by Kris Jayne
"I'm Taryn, the bride, and this is one of my bridesmaids, Micky."
"Oh, how cute are you! Do you get tired of hearing cute? So sorry in advance, but you look just like Kristin Chenoweth. So lucky. I've got Kristin Chenoweth and…" Ronaldo paused and looked closely at Micky, "a bit of Mila Kunis and a bit of Catherine Zeta-Jones. No lie! What gorgeous wedding party you'll have." He then turned and waved in another woman who pushed a rack of dresses next to the door of Taryn's dressing room. Taryn set down her glass and launched herself at the rack of gowns with Micky right behind her.
"Oh, my God, these are so awesome!" Taryn exclaimed.
"They are arranged from simplest to most elaborate, so we can try them on in that order or if there's one in particular—"
Ronaldo didn't even get to finish.
"We'll start with this one. Danya wasn't sure about it, so I think I'll just try it on and get it out of the way if it's not right. It looked so beautiful in the magazine."
The gown was strapless, sleek, and curvy, fitted in the bodice and around the hips with a graceful, bell-like flare starting at the knee. Taryn disappeared into the dressing room and came out. The dress swam around her petite frame, but Ronaldo swooped in with heavy-duty clips to pull it taut in the back and give Taryn a better view of the front. The top was great. Beads and rhinestones jeweled the bodice, which had a softened sweetheart neckline. That was the only adornment as the dress fell in smooth satin to the floor. The issue was the bottom as Danya had predicted.
"The bottom makes me look like a munchkin. It's huge." Taryn turned up her nose and pursed her lips in disappointment.
"Maybe if it were shorter and the flare less pronounced?" Micky said, though truthfully, she knew it wasn't the right dress.
"We've had some brides do that if it's just a nip and a tuck, but with what we'd need for you, doll, it would really ruin the line of the gown," Ronaldo said, honestly. Taryn sighed.
"Alright. This isn't the one," she resigned.
"Hey, it's the first one," Micky reminded her. "You have a million other options. Now you know one element to avoid. I like the shape of the bell at the bottom. If you tried on something with an A-line, that would be nice."
"Precisely," Ronaldo agreed. "You'd look amazing in an A-line gown with the right bodice. You like the pizzazz up top better than on the bottom? Oh, I know two more we should pull."
Reaching into his pocket to pull out his phone, he text messaged someone, and a few minutes later, the cart lady returned with two more gowns just as Taryn came out in another dress. It was also strapless, but simpler from top to bottom with just a sprinkle of pearled beads across the neckline. It was ruched around the waist and had a bolero jacket. Micky hated it, but she wanted to see what Taryn said.
"What do you think?" Micky asked her.
"It's really plain. I don't know." Taryn looked in the mirror. "I'm not sure about the little jacket, but I like the shape of it. It's really flattering."
"But you don't love it?" Micky asked.
"No. Do you?"
"Not really. It's not very special, and you have so much more personality than this dress."
"You're right. Onto the next one, then."
Taryn tried on several more beautiful gowns, with a couple put to the side for reconsideration. One they pulled was almost right, but not quite. Taryn insisted it would look breathtaking on Micky.
"Try it on!"
"What? No. I'm not getting married."
Could she see herself getting married? Abstractly, yes. She thought about being in a church in front of her family and friends, swearing her undying love to one man for the rest of her life.
At one point, she'd fantasized about marrying Eric. Micky wrinkled her nose. She'd given him a key to her place and allowed him to play house when he was in town. Finding out he had a real home in Chicago brought up all her general suspicions about marriage. A week after the horrible late night phone call, Micky received her house key in a bubble wrap envelope along with a note.
She thought back to holding the folded paper in her fingers, feeling it's thick, creamy weight. Eric loved quality things—if not relationships. Was there anything contained in that halved slip of paper that could change her mind? No. Micky had easily closed her hand into a fist, crumpling the extravagant stationary and pitched into the trash, vowing to be more careful next time with whom she let into her house and her heart.
