The Wedding Must Go On

by Robyn Grady

  ‘Oh, gee, you think?’

  Studying her mock pitying look, knowing there was something more behind it, he said, ‘They’ll work this out.’

  ‘Then they’ll keep their date at the church,’ she surmised, ‘and you’ll get your business partner back.’

  Correct. ‘Question is—are you on board?’

  ‘You must be hard of hearing. I already said count me out.’

  ‘Give me some time and I’ll convince you.’

  Her too-kissable mouth tightened.

  ‘No.’

  He growled, cursing under his breath. ‘Five lousy minutes. I have a plan. It could mean the difference between your friend’s ultimate happiness and a lifetime of loneliness.’

  ‘So dramatic.’

  He frowned. ‘Yeah, well, it’s pretty damn important to them.’

  ‘And Mr Goodie-two-shoes you has nothing at stake.’

  This time he bit back the growl and pierced her with a judgmental glare.

  ‘This isn’t about Greg and his buck’s party, is it? It’s not about whether you want to help stop your friend from making perhaps the biggest mistake of her life. You’re being obstinate and surly now because of what happened between us all those months ago. You felt jilted and you’re prepared to let your friend suffer because you have a beef with me.’

  Her eyes rounded with affront and anger. ‘If you think that argument will help your cause, you have more ego than even I gave you credit for. Ever hear the saying, water finds its own level? You treat women like chattels. Chances are you choose friends of a similar nature. But neither of you like being called out for it.’

  Words burned on the tip of his tongue, but he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of acting the way she anticipated and cutting her down. He was ready to tell her to forget he’d even suggested she help, forget he was ever here.

  In fact, she could go to hell.

  He strode for the exit, swung back the door and barely refrained from slamming it shut behind him. He was halfway down the busy city block, near colliding with oblivious passers-by, when the steam clouding his brain cooled a degree and his locomotive pace slowed down. As much as he was attracted to Roxanne Trammel, she was a giant thorn in his side. He’d be wise never to see her again, under any circumstances.

  But, if he were truthful, he understood her upset over his departure that night. He’d never done such a thing before and apologizing as he’d hightailed it away didn’t rub off any of the tarnish. But Roxy didn’t want a confession. She did, however, want to help her friend. He was convinced that Marla should at least hear Greg out, and that wouldn’t happen unless he swallowed his pride, turned around and tried to persuade Roxy one more time.

  Roxy was still standing at the counter in that wedding gown, staring blindly at the accessories under that glass counter, when the doorbell tinkled and, hat in hand, he edged inside the shop again. She looked over and, straightening, opened her mouth. But he held up a hand.

  ‘Before you run me out of town again, let me say I was a jerk for bringing up that other night. It won’t happen again. But I can’t walk away without asking you one more time to help give those two the chance they deserve, the chance Marla would want if she were thinking clearly.’

  ‘Maybe she is thinking clearly.’

  Weary now, he exhaled. Her middle name was stubborn. ‘Just give me five minutes to tell you what I have in mind.’

  She tilted her head, thought some more.

  ‘Five minutes?’ she finally said. ‘That’s it?’

  ‘Won’t even take that long.’

  She almost grinned. ‘Anyone would think you were sure of yourself.’

  ‘About this, I am.’

  She set her hands on her satin-clad hips. After another tense moment, she visibly relaxed and inspected her dress.

  ‘Let me change first.’ Her lips twitched. ‘I don’t want to give you hives.’

  Moving through that back door again, she lobbed a final remark over her shoulder. ‘If someone happens to walk in looking for their perfect dress, tell them I’ll be right out.’

  But it was well after five on a Friday—closing time. ‘Why don’t I just flip the sign over?’

  ‘Don’t you dare.’ He barely caught her last words as she disappeared out back. ‘I need every sale I can get.’

  People in business had to be aggressive, but the energy behind that last remark was one hell of an admission. The way she’d spoken six months ago, Roxy lived for the thrill of owning this shop—for the privilege of personally contributing to the ‘magic of marriage’—but it sounded as if her enterprise wasn’t doing so well. Would she want to go ahead with helping Greg and Marla when she knew his plan? That she’d need to leave her shop unattended or alternatively manned for a few days? Perhaps if the deal included watching him being hung, drawn and quartered …

  Admittedly, his behaviour that night had been less than chivalrous, but God knew he’d had his reasons for leaving, just as Roxy had had hers for latching on the way she had. Clearly she was in the market for a serious partner of her own. What was so wrong with letting her know he wasn’t up for grabs? Surely that was better than leading her on.

