by Carla Caruso
‘I’m sure he still has plenty of days ahead of him,’ Bridie reassured her friend, glad the conversation topic, however morbid, had been diverted away from her.
Minutes later, Bridie bid Megz goodbye, threw down the phone, and yawned. Reaching for the remote, she flicked through the channels on the guesthouse’s small TV, but reruns of The Bachelor and Snog Marry Avoid? weren’t really doing it for her right then. The frothy content meant her mind too easily wandered to contemplating the strangeness of her life lately, and where she’d wound up. She may as well head to bed; she still had a sleep debt to catch up on after the past few turbulent weeks anyway.
Blowing out the incense, she brushed her teeth in the tiny bathroom, then slipped on her Mad Men-esque sheer pink nightgown. Another new buy, and more pink glorious pink. In her temporary room, she found the double bed’s mattress had just the right amount of spring and cosiness, gazumping all the motel ones she’d laid on recently. The gentle lapping from the lake, was also quite soothing …
Hours later, Bridie sat up abruptly, her heart racing. A loud noise had wrenched her from her slumber. A strange, scraping sort of sound. One that seemed to come from the locked room adjacent. She’d assumed the one space in the guesthouse she couldn’t enter was a junk room, too messy for visitors to poke their heads in. But maybe Megz had been right about her being too trusting, too vulnerable. What if—sweet Jesus, Bridie drew her knees up to her chest—there was a person, being held hostage in the next room?
Okay, now her imagination was really running away from her. The Belshaw boys were good sorts. Her guy-radar might have been off lately, but she wasn’t totally dense when it came to picking up on bad vibes.
Another scrape tore through the air and this time Bridie sprang up, sprinting for the front door. She yanked it open and hightailed it out of the guesthouse, swerving around clawing branches and dancing shadows. Her bare feet connected with dewy grass, dirt, concrete … So much for the ‘healing’ incense and nightmare-diverting dreamcatcher.
At the main house’s front porch, she paused to catch her breath, wondering what the hell to do now. She couldn’t go back to the guesthouse. Not then. Even if there was a logical explanation for the noise, she wasn’t game to find out just yet.
So, should she ring the buzzer and wake up the Belshaws with her tale of things going bump in the night—she looked down, gulp—in her sheer nightie? Have them think her a paranoid loony, or worse, a desperate floozy? Or should she curl up somewhere on the porch, ensuring she disappeared before dawn to freshen up?
She twisted her mouth. One last ditch idea was to try the double doors and see if one was unlocked. It was the country—who knew? Yup, she was grasping at straws, but what else could she do?
Grabbing a brass handle, she tentatively turned it to the right and nearly wept at the satisfying click it made. What a miracle. Thank the moon and stars the Belshaws were so careless with their security. Or forgetful. Maybe she would be too if she was built like a Ken doll …
Tiptoeing into the shadowy hall, she gently closed the door behind her, locking it this time. Right. A cup of English Breakfast tea might help shush her mind. Then she could find a dark corner to retire to until day broke. It was some sort of plan.
She padded towards the kitchen, the moonlight illuminating her way. But as she hovered in the doorway, the air left her lungs. That wasn’t the moon. A crystal pendant light shone down on a solitary figure at the circular dining table.
‘Bridie.’ Cody looked up, snapping shut his laptop. ‘Can’t sleep either?’
She crossed her arms over her chest, feeling virtually naked next to him in his jumper and jeans combo. The quiet and darkness evoked an intimate air as it was.
‘Uh, I-I’m always like this in a new place.’
Cody frowned. ‘Hope the guesthouse’s comfortable enough. I know it can get kind of rattly near the lake.’
The lake, of course. That must have been what had caused the noise. She just wasn’t used to the sounds and their impact on the guesthouse. ‘No, it’s a great spot. I really appreciate you providing me a room. It just takes me a while to get used to a space.’
‘You’re shivering,’ Cody observed.
‘I-I am?’
