by Carla Caruso
‘Thanks for noticing,’ she breathed. It was pure torture to be so close to Cody yet unable to properly touch one another.
After getting over the whole Lobethal Lights fiasco—and freaking out at the number of camera-happy people it had brought out—she was back to stealing kisses (and more) with him. At every single opportunity.
He shot her a sardonic smile. ‘What do you think of the ceremony?’
‘It’s certainly different.’ Bridie grinned back as the signing duo in the corner started up with Elvis Presley’s Hound Dog.
Hazel and Dale had taken their ‘puppy love’ to new heights. Hazel, a whippet-thin, brassy blonde in her sixties, was as outdated as a fax machine with her blue eyeshadow and stripes of rouge, but looked undeniably sweet in her mauve poodle skirt and white blouse. Grey-haired Dale, who resembled an extra-cuddly Labrador, complemented her in a purple bowtie and suspenders while their shaggy Bearded Collies sported tiaras and lavender ruffled coats.
There were also dog tags for place card holders, tables named after different canine breeds, a dog-themed wedding cake and desserts, puppuccinos for the pooches, and doggie bags—wink, wink—for the guests to take home. The retro caravan the couple had been travelling in was also parked in the background and covered in gelato-coloured streamers.
Cody raised both eyebrows. ‘Only one more wedding to go after this, as hard as it is to believe.’
‘I know,’ Bridie said softly, though, in truth, this would be her last one.
She had just under a week until she’d have to make like Criss Angel and disappear again, right before Tilda’s commitment ceremony and her Christmas birthday. Less than seven days in which she’d no longer be able to touch, talk to, or just be with Cody anymore. When she could still barely fathom she’d had a chance to be intimate with him at all.
He nudged her in the side, his voice low. ‘I like that you haven’t been wearing your glasses lately. Shows off those windows to your soul.’
Okay, her current lust-bubble had made her kind of lax.
‘Thought I’d give my contacts another try,’ she fibbed, resentful of the fact she even had to lie to him.
The sound of a fork clinking against a champagne glass saved Bridie. She turned towards the noise, a hush falling over the crowd. Hazel was standing up at the bridal table.
‘Hello, everyone,’ the fifty-something said in her faint British accent—Cody, beside Bridie, began clicking away again. ‘Hope you’ve all been enjoying eating, drinking and being merry. I know Dale and I read our renewed vows earlier, but I just wanted to say a few extra words about this wonderful man sitting next to me.’
The small gathering, mostly middle-aged and above, cheered as Dale looked up at Hazel with an affectionate grin.
‘How best to describe Dale?’ Hazel continued. ‘Hmm … lively, playful, good-natured, loyal, sociable … which is how I might also describe our Collies.’
The crowd tittered. As if on cue, one of the dogs beside the table barked.
Hazel carried on. ‘Just like a man’s best friend, I couldn’t be without Dale by my side. To paraphrase Beverly Hills Chihuahua—’ she turned towards her husband, ‘—without you, the sun would have no warmth, the flowers no beauty, and my tail no wag.’
Dale shook his head with a smile. ‘You make every day doggone wonderful.’
Bridie swallowed a giggle as Hazel leant to give her man a tender kiss, the crowd applauding. Despite being all kinds of corny, the moment was also very sweet. What Bridie wouldn’t give to one day grow old and grey with someone and still be so in love. Yup, her almost-marriage to Rory hadn’t been enough to crush her belief in love, it seemed. She glanced over at Cody beside her, who’d since lowered his camera, and was also smiling.
‘Don’t tell me you enjoyed that little wedding speech?’ Bridie ribbed him. ‘Maybe there’s a bit of Valentine in you busting to get out, after all.’
Cody mock-pulled a face. ‘Don’t say anything to my brothers; I’ll never hear the end of it.’
Noise and movement dragged Bridie’s attention back to the front of the ceremony, where Hazel was now balancing on a chair on a spare patch of lawn.
Hazel waved a bunch of purply-pink camellias at the crowd. ‘I don’t know if this is usually the done thing at vow renewals, but I want to share this loving feeling around. C’mon, all you single gals—huddle for the bouquet toss.’
Sweet Jesus. The singing duo began strumming Beyoncé’s Single Ladies as women, several sporting blue rinses, jostled for position on the lawn. Bridie didn’t move a muscle.
Ironically, she’d wanted camellias for her own wedding, seeing as the flowers came in every shade of pink imaginable. Rory’s snooty mother, however, had insisted on traditional roses. Maybe that should have been an omen in itself.
Hazel spun around on her chair and the crowd counted to three as she practised her aim before pitching the bouquet in the air.
Bridie watched the flowers arc against the backdrop of blue sky. It was a decent throw, with plenty of air. Hazel must have been something of a dumbbell queen in her later years. Bridie’s throat closed up as her gaze stayed on the bunch of camellias. It almost looked like it was sailing above the swarm of women, straight for her. But that couldn’t be right. And yet …
Her wrist sagged as the prize catch landed in her grip.
She had caught the bouquet. She, the runaway bride. Applause resounded in her ears.
An old woman seated nearby, with beige ankle-high tights on show beneath her skirt, winked at Bridie. ‘Looks like you’ll be the next one married, dear.’
Bridie’s cheeks burned up, the eyes of the crowd and Cody’s camera flash boring into her—despite earlier warning him about taking her picture. ‘Oh, no, I don’t think so, haha … just good reflexes.’
Like many before her, facing an awkward situation, she wished the grassy ground would open up and swallow her whole.