  The bell above the door rang and two women edged inside; from the age difference and resemblance, Nate suspected mother and daughter. He strolled over to a rack of dresses and feigned interest. Roxy might be difficult, she might play havoc with his equilibrium, but, even if her shop were raking in millions, he wouldn’t get in the way of a possible sale. People liked space. He imagined that went double for brides searching for a wedding dress.

  So he thumbed through some size six to tens while going over the points of his plan for Marla and Greg yet again. Aside from needing to vacate Sydney for a few days, he wondered whether Roxy would entertain the idea of taking on such an active role or even if Greg and Marla would fall for it. Marla would then need to get past the mistrust and hurt those pictures had caused.

  On the other side of the room, the women were involved in a hushed conversation. Eavesdropping wasn’t Nate’s style; however, the words he caught worried him enough to push scruples aside.

  ‘We won’t find anything,’ the daughter bemoaned. ‘It’s suburbia. You saw the sign. My God, she sews them herself.’

  ‘We’re here, Violet,’ the mother encouraged. ‘Let’s look a while. You never know what you’ll find.’

  Coat hangers clicked down a steel rod. Satin and silk rustled, and Violet sighed. ‘No. No. No. No.’ A second, more impatient sigh. ‘A waste of time.’

  Nate hadn’t a clue; women’s fashion wasn’t his forte. But ignorance and prejudging were two different beasts. Clearly Violet had made up her mind before entering the store. If she took off her blinkers, bet she’d find something worth another look. Perhaps even worth buying.

  Roxy had said she needed every sale. Given she was at least prepared to listen to his plan, why not return the favour and see if he couldn’t help here?

  With a dress in hand, he rotated around and, as impatient as that woman’s sighs had been, his was filled with satisfaction.

  ‘This is perfect. My God, she’ll love it.’ His smile big, Nate nodded a greeting then apologised to the ladies. ‘Sorry. Thinking aloud.’

  Curious, Violet looked around. ‘Is your fiancée in a dressing room?’

  ‘I asked her to meet me here. I can’t wait till she sees this dress.’

  One of the mother’s pencilled eyebrows lifted. ‘I’ve never heard of a groom choosing his bride’s gown.’

  ‘Emma’s been everywhere, including interstate. She was thinking of having one made and a friend recommended this place. She was so disheartened. She’d even talked about calling the whole thing off.’

  The daughter gasped. ‘No.’

  ‘She’s the woman of my dreams,’ he said. ‘I want to have babies with Emma. Lots of them.’

  Now Violet and her mother’s eyes were shining with approval, so Nate hammed it up. He hadn’t been given his seni
or production’s lead in Ali Baba for nothing.

  ‘I never thought I could love someone like I love my Emma. I just need to help her find that perfect dress.’

  ‘That’s what this place is called,’ Violet whispered in her mother’s ear loud enough for Nate to hear. ‘The Perfect Dress.’

  ‘It is a pretty gown,’ the mother agreed, taking more notice of Nate’s impromptu choice.

  ‘Don’t ask me how I know but I do.’ With an enamoured air, he shrugged. ‘My Emma will look like an angel in this.’

  Having moved to another rack, Mother drew out a gown.

  ‘Sweetheart,’ she called. ‘Look. This beading is exquisite. Did you say the owner sews these all herself?’

  Violet examined the dress, draped it close. When she began to sway back and forth, searching for a mirror, Nate intervened again. A sign hung over the entrance to a nearby corridor.

  ‘The change rooms are that way,’ he said with a slant of his head.

  But now Violet had found the price tag and told her mother, ‘I know you said not to worry about cost, but …’ When Violet mouthed the amount, Nate overheard and near fell over. Did women honestly spend that much on a single dress?

  Fortunately, Mother didn’t bat an eyelid. She dashed away Violet’s concerns with a wave of her diamond-clad hand and both women had trundled off when Nate’s ears pricked at a persistent pssst. He pivoted around.