Before she had time to think, he stood to whip off his grey knit. As he did so, she caught a glimpse of taut, tanned stomach beneath and a tantalising streak of dark hair trailing down from his bellybutton. Just as quickly he pulled the hem of his navy-blue tee, worn underneath, back into position and walked over to press the jumper into her hands. The wool itched her fingertips, but she was too focused on trying to remember how to breathe to really notice. He should be the one the paparazzi were clamouring to photograph.
‘Wear this,’ he said. ‘The temperature drops around here at night, even this time of year.’
Her voice came out like a mouse squeaking. ‘Okay.’
The wool swamped her, but at least her headlights and lacy briefs were no longer on display. Maybe that was what he’d been thinking too. Regardless, Bridie breathed in the heady combo of sandalwood, pine and masculinity that lingered on the fabric.
His clear-blue eyes drilled into hers. ‘Nice seeing you without your glasses on for a change.’
Immediately her hand went to feel about her face. Sugar. ‘Oh … right.’
His double dimples resurfaced, though such facial features ought to be illegal. ‘Want a midnight snack?’
‘Great idea.’
The distraction of banging about with cupboard doors and crockery sounded like just what she needed. She followed him over to the island bench.
He pulled a packet of crumpets from the dark wood pantry. ‘I could toast these up?’
‘Sure. I’ll put the kettle on in the meantime.’ She grabbed the silver pot from atop the stove and filled it up with tap water.
‘What toppings do you fancy?’ His deep voice reverberated from within the fridge.
It could have been like a fun sort of slumber party if he weren’t so unavailable, wrong, and her so newly single and raw.
‘I like a bit of a strange combo at home.’ She laughed self-consciously. ‘Greek yoghurt, peanut butter, honey and sliced banana. But I’d be happy with something much simpler—jam, Vegemite, whatever.’
‘That is different,’ Cody agreed, pulling items out of the fridge and unloading them on the counter. He added a banana from the fruit bowl. ‘You’re in luck, though, because we have everything on your list. Might even give it a go myself; I like an adventure.’
Bridie’s mind veered off on a devious detour, making the disruption of the kettle boiling a godsend. Both decided on hot chocolates.
Back at the table, they tucked into the fare, with Cody agreeing her toppings mishmash was ‘gold’.
At a lull in conversation, Cody appraised her. ‘You know, you’ve heard the story of my parents, but I haven’t heard anything about yours.’
Oof. Her parents. That was a subject she never got used to talking about. But the dark of the night called for honesty, especially when he’d opened up to her a few times already.
She hugged her mug with both hands—one ironically emblazoned with the words, World’s Greatest Dad—and took the plunge. ‘Actually, you might have guessed already, but I was raised by my aunt and uncle. My mum had me young. Too young. I was an … accident. One she couldn’t cope with. She got postnatal depression, and didn’t receive any help from my father—whom I’ve never met, by the way.’
Something about Cody’s non-judgemental expression made her continue.
‘So one day my mum had me stay with her sister and brother-in-law, who couldn’t have kids, and, um—’ Bridie tried for a jaunty lift of her shoulder, failing as always, ‘—well, she never came back for me. I mean, Mum’s always drifted in and out of my life and in and out of jobs; she’s never been a permanent fixture in my world. Not that I blame her. She’s had a tough life. And my aunt and uncle have been truly amazing. I’m lucky to have had their suppo
rt. To still have it.’
Cody’s gaze didn’t leave her face. Her stupidly glasses-free face. ‘It must have been tough, though. Your mum just upping and leaving.’
‘I don’t see it as being abandoned,’ Bridie replied, hearing the primness in her own voice. ‘I see it as being welcomed with open arms by two people, full of love, who could do a much better job.’
Yep, she might have tried that one out before.
Cody slowly nodded. ‘True.’
Bridie made a show of yawning—a) because she was tired, and b) because she really didn’t want to talk about her sad childhood anymore.
‘Looks like the midnight snack’s done its job,’ Cody offered lightly. ‘Reckon you could sleep now?’
‘Hope so.’ She swallowed down the remnants of her drink and crumpet.
Cody got to his feet, sweeping up their empty mugs. ‘Want to stay in one of the guest rooms upstairs? Might be better than trekking out into the cold night again. The beds are made up already.’
