by Amanda Tru
Mason turned around and reached to the cement, picking up the flashlight he’d dropped when attacked by the dress. He directed the beam at a small box he carried tightly in his other hand.
“Are these the things you were looking for?” he asked.
London reached for them and gasped, startled to recognize a few scraps of drawings and pictures. Mason had searched through the dumpster and found the pieces missing from her client’s box.
“Why? How?” she asked brokenly. “I thought you were busy doing interviews.”
Mason shrugged. “These seemed important to you, and I had about twelve hours before I needed to be back for final interviews and the premier.”
“You came here just to find my missing scraps?”
Mason smiled. “I came here for you, London. Finding the scraps for you seemed a good use of my time. It just cost me a little dirt and a rather unique fragrance.”
London looked at the shadows covering his hands and realized he must have made a thorough search of the dumpster, sifting through the gunk at the bottom.
“The good news is that I really think I got them all,” Mason said brightly, tucking the papers safely back in the box.
London’s gaze moved from his filthy hands all the way up to his face. Then she stepped forward, put her arms around his neck, stood to her tiptoes, and kissed him.
Mason recovered from his surprise in less than two seconds, eagerly folding her into his arms and ardently returning her kiss.
His lips moved over hers hungrily, and she felt she entered into a bubble where nothing but Mason existed. The kiss didn’t involve butterflies and sparks. Instead, it was more like the ocean, with intense waves flowing and ebbing only to come crashing to shore again with great power and intensity.
The door screeched open, jerking them back to reality.
“I found a few little flashlights, but not nearly enough batteries to go around,” TeraLyn announced distractedly. “Why don’t you come inside, Mr. Bryce, and we can make sure you’re okay.”
“I’m fine,” Mason assured. “Though a fearsome weapon, that dress didn’t leave any lasting damage. I’d better not come in. I’ve been rolling around in that dumpster and wouldn’t want to track anything inside the shop. I doubt any of the dresses need the fragrance of garbage.”
“Mason found the things missing from the ‘Butterfly Dress’ box,” London reported, letting one of TeraLyn’s flashlight beams catch on the box now in her own arms.
“Well, that’s a relief on all counts!” TeraLyn said enthusiastically. “A relief that you found everything to return to your client, and a relief that the strange noises out back were not actually a criminal but a movie star.”
Mason groaned. “I’m sorry. I saw the car out front, but I didn’t see any lights inside. I didn’t think anyone would be around this time of day to be bothered by my dumpster diving attempt.”
Both London and Mason quickly made their parting excuses and said goodbye. London said she needed to get home and suggested TeraLyn do the same. Mason pledged a quest to find a shower.
Coming around the corner of the building, London spotted Mason’s rental car parked in the shadows.
“How long can you stay?” she asked, deliberately trying to keep the mood superficial.
“My flight leaves at six tomorrow morning. I’ll find a hotel to get a shower and a couple hours of sleep before I take off.”
“Mason, you can’t march into a hotel looking and smelling like you do right now,” London pointed out. “Someone will snap a pic, and before your flight leaves tomorrow, you’ll be on the cover of every tabloid and the top story for every entertainment segment, and not for good reasons.”
“Do you have a different idea?”
“Let me give my parents a call. You can get a shower and a bed there, and no one will know that Mason Bryce is an accomplished dumpster diver.”
“I can’t be all bad,” Mason said, sidling up close to her to whisper in her ear. “You didn’t seem to mind my look and smell a few moments ago.”
London took a step back. “I’m sorry about that. I’m extremely grateful and didn’t know how to thank you, but I shouldn’t have kissed you like that.”
“I don’t know, I rather liked that form of gratitude.”
London didn’t know what to say. Outside the glow of surprise, relief, and thankfulness, London could think more clearly and realized she’d probably given Mason the wrong impression. She didn’t know why she’d so exuberantly kissed him, and now she had to backpedal.
Mason looked at her, a teasing light in his eyes. “One fantastic kiss does not a commitment make?”
