, but she didn’t make it halfway to the door before a wave of nausea hit her. She grabbed a mixing bowl off the kitchen counter and hung her head into it, waiting. But several minutes later, the nausea subsided.

  See, I didn’t throw up that time. I’m getting better, she assured herself.

  Not quite able to stand to her feet again, she then crawled the rest of the way to the door only to curl up in front of it, deciding to take a nap right there before expending the energy to try to open the door and retrieve the things Adam left.

  A loud knocking sound roused her, and she stirred, disoriented. Grabbing the door handle, she pulled herself up and looked through the peephole. She unlocked the door and twisted the knob before her slow thought patterns translated exactly who stood on the other side.

  She weakly pulled the door open.

  “Mason,” she whimpered right before her legs gave up on supporting her weight.

  Mason caught her before she hit the floor. In a smooth motion, he lifted her into his arms and carried her back to bed.

  “Why?” London whispered, trying to ask why and how he’d come, but only able to manage the one word.

  “Because I wanted to take care of you,” he said simply. “When you told me you were sick, I changed my flight and flew directly to Brighton Falls.”

  “But your media appearances.”

  “They’ll wait.”

  “You don’t need to,” London protested. “I’m fine.”

  “I can see that.”

  Even in her foggy state, she could hear the humor in his voice.

  “Adam left some soup and stuff outside the door,” she finally relented, accepting that he intended to help despite her protests.

  “I saw it. I’ll grab it. But I also brought some hot soup with me for whenever you’re ready. Have you had anything to drink?

  London shook her head. “But I think I’m going to be sick.”

  London struggled to get off the bed, feeling the urgency of her stomach on a ten-second countdown.

  Mason snatched her up in his arms and sprinted into the bathroom. He set her down in front of the toilet and then held her hair back from her face as she retched inside.

  When she finished, he picked her up again and tucked her carefully back in bed, pulling the covers up to her chin.

  “I’m sorry,” London breathed. “I don’t think this is something you need on a movie star resume.”

  Mason frowned in concern, ignoring her words. “You obviously haven’t had any fluids. I’ll give you thirty more minutes. Then I’ll give you some of that special electrolyte juice they give to kids. If you can’t keep that down, I’m taking you to the ER. We’ll call your sister on the way.”

  Somehow just having Mason there and in control made London feel so much better. She fell into a more peaceful sleep than she had since last night. When she awoke, Mason waited with his special kids’ juice. She successfully got it down, and not feeling overly nauseated, Mason carried her to the couch in the living room to pass the time with a movie.

  Mason sat beside her, put his arm around her, and drew her close. “Hopefully, this is one of those quick twenty-four-hour bugs, and you’ll feel much better in the morning. I’ll sleep here on the couch tonight. If you need anything, just holler.”

  London looked at him in confusion. Hadn’t she already told him? She reached back in her memory and recalled that she’d told Adam it was food poisoning but not Mason. Yet here he was taking care of her, holding her hair back while she was sick, drawing her close to watch a movie, and he thought she had a contagious virus. He’d done it all without any thought of concern for himself or concern for whether he might contract it. And this was all from a man who was scheduled to appear on national television multiple times within the next week.

  “It’s food poisoning,” she explained. “I helped out at a wedding last night and apparently came home with more than just bad memories. Geneva told me a lot of others showed up at the hospital with the same symptoms that are now being investigated.”

  Instead of relieving Mason, London’s announcement only seemed to make Mason more concerned—for her. “I’ve kept the soup warm. Let me get you a little to try. We might still need to take you to the ER.”

  “Mason, I’m fine,” London assured. “I kept the juice down. As long as I’m able to take fluids, Geneva said I should recover.”

  Mason still didn’t seem convinced. He got her some soup and hovered over her, tucking blankets around her and seeing to her every need.

  “What movie do you want to watch?” he asked, finally sitting to turn the TV on.

  “How about a Mason Bryce movie?” London suggested.

  Mason frowned. “Nah, I can’t stand that guy.”

  London laughed. “He’s not all bad.”

  Mason looked at her seriously. “I’d rather you not see any of my movies.”

  “That’s a strange thing to say. Aren’t you proud of your work?”

  “Yes, and no,” Mason said, the frown not completely leaving his face. “It’s a job. When I’m on the set and acting, it feels separate from the real world. When I see it up on the screen, it seems real. In most of the movies I’m in, my character has a love interest. I don’t want you to have the picture in your head of me falling in love with or even kissing another woman. Maybe it’s silly, but I want you to believe that the only one for me is you.”

  London cocked her head, studying him. This was a different Mason. In their previous relationship, she remembered similar conversations where he’d maintain that his flirting, even off the set was part of hi
s job, and she needed to get over it.

  “I understand it’s acting, Mason. Though I can’t promise to not feel unreasonable jealousy, I am mature enough to know what is just a role and what is reality. I only ever wanted the real Mason to be mine. The problem was when the off-set Mason and the real Mason didn’t seem to have a line of distinction where other women were concerned.”

  Mason nodded. “I understand that now, and I like to believe I’ve changed. You’re the only one I want to flirt with.”

  “Flirting is one thing, but am I the only woman you want to take care of when she’s barfing her guts out? Or are there others that you love to play that role with as well?”

  Mason smiled confidently. “Nope. I can safely say that you are the only one. No one else even makes the maybe list.”

  “In case I fall asleep again or have a repeat session, let me tell you thank you right now. I can’t imagine this kind of glamour is included in your life plan.”

  “Actually, it is,” Mason said seriously. “I think you are misinformed about my life plan. I don’t want the Hollywood life. I don’t even want to live there anymore. I want a normal life in a small town with a family and a wife whose hair I can hold back through all the ups and downs. Don’t get me wrong, I still enjoy acting and have no intention of quitting the industry. I just want a home base from which I can travel to do my work acting and producing. I want a home to come home to.”

  “I didn’t realize you felt that way,” London admitted. “Did that change with Jaron’s death? When we were together, you loved the Hollywood life, and you didn’t seem to want anything else.”

  “I was horrible about opening up to you and telling you how I really felt,” Mason sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I think I’d spent so long trying to be an actor that it became too easy to act in every area of my life. I’ve always wanted a real life, but I thought I had to choose between them. After Jaron’s death, I became determined to find a balance between both and make them work. I’m tired of the superficial, and I don’t want that to be my future. But, I’d still like to find a way to use what I love in a way that does some good work for the kingdom of God.”