The thought of taking such a serious step with a man made her itch. The panic eased for a moment when—in her mind—she saw a broad-shouldered man with emerald eyes waiting for her at the end of the long aisle. Then, she considered she was actually thinking about marrying Nick, and the panic came back with a vengeance. They were nowhere near getting married. They had fun together. She would see him Friday night.
That was all she could handle. Micky shook her head at Taryn and her accomplice, who practically shoved the gown at her.
Ronaldo's eyes lit up. "I don't normally let other people try on the dresses, but it really would be fantastic. Go in there and step into it and see. You can file it away for later. Trust me, you can't be far behind. Once the friend is married. You'll get the itch," he said with a wink. Micky hesitated. "Just doooo it."
And with that, Ronaldo shoved the gown, and Micky, into a curtained room next to Taryn's. Micky peeled off her work suit and stood in her underwear staring at the gown. How did she get herself into this? She thought about putting her clothes back on, but that felt sillier than playing along and putting on the stupid dress. So, she slid the gown on and looked at herself in the mirror.
Even without Ronaldo and his clips, the silk dress hugged her in all the right places. Strapless, it cut across the top of her cleavage. It was sexy, but not too sexy. The gown was a spiral of silk organza carefully draped in tight folds on the bodice, banded by beads at the waist and wrapped in an elegant curve down her hip as it fell away into waves. The skirt rippled as she moved. It was frothy and feminine. Yet with how closely it followed the body, it avoided looking sweet or the dreaded "princess-y." Micky blushed. She loved it.
"Do you have it on or what, sister?" Taryn demanded. Micky stepped out, and Ronaldo grinned.
"See how right we were. So. Right." He punctuated his words with a jab of his index finger like a school marm reinforcing a lesson.
"Stay there. I'm going to try on another one, and we can compare," Taryn ordered. Micky opened and closed her mouth. There was no arguing with Taryn today. She stood there, feeling strange, but looking amazing. Ronaldo handed her another glass of champagne.
"Enjoy it, honey, while you've still got it," he said, still shaking his finger at her.
Moments later, Micky heard a squeal from the dressing room. Taryn emerged in the gown they all knew she would call hers. Micky could tell how excited Taryn was, but her friend was trying not to control her excitement. The even-keeled Ronaldo gasped.
"What about this one? Your honest opinion," the bride-to-be said. Her eyes lit up.
Micky was blown away by how her best friend looked in the dress. "Oh, my God, Taryn. It's stunning. You are really stunning."
"I know. If don't say so myself." Taryn laughed and spun around.
"When you know it, you know it," Ronaldo said before standing behind her to pull in the waist a bit more and adjust the straps.
The sleeveless gown had narrow strips of fabric on the shoulders that gradually widened into satin triangles on the bodice. The neckline swept down into a deep, plunging V-neck, but remained decent because of a jeweled peekaboo detail in the center. Thin pleats defined the empire waist as well as delicate floral embroidery sparkling with beads and stones.
The A-line skirt was just as Taryn had wanted, a beautifully cut ripple of creamy satin down to the floor with chapel-length train. The dress had just enough sparkle to match Taryn's personality, but not so much that it was gaudy or overdone.
"Stay here and keep admiring your gorgeous gowns. I have the most spectacular fingertip-length veil fo
r this dress. It will go wonderfully with your heart-shaped face." Ronaldo went off in search of the perfect veil for Taryn's perfect dress.
While Micky and Taryn cooed over the gown and discussed how she should wear her hair, another pair of women entered the dressing suite with glasses of champagne. All of them cast an eye toward the hallway when they heard a slightly-raised, but controlled voice. Whomever it was popped in the dressing suite for a split second before accosting Dahlia and inquiring about whether Danya would be sitting in while she and her daughter looked at each dress. The older woman didn't appear to like the answer, and Dahlia guided the woman into the hall to continue the conversation.