“Sort of,” London said, feeling terrible. She really shouldn’t have kissed him. If he hadn’t just flown across the country to dig through a dumpster looking for something she’d lost, then she could have ignored the other dashing charms that made up Mason Bryce.
And with that thought, she winced. You’re an idiot! She scolded herself. Was she really ready to reject the gorgeous man who cared for her enough to do that?
“It’s just that I don’t think we’re headed in the same direction, Mason,” London tried to explain. “Obviously, I have feelings for you, but I can’t accept them. You’re off to achieve great things, and I don’t want to go along for the ride. It’s only a matter of time before you resent me for holding you back. I know you came all this way, and I can’t tell you how thankful I am. But I don’t want to lead you on to think I’m offering something I cannot give.”
Mason smiled and stepped forward, his face inches above hers. “Please, lead me on, London. I have no illusions about my position in your head and heart. One step forward and two steps back. You care for me, but that terrifies you. When I get close, you panic and grab the nearest excuse you can find. Unfortunately, all you ever manage to come up with is a mannequin arm—a completely fake and ineffective tool for what you need it to do.”
He had seen the mannequin arm!
London glared at him. She didn’t think he’d noticed her choice of weapon. “I think I could have done plenty of damage with that mannequin arm.”
Mason winked. “In this case, I think the best solution to our problem is a wedding dress. Hopefully, one that isn’t worn on my face. The sooner you realize you’re in love with me, and only me, the faster we can make that happen.”
Was he saying that he wanted to marry her?
No, I just misunderstood, she quickly reminded herself. Mason would never be serious about marriage, no matter how much he might joke.
He’s not the one for me. I’m not the one for him.
She repeated the phrases over and over, trying to make her heart believe what her head knew as fact.
Wearily, London turned away to find her own car. “Head to my parents’ house. I’ll let them know you’re coming.”
“London, wait,” Mason said, his voice soft. “Just so you know, I’d crawl through dumpsters every night of my life if it meant you’d kiss me like that.”
London looked back up at him, feeling the pull and longing for him drawing her closer. Then, begging to somehow make him understand, she whispered the root of her problem, “But I don’t want to want you.”
Then she turned and ran. She didn’t trust herself to meet him at her parents’ house. She didn’t even trust herself to stay there any longer.
He was right. She was scared. She feared that, despite her efforts, it was already too late. If she stayed five more seconds, she knew she’d once again be in his arms, kissing that stinky man with all the love and passion she tried so hard to keep bottled up.
London generally sided with the bride, but she was willing to make an exception in this case. She didn’t know if she could take one more minute of eavesdropping on the bride and her four bridesmaids at the final fitting across the shop. Though it had been weeks since the food poisoning incident, London hadn’t yet recovered enough patience to put up with Rhonda’s antics or a ridiculous bridezilla.
&nb
sp; “Do you think I could get someone to just take a stitch right here?” the brunette bridesmaid added worriedly. “I don’t like the way it gapes open.”
“I think mine needs altered a little, too,” the darker-haired young woman said, looking at herself in the mirror skeptically. “The sleeves don’t quite look like they’re straight.”
“That’s the style,” Rhonda assured. “It’s supposed to drape.”
“Can you do alterations on mine, too?” a third woman asked. “Draping or not, my particular assets make a rather immodest peek through the curtain.”
The other bridesmaids giggled, but the bride looked at her friends sourly.
“There isn’t time,” she said shortly. “And we’re not paying for alterations. The dresses were ordered based on the measurements you gave me. They’re fine. I didn’t ask you here about your dresses. This is supposed to be about mine. Now, what do you think? Does this dress call for my hair up or down?”
Since the group arrived, the bride had been rude and impatient. London understood the stressed-out bridezilla mentality, but this was excessive. Adding insult to injury, the bridesmaids were right about their dresses!