  Hiding behind that door, Roxy was madly waving him over. Nate hung up the dress and crossed the room—not fast enough, it seemed. Her hand shot out and hauled him inside.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  Gathering himself as she shut the door, he lengthened his neck and straightened his tie. ‘Drumming up business.’

  She looked as if he’d admitted to eating chocolate-covered tarantulas for lunch.

  ‘You can’t lie like that.’

  ‘It’s not lying.’ The way he saw it, ‘I’m creating an opportunity.’

  Horrified, she leaned back against the door. ‘I hate to think of the opportunity you’ve concocted for Marla and Greg.’ Gathering herself, she pulled up tall. ‘You can’t come waltzing in here and making up stories. This is my place of business. I depend on my reputation.’

  ‘How did I harm your good name?’

  ‘If those two ever find out and take it further, the legal term I think is fraud.’

  ‘They’ll never find out.’

  She held the bridge of her nose. ‘Maybe I should go out and just come clean.’

  Outside, the desk bell pinged. Roxy jumped, called out, ‘I’ll be right there,’ then glanced down at the gown she still wore.

  Which, frankly, looked great on her. The white satin suited her skin’s natural glow. The sweep of her waist in that bodice was hypnotic.

  Not that he would allow himself to be concerned with any of that. He was here to get his plan on the table and any bugs ironed out before they went ahead with Operation Back Together.

  He said, ‘I thought you were changing.’

  ‘I couldn’t get a hold of the zip.’ She whirled around. As the train slapped his shin, he was presented with a tantalizing rear view. ‘You’ll have to help.’

  Alarm bells—red and flashing—went off in his head. An invitation and bare flesh equalled temptation. Sure, what Roxy proposed seemed innocent enough but, in essence, she was asking him to help her undress. To open himself up and be vulnerable to the call of his baser urges, which he had trouble enough containing where Roxy Trammel was concerned.

  He held up his palms. ‘I’ll pass.’

  ‘You can’t pass.’

  Believe me, ‘It’s safer I don’t.’

  ‘I trust you not to do any damage.’ When he didn’t budge, she groaned and muttered, ‘Okay. Time to get this out in the open.’ Her fists finding her hips, she rotated again. ‘I won’t lie and say I didn’t enjoy the kiss we shared that night because, while I’m loath to admit it, I did. And I admit my reaction was … enthusiastic. But if you think I’m so desperate that I’d use sex to manipulate a marriage proposal, think again. And if I were to do such an abhorrent thing—’ her nose rose a regal notch ‘—it wouldn’t be with you.’ She hesitated, then went on. ‘In fact, I’ve been kissed since and, frankly, yours pales in comparison.’

  Nate’s gape turned into a smirk. And she called him a liar. He knew just how much she’d enjoyed that kiss. Almost as much as he had.

  Still, if she could play this Arctic ice-shelf cool, couldn’t he? Hell, it was only a zip. She wasn’t asking him to slip off a garter or nightdress or that itty-bitty pair of silk panties—which he’d best not think about right now.

  When he lifted his chin, she lifted hers. He twirled his finger—turn around—and, hoisting up her skirt, she whirled again.

  The dress’s back was scooped low and, with her long fair hair twisted up, Nate was greeted by an unobstructed, blemish-free landscape. Delicate twin shoulder blades bracketed a sweep of smooth tan skin and two accidental curls spiralled either side of the dent of her spine.

  Pleasant warmth pooled then solidified high on Nate’s thighs. But he took a deep breath and, focusing not on the view but the task, doggedly searched. After a full-on few seconds, he huffed. No wonder she couldn’t find it.

  ‘There is no zip.’

  ‘It’s invisible,’ she told him. ‘Feel around inside the bodice facing.’

  Nate scratched his head. Did she say invisible? And, ‘Bodice what?’

  ‘Slide your finger up and down the inside top of the seam.’ She dropped a wry look over one shoulder. ‘You do know what a seam is, don’t you?’

  ‘A rich deposit where minerals are found.’

  She rolled her eyes as if to say, Men. ‘Just don’t tug too hard.’

  When she turned back, Nate shook out his hands, rubbed his palms together. Not sweaty. Not cold. All good. He edged one fingertip inside.