One of the younger women pulled on her ponytail with an air of exasperation. She was tall, thin, and platinum blonde. The other—an auburn-haired woman—walked out to calm the situation in the hallway, her sharp, chin-length bob swinging with each step. The blonde settled into one of the couches with her champagne as the attendant rolled in a new cart of gowns. Micky recognized the gemmed bodice of the dress Taryn had originally liked. Whichever woman was the bride, they both bore the stature to carry it off.
"That dress is really lovely on you. Classic, but unique at the same time," the tall blonde told Taryn. "Well done."
"Thank you. You have one of the dresses I liked, but it was a bit much for me. You have the height to do it justice," she replied.
The frost-haired woman barely turned to glance at the gowns. "Thank you," she said, but didn't elaborate.
"The one you've found is perfect, though, Taryn. I'm so thrilled for you," Micky said. The blonde twirled her glass in her fingers, noticing Micky off on the side, also in a gown.
"Are you getting married too, or just along for the ride?"
"Along for the ride. My friend is on a mission to materialize her wedding gown vision, and she swept me up in her madness. You?"
The crisply dressed blonde sighed. "Both, sadly."
Micky looked at the woman. Taryn was bubbling over with excitement about getting married. This woman looked like she was being dragged down the aisle by her frosted tips.
"I'm sure you'll be fine. I bet if you focus on your fiancé, and what's real between the two of you all the other stuff will fade into the background," Taryn suggested.
"He's a great guy. Really great." The blonde didn't exactly sound convinced. "Things have gotten a little complicated. We broke up. I told my mother, but she's not taking it well. She keeps telling me that men don't always know what they want. We have to show them. I didn't even talk about this with my father yet. My mother said she's 'handling it,'" the woman said, using the obligatory air quotation marks.
Micky couldn't imagine how you handle a groom that doesn't want to get married, especially when the bride didn't appear too keen either.
"Do you want to get married?" Micky asked. The blonde darted her eyes toward the door.
"I do. That's why I'm telling myself this isn't a wasted trip. One can always hang on to a wedding dress. I can deal with my mother. I'm indulging her. She's getting intense, but weddings are stressful under any circumstances. I'm just glad I have the wedding coordinator to keep it to a dull roar."
Was it a thing now to plan in advance and stockpile wedding garments? And paying a wedding coordinator on a whim? They must have money to burn. Micky heard footsteps streaking down the hallway, coming to a halt.
"Weddings are stressful—yes—but in the end, worth it. You and he are just perfect. You'll see," the older woman said as she stuck her head in. "Dahlia has arranged our own suite so we can have more privacy." The woman barely looked at Micky and Taryn, but motioned for her daughter. The blonde drained her champagne and stood up.
"Of course, mother." Then, she was gone.
"That was just weird," Taryn said. "How do you let yourself get dragged into wedding planning when you have no intention of having a wedding?"
"You know how it is with some people. They get caught in a trap of pleasing people—especially parents. She definitely looked the type, and with that mother going a thousand miles an hour…That whirlwind makes Lila look like she's on Xanax."
Ronaldo returned, as did the cart attendant. They chatted in a whisper as they turned the corner, but Micky and Taryn heard bits and pieces.
"Private room," Ronaldo chuckled. "That's just to keep the crazy contained."
"Well, this is their third appointment in four months. Both of the others got canceled at the last minute. How was Danya supposed to know they'd really show this time?"
"Those appointments weren't the only thing I heard was canceled," Ronaldo mumbled.
"Who knows? Women like her always bounce back, and with a new man more fabulous than the last," the attendant said.
She grabbed the stranded cart and pulled it to the hallway toward wherever Danya had the "private" rooms. Micky wondered if they were meant to be exclusive or Danya really did use them to "contain the crazy." Either way, Micky was glad to have the larger room mostly to themselves again. Looking for a wedding dress was supposed to be fun, and that crew drained the joy out of the room.
Micky chewed her bottom lip as she and Taryn examined veil options. Lace. Tulle. Rhinestones. Blusher. Fingertip. Chapel—that one they knew wouldn't work. Finally, Taryn put on a delicate, elbow-length veil trimmed with stone-studded lace. The combination of lady gasps and gay gasps let everyone know it was the perfect addition to the perfect dress.