Whereas the latest trend involved dressing bridesmaids in varying styles of the same colored dress, this bride had chosen the exact same dress for each of her bridesmaids. The problem was they all possessed vastly different body types, and this particular dress looked universally terrible on all of them. Even harder on the eyes was the dresses’ bright shade of yellow.
Adding insult to injury, London could see from a distance that the dress quality was some of the worst she had seen. Crooked seams and thin, almost sheer fabric seemed symptomatic of the poor-quality workmanship. Overall, the dresses looked cheap.
They fit no one well, and with the little jagged, fluttery sleeves sticking out from the yellow bodice, they all looked like a sad flock of chickens with half their feathers missing.
“I think I like your hair up, Tristy,” the blonde, plump bridesmaid ventured bravely. “Maybe with a few loose curls hanging down from a big pile on top. How about we all do our hair like that?”
“Absolutely not,” Tristy responded adamantly. “If I do mine up, you all are doing yours down. I have to be different from the rest of you.”
“I have a seam coming undone,” the tall brunette said, lifting up her skirt as evidence.
“That’s not a concern,” Rhonda said, barely glancing at the seam. “It’ll be fine until after the wedding. These dresses are such high quality. That seam is probably double reinforced, so it’s just an extra string, not necessarily a seam unraveling.”
“Um… but there’s a hole,” the bridesmaid insisted.
“Nothing that a safety pin can’t fix,” Rhonda said brightly.
“Would you suggest a safety pin for the sleeves as well?” the plump blonde asked smartly. “I can’t seem to keep them from ‘draping’ down and flashing everyone.”
“Would you stop?” the bride demanded, literally stomping a foot. “This is supposed to be about me. It doesn’t even matter what you look like. If you don't stop complaining about the beautiful bridesmaid dress that I chose and didn’t even ask you to pay for, then I guess I don’t need you to be in my wedding!”
The shocked bridesmaids clustered around Tristy, murmuring words of comfort.
“It’s okay,”
“The dresses are beautiful.”
“We didn’t mean it.”
“It’s not like we have time for alterations anyway.”
“Actually, I may be able to help,” London said, stepping forward. She couldn’t take it anymore. The one regret she had over her actions the past few weeks was that she hadn’t carried them out openly. She was done with doing the right thing in secret. Despite TeraLyn’s warning, she wanted to share her opinions honestly and stand up for what she believed. “I think I could make a few simple alterations and have the dresses ready by Saturday. I’m pretty fast.”
Rhonda flapped her hands in agitation. “Oh, that really isn’t necessary, London. Tristy is on a budget. These ladies probably have no idea how much a London Hutchins alteration costs.”
“I don’t think I’ve mentioned a price yet,” London said. “I think I can do things in a very affordable way. I’d just like everyone to feel happy and good with how they look.”
“Do you think you can fix these sleeves?” the plump blonde asked hopefully.”
London reached over and took a few pinches in the fabric. She even took the measuring tape from around her neck and took a few measurements. “Yes, that shouldn’t be a problem.”
Tristy burst into tears, and not just a few delicate sniffles. She wailed, dramatically sobbing and flinging her arms to and fro until she plopped herself on the floor in the middle of her white marshmallow of a wedding dress. If the gown hadn’t been so voluminous, she would have probably rolled on the floor like a two-year-old, but instead, she could only wiggle and flap in her confinement.
“All you can do is complain about the bridesmaids’ dresses, like it’s all about you,” she sobbed, her wail echoing through the shop. “But you’re already all so beautiful. This is my wedding! I’m the one who’s supposed to be beautiful! Not you!”
Though everyone else hovered over her in concern, again proclaiming their devotion to the ridiculous dresses, London could barely keep from rolling her eyes.
Clearly, Tristy’s issues involved an over-wrought ego and not a small amount of jealousy toward her friends.
“Your bridesmaids wearing dresses that fit will only reflect well on you, not make you any less beautiful,” London insisted.
Tristy wailed even louder.