‘Actually that’d be great.’
Though she’d have to lock her door, just so she didn’t sleepwalk in the direction of his room, accidentally on purpose.
‘You can return my jumper in the morning,’ he added before heading for the sink.
It was just the kind of discouragement she needed, like being doused with a bucket of icy water. Down, girl.
Chapter 4
Cody woke early, surprisingly rejuvenated despite the broken sleep. The lingering image of Bridie in her flimsy nightgown last night might have helped. Okay, he had to stop himself there. That was not how a boss or someone soon to be leaving the country should be thinking. It was obviously just the conversation they’d shared, their comradery, that had put him in a positive frame of mind.
It was true enough. Though, it was also like saying his mates watched Xena: Warrior Princess reruns just for the acting.
Climbing out of bed, he headed for the window and lifted the cream fabric to check out the morning’s view. It was much better than his usual one in LA—of other apartment windows. Day was beginning to break and the lake was stirring to life, the sky and water awash with apricot, mauve and blue. He did miss this when he was away. With a passion he hadn’t felt in seeming centuries, Cody quickly changed and reached for his Canon EOS 5D Mark IV. He bounded down the stairs, enjoying the hit of crisp Hills air outdoors. He stopped at the lake.
Wow. The view that morning was even better up-close, the sun emerging like a fireball from behind the trees. It was a Lion King-worthy sunrise, a favourite flick of his young cousin Amelia’s. Adding to the effect was the whispering water and twittering birds.
Raising his camera to his eye, he clicked away, capturing everything from a duck tending to its feathers to a leafy branch framing the sunrise and the skyline reflected in the water. Movement through the trees, beyond the lake, diverted his attention. A wallaby?
He zoomed in for a better look, and warmth radiated up his arms. Nope, it was his very own Bambi. Bridie was meandering amid the foliage, the first rays of the sun caressing her pretty features, her hair pulled into a high ponytail. Another early bird.
Obviously she’d changed back at the guesthouse because a long-sleeved pink tee and denim shorts now showed off her fit frame. She wasn’t wearing glasses again; must have only needed them for the computer. Slowly, he raised his camera once more, taking frames as though she was a paparazzi subject. She was very photogenic, and totally oblivious to him.
Now to give the game away. He slung the camera strap on his shoulder and headed around the lake. She turned when he was a few metres away, twigs cracking under his feet.
‘I see you’ve found my dad’s “rainforest”,’ he said with a smile.
‘I have.’ Did she always look like a deer caught in headlights? She glanced up at the leaves overhead. ‘It’s beautiful out here. Perfect for a morning walk.’
‘I agree. Although sunrise pics were the lure for me. Look what else I got too.’ He stepped closer, turning his camera around to reveal a brilliant shot of her on-screen, in which a slither of sunshine through the canopy of trees had set her hair and skin alight.
She peered in for a look, smelling of cinnamon and roses, then reeled back. ‘Oh, uh … you won’t do anything with that picture, will you? Post it anywhere?’
That wasn’t the reaction he’d been expecting. Maybe he’d spent too much time with celebrities, though, who were in no way camera-shy.
‘I wasn’t planning to,’ he said quickly. ‘Just can’t help myself when I see a good shot. You photograph well.’
Shit, that came out a bit off. He should have thought things through before snapping away; he’d crossed a line.
Bridie hunched her shoulders. ‘Sorry, I just don’t really like having my picture taken. Even by a professional. It’s just something I’m funny about.’
‘No, I should be the one apologising,’ Cody said firmly. But she still looked distressed. Something from her past seemed to have a hold on her. ‘I’ll delete the photos.’
She didn’t protest, so, as much as it killed him, he did as he’d said on the spot. Delete, delete, delete. Then he showed her the back screen again, flicking through his recent pictures. ‘See, now it’s all just run-of-the-mill scenery shots.’
The corners of her mouth edged upwards. ‘Now they’re what I call camera-worthy pictures.’
* * *
‘Hello, this is The Wedding Entourage.’ Bridie answered the landline later that morning, her fingers crossed the caller was someone other than a telemarketer or wrong number.