Later, sitting in Danya's office in the waning evening, Taryn was ready to go all in, but stopped herself. "Before I do this, I really do want my mom to see it. You know? I mean, I'm not going to change my mind, but I want her to see it. Put her stamp of approval on it."
"Sweetie, we actually have the dress in your size at our boutique in Houston. I can have it transferred up here in our next delivery if you want to try it on and bring your mother in from Oklahoma and your bridesmaid from Austin. That's no problem at all." Taryn's eyes lit up.
"Perfect. Yes! Alexa can come up from Austin in a couple of weeks, and we'll look at bridesmaids dresses." Taryn turned to Micky. "I'm freaking starving. Let's go grab dinner."
"As you wish, princess bride."
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Nick found himself on the brink of sanity. He spent Thursday morning in meetings with the partners, Tom Moran, and his staff. Nick had tried in the last meeting to explain that if Tom was interested in Azur, he needed to move quickly, or move on. Tom was doing neither.
He wanted another work-up on the company value, but still wasn't happy. He thought he could get the asset for cheaper. Nick couldn't tell the man how to run his business, but he also couldn't give him the one piece of information to light a fire under him.
Mercifully, the deal was starting to crumble. Nick gave a mental shrug. Tom would find some other company to stalk. Now, Nick had to figure out how to move the disintegration along. He swiped his forehead with the back of his monogrammed sleeve. It was nearly seven thirty, and so he'd have to try to save his persuasion for another day.
As Nick headed down the elevator and to his car, he thought about a wavy-haired brunette and the incredible weekend they'd shared. Work took her away from him for a few days, and he was feeling bored and more than a little lonely in the evenings. Rather than go home to his empty condo, he decided to call his sister.
Nick reached his brother-in-law who told him that she was at a mom's and daughter's night out party with his nieces, leaving James at home alone. By eight, the two men were out at James' favorite dive bar with James pressing Nick for more details on his new lady friend.
"I like her," James said.
"Me too." Nick thought of Micky and smiled, missing her. They had talked every day since the last weekend and had lunch once, but he wouldn't get to spend real time with her until tomorrow night.
"She's much more easy going than Vivienne. That woman was always," James paused, unable to find quite the right way of describing Nick's ex. "She was always on guard. Like she was in witness protection an
d didn't want anyone to find out her true identity and get her whacked."
Nick took a hefty swig of his beer. James was right on target. Nick had never thought of Vivienne's demeanor with other people. She had sought to make him happy and had supported his efforts to become a partner at his law firm. She threw parties and invited the right people, introducing him to potential new clients. In her domain—the role of connected socialite—Vivienne charmed, laughed, and controlled every room she entered. The charm and smiles had seemed genuine, and maybe they were.
She had wanted Nick to be successful. She had wanted them to be the perfect couple. She just had the wrong reasons. James must have sensed it. Perhaps benefiting so richly from the mask Vivienne wore kept Nick from looking past it.
"I feel guilty," Nick admitted.
"What? Why?"
"I used her. I didn't care about anything except my job. Everything was about making partner. I keep wondering who I've become. I've been so selfish."
"Is that why she left?"
"Pretty much."
Nick didn't want to lie, and he didn't think he was. He hadn't cared about her happiness—only what she could do for him. Now, of course, he realized he didn't need a woman to do anything for him except be herself. He'd had his fill of pretense. Being with Micky was a relief from the pressures of a relationship being about anything other than whether they could make each other happy. No social expectation or having to be on display.
"I wouldn't feel too bad about it. I think Vivienne is the sort of person who takes care of herself. She knows what she wants, and she'll get it. Maybe she didn't want you, brother, but I'd count my lucky stars for that. She was cold that one."
"Yes. Amy mentioned that you thought she was a bit chilly," Nick told him.
"She did?" James looked at his brother-in-law and laughed. "So, she told you, huh? Well, I take it I was wrong, and there's no frost bite or freezer burn from the coldest chick in Dallas? I'm sorry. I shouldn't say that."