“London, that’s enough!” Rhonda hissed. “Can’t you see how upset you’ve made her?”
“It’s okay,” the blonde said, jerking her sleeve back onto her shoulder. “We’ll make do.”
“Tristy, stand up, honey.” Rhonda soothed. “We haven’t yet seen your veil. It’s just a misunderstanding. Your friends love their dresses. Don’t you?”
The friends all eagerly nodded, bravely lying while taking turns giving the bride consoling hugs.
Well, she’s accomplished it, London thought, appreciating Tristy’s dedication to the cause. Her dramatic performance just guaranteed that Tristy would be the only attractive woman at her wedding. She’d only needed to make her friends ugly to accomplish it!
With victory in her grasp, Tristy calmed down and let everyone primp and fawn over her until she smiled tremulously in the mirror, inspecting the veil as it cascaded down her back.
“I do wish the back of the dress was more dramatic,” she complained, a slight catch still in her throat. “I wanted an open back, or laces, or something! It’s just so plain!”
“Remember, we talked about that, my dear,” Rhonda said gently. “You loved this dress and didn’t like the other more fancy-backed ones nearly as much. It suits you so.”
The bridesmaids eagerly agreed, pronouncing her stunning and the most beautiful bride they’d ever seen.
London sighed. Though the bridesmaids tried valiantly, she still detected worry and sorrow in their faces when they’d catch sight of themselves in the mirror. One girl, especially, couldn’t look at herself without awkwardly yanking at the front and the sleeves, trying to get more coverage.
With sudden inspiration, London stepped forward once more. “I have an idea! Why don’t you let me take a picture of all of you? Tristy, I can send it to you for your photo album, and you can also look to make sure everyone looks exactly as you want them. Sometimes you can’t see how things really look until you see the picture.”
The ladies agreed and crowded together for the pic. London also requested they turn around and do a shot from the back. Finally, she had them do a silly photo where they all jumped up on the count of three. She asked Tristy’s number and quickly sent her the photos. Tristy’s phone beeped, and they all eagerly crowded around to look at the screen.
“Is that what
you want, Tristy?” London asked, hoping in spite of her doubt. “Is that how you want the dresses and everyone to look?”
Tristy gasped. “I’m beautiful! Look at me! It’s exactly how I want it!”
And with those few words, London gave up on the “open and honest” tactics and assigned herself an ultra-secret and highly dangerous mission.
Whether they wanted it or not, London determined to save the day.
“You want to what?” Adam sputtered, choking on his water. “London, you can’t be serious!”
“I am serious!” London insisted. “But I need your help.”
London had waited until they were almost finished with dinner before she revealed her real reason for inviting him to dinner at La Bonita Sombrero tonight.
“London, I can’t help you commit a felony!” Adam said, his low voice taking on an angry tone. “You’re talking about breaking and entering. And if that’s not enough, you’re adding grand theft on top of it!”
“I am not,” London insisted, highly offended. “I’m not breaking anything. I’m fixing. And I’m not stealing, I’m just borrowing for a while. Everything will be returned. That’s kind of the point.”
She placed her napkin on her plate, suddenly losing her appetite to finish her meal. She’d hoped to enlist Adam’s help on her mission, but he made it all sound so sinister. She didn't intend to commit a crime, she wanted to prevent a crime from being committed! Well, maybe it wasn’t an actual crime, but it wasn’t right that Tristy expected her bridesmaids to wear dresses that made them feel so self-conscious and uncomfortable. Couldn’t Adam see that she was righting a wrong?
“Yeah, a judge and jury won’t buy that explanation,” Adam said flatly, his tone dripping with the condescension of an arrogant lawyer. “I can’t believe you’re even considering it!”
London looked at him as if seeing him for the first time. She’d made a mistake. She should have never approached him about this. Now she clearly realized that Adam would never agree to bend any rules, even if the rule-bending was required to do what was right. In Adam’s mind, the rules were right, and anything outside the rules was very wrong, no matter what the reason.