  Her skin was toasty-warm and smooth as the satin. And now he was aware that she was wearing the same perfume she had that fateful night. Subtle. Something with lavender? Whatever the ingredients, the scent was light and fresh and.

  Nate filled his lungs.

  The kind of bouquet I could breathe in all day.

  He snapped open eyes that seemed to have drifted shut.

  Roxy had implied that she’d dated since their evening together. Leaning closer, he slid his thumb down and felt around. He hated himself for needing to ask but couldn’t a guy be curious?

  ‘So, I take it you’re seeing someone.’

  ‘No one in particular.’

  Chewing that over, he found something small and difficult to grab high at the top of the crease. Squeezing just enough to get a grip, he added, ‘And yet someone’s swept you off your feet.’

  Those curls tickled the back of his hand as she purred. ‘I’ve been swept off several times since that night.’

  His bite tightened and grip firmed more. He was jiggling in earnest when, outside, the desk bell rang again.

  ‘I’ll be right out,’ Roxy called pleasantly, then to him, ‘What’s taking so long?’

  ‘Inexperience,’ he growled. With a wedding gown, at least. This darn thing didn’t glide as it should.

  ‘Don’t force it,’ she told him.

  ‘I’m not forcing anything.’

  Shifting, he began to work it in a hopefully more fruitful and earnest kind of way. Clearly this exercise needed a little more of the ol’ Nate Sparks finesse.

  Three seconds later, she complained, ‘You’re too rough.’

  ‘Relax.’ His fingertips rolled, then tugged and rolled again. ‘Just a few seconds more.’

  ‘Nate, not so hard.’

  ‘Almost got it—’

  The zip suddenly gave.

  Actually what gave was the fabric splitting either side.

  While Roxy stiffened, Nate’s heart stopped beating as he held his breath and stared.

  It wasn’t much of a tear. Really barely noticeable. But when Roxy turne
d around, her expression said it all. Her face was a mask of disbelief, anguish. Rage. And her eyes, which had looked merely annoyed earlier, now spat green fire.

  ‘Tell me you didn’t tear the dress,’ she groaned. ‘You didn’t, did you? Not this dress.’

  The anger in her eyes turned to fear then they edged with moisture and Nate felt the walls press in.

  ‘It’s not too bad.’ He indicated with his fingers. ‘Maybe an inch.’ Maximum two.

  That call from outside came again.

  ‘Anyone there?’

  ‘Coming,’ Roxy said, but this time her voice cracked.

  What could he say? If he could take it back, he would.

  ‘Roxy …’

  Her eyes filling, she inhaled and in a heartbeat all her angst and energy seemed to drain away. She pressed her lips together. Swallowed. Shrugged.

  ‘Doesn’t matter anyway,’ she muttered and he frowned.

  ‘What doesn’t matter?’ When she swished out of the room, he followed. ‘Roxy, answer me.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she replied, ‘because this gown is—or was—Marla’s.’

  Nate gaped. He’d wrecked his mate’s fiancée’s gown? Not a good omen. And why was the bride’s best friend wearing it anyway?

  When he joined Roxy out front, she was looking around an empty room. Seemed those potential customers had given up and gone home. But then that same enquiring voice rang out again, this time from the direction of the dressing rooms. A moment later, that older woman appeared. On seeing them, she clasped her cheeks with glee.

  ‘Oh, my. This must be your beautiful bride-to-be. And you’re right,’ the woman went on before speaking directly to Roxy rather than Nate. ‘That gown suits you to a T. My Violet thinks she might have found the right one too.’

  ‘Really? That’s wonderful.’ Roxy’s disappointment at that accidental rip transformed into a frail but hope-filled smile. Then she evaluated her own gown. ‘But this dress …’ Her cheeks pinked up and she rubbed her brow. ‘Well, it’s a little hard to explain.’

  The woman angled in. ‘No need. My Violet went through the same thing,’ she confided. ‘Anxiety. So many decisions.’ Her shoulders squared. ‘But when you’ve found a man who’s so obviously in love with you, so committed, how can things not fall into place? You’re a lucky woman.’ She slid that smile Nate’s way. ‘A lucky couple.’