Things were slower on day two, and she preferred to keep busy where work was concerned. For various reasons. Not that the Belshaws seemed too concerned yet, all lost in their emails behind her, likely regarding their other lines of work.
A brusque voice sounded down the line. ‘My name is Nicola Berni. Well, soon to be Bergen. I’m combining my surname with my husband’s—Gendler—once we marry, as is he. I read online you do wedding packages in a hurry.’
Bridie was still digesting the fact that Nicola and her fiancé were amalgamating their last names, but forced herself on. ‘Yes, quickie weddings are our forte.’ Urgh, did that come out a little gauche? Bridie twirled a pink feather-tipped pen between her fingertips, rushing on. ‘We can offer you the photography, video and venue all under the one umbrella, as soon as you need to get the ball rolling.’
‘Wonderful.’ Nicola cleared her throat. ‘Though our wedding’s been in planning for the past two years, I haven’t seen eye-to-eye with a few of our suppliers recently. And I’d rather things were perfect, from my gown to the napkins. Seth and I are due to get married next Saturday.’
Whoa. Nicola sounded like a handful. Unfortunately, beggars couldn’t be choosers when it came to the kind of short-term operation the Belshaws were running.
‘We could certainly fit you into our schedule, should you choose to go ahead with us,’ Bridie chirped. ‘And ensure it’s all seamless.’
Why did some women turn what was meant to be a magical day into the most stressed-out, hellish event ever? It didn’t bode well for a couple’s marriage. Not that—ahem—Bridie had even made it down the aisle …
‘We already have a mobile caterer,’ Nicola continued. ‘Our food’s going to be themed in black-and-white, complementing the guests’ dress code.’ Black-and-white … for the invitees and the dinner? ‘We’re also planning a post-wedding brunch the next morning for select family and friends. I should add our bridal party is slightly bigger than usual. There will be seven bridesmaids, seven groomsmen, two flower girls, and two pageboys.’ Nicola sniffed. ‘Some photographers seem to find that unwieldy.’
Sheesh. Princess Kate only had four young bridesmaids and her sister as the (bootylicious) maid-of-honour. But, from the sounds of things, Nicola didn’t do anything by halves.
Bridie found her voice. ‘Our team are equipped at handling occasions of all shapes and sizes. In fact, you could chat to one of th
e business owners now if you’d like to discuss things in finer detail.’
‘Brilliant,’ Nicola clipped. ‘It’ll give me a chance to go through my event running-sheet with them.’
Yikes.
‘One moment.’ Swivelling around, Bridie caught Cody’s eye across the office and held out the cordless, mouthing ‘bridezilla’ as a warning.
With a mock-grimace, he took the handpiece from her. At least he hadn’t held the embarrassing incident around him taking her photo against her.
Ten minutes later, he hung up, seeming much more laidback than Bridie had dealing with Nicola. ‘Well—’ he glanced around the room, pausing to get everyone’s attention, ‘—looks like we’ve got our bridal couple number two!’
Jaxon whooped and Vance thumped his desk while Bridie smiled.
‘Did you find Nicola a little prickly?’ She was keen to find out.
‘She definitely sounds like hard work,’ Cody conceded, getting up to hand her a mauve Post-it with Nicola’s email for the contract. ‘But compared to most of Hollywood, she’ll be a piece of cake.’
‘If she’s already got a list of demands, at least she’ll turn up to the wedding,’ Jaxon spoke up, gesturing at his computer screen with a grin. ‘Unlike this girl.’
Bridie glanced over at his PC, along with the others, and her blood snap-froze. Enlarged on-screen was a meme of a cartoonish bride with high heel sneakers, and the caption, ‘Girls who can run in heels should be feared.’ Goosebumps broke out all over her skin like she’d had an allergic reaction. It was official: the news had crossed over the border from Melbourne.
‘Get it?’ Jaxon carried on, oblivious to Bridie’s horror. ‘It’s about that runaway bride who’s been all over the internet and still hasn’t been found. A mate from London emailed me this meme, though the bride’s an Aussie. The story’s gone global.’