* * *
Later that afternoon, Cody felt his phone buzzing in his trouser pocket. He glanced around at the crowd at the vow renewal, many getting down to the duet’s rendition of Baha Men’s Who Let The Dogs Out, whether it was of their era or not. He had time to take the call with things close to winding up.
Cody strode for the shade of the trees, a flash of caramel hair letting him know Bridie was on the lawn’s opposite end, working the ‘room’. Her bouquet had long been abandoned on a table.
Stopping beneath a tree to fish out his phone, he glanced at the small screen. ‘Alfie’ flashed back. The boss of the LA picture agency he freelanced for. He imagined Alfie puffing on a cigar in his window office, his face as wine-bloated as usual and his black hair all spiky. The guy was larger than life and as un-PC as Croc Dundee, but he did believe in second chances.
Cody pressed the phone to his ear before the call rang out. ‘Alfie, how’s Hollywood?’
‘As crazy and fucked up as always.’ Alfie’s voice boomed down the line. ‘How’s things Down Under? I know you just said goodbye to your old man, but still, had a chance to meet any Margot Robbie lookalikes yet?’
The guy truly had a way with words, but he was harmless. When Cody thought of home-grown beauties, Bridie’s face swam into his vision, though she was as far away from a Hollywood blonde as you could get.
Cody guffawed good-naturedly. ‘Nah, too busy with family and the like.’
‘Whatever you say,’ Alfie returned. ‘Anyway, it’s actually a good thing you’re out in never-never land. I’ve got a job for you, if you’re ready to dip your toes back in the game. One that could pay a pretty penny if you play your cards right. Right in your hokey, little hometown, can you believe it?’
A flush of adrenaline swept through Cody. A job on his doorstep. Alfie calling him direct, believing him up for the challenge again. He couldn’t have dreamt up a better scenario if he’d tried. So why was his mind also clouded by images of a surprised Bridie clutching the bouquet, of him joking around with his brothers at Goldlake like old times,
of his dad grinning down at them from up above?
‘Cody? You still there?’
Fuck.
‘Yeah, ’course. Sorry, man, I didn’t think you’d finished.’
‘You’ve been in the slow lane too long, your brain’s gone soft,’ Alfie taunted him. ‘Anyway, have you heard about that runaway bride from Melbourne, Bridget June?’
‘Oh, yeah.’ Cody scratched his neck. ‘The woman that rich hotel bloke’s looking for? It’s been all over the news here.’
Not that he’d paid much attention to the media of late. He’d had better things to occupy his mind. But it was about time he let the real world filter in again.
‘That’s the one,’ Alfie said, the excitement of reeling in a big fish making him even louder. ‘The story’s gone international. And, as luck would have it, we’ve had a source tip us off that the girl’s now in little ol’ Balkissoch. Uncanny, huh? Although, if your town is as miniscule as you say, it’d be the perfect place to hide.’
Cody mentally shook his head. A red carpet entry back to LA, in the form of Bridget June, was his for the taking—who’d have thunk it?
Alfie barrelled on. ‘We need a shot of her before any of the other agencies get wind of the news. The women’s mags will be fighting each other to cough up for those first pics. It’ll be a mega payday if you can land ‘em. Something about the story has struck a chord worldwide. What do you say? Reckon you could comb the streets, do some digging? No doubt she’ll be in disguise and will take a while to track down, but if I have faith in anyone locating her, it’s you.’
‘Sure. Wow. I’ll get on to it. Thanks for the opportunity.’
After the call ended, Cody dragged a hand through his hair. As he looked around at the beaming faces at the party, the idea of lying low in his Jeep until late, aiming his camera at someone who didn’t want to be found, seemed completely foreign. Alien. But obviously he was just out of practice, had gone soft like Alfie had said, because that was the business—the real business—Cody was in.
* * *
Bridie drank in Cody’s side profile as he steered his Jeep down the main street Sunday night. It was so good just to be the two of them again. Moments like these she had to grab with both hands as time ticked away.
Out the window, the dusky-blue sky had been overtaken by fat grey clouds in another show of unpredictable weather—the dog-loving Wisemans had finished up their festivities at just the right time.
‘So what’s the plan for tonight, beyond dinner at the pub?’ she asked Cody, curving her eyebrow. ‘Or can’t you tell me as per usual?’
He laughed, his eyes trained on the road ahead. ‘Actually there is more to it. I just didn’t want to say too much in front of my brothers before. Wanted them to think it was just a casual dinner.’
Pleasant tingles scuttled down Bridie’s spine. She had her fingers crossed it’d involve something along the lines of parking at a secret spot later on, the rain beating against the car. Actually she’d be happy with anything, so long as Cody was involved.
‘A-ha, spill.’
Cody darted a look her way. ‘All right, you’re my partner in crime tonight. You’re about to see the kind of work I do in action. My real work. Which is why our first stop’s the pub. That’s usually the best place in a small town for information. In the meantime, keep your eyes peeled for a blonde. Actually any young woman who doesn’t look like they belong around here.’
Blood rushed in Bridie’s ears. A blonde, who doesn’t look like they belong around here. It had to be a coincidence. No-one who knew her whereabouts would have ratted on her … would they? Unless Cody had since sussed out her real identity and was now toying with her like a cat with a mouse. The gathering storm clouds now seemed cruelly ironic.
‘You’re on a paparazzi mission?’ she squeaked, despite trying to act natural. ‘In Balkissoch?’
Cody pulled into a parking space outside the heritage-listed sandstone pub with its wide grey verandah and white pillars. He killed the engine, turning to face her, his sapphire-like eyes giving nothing away. ‘I’m not meant to say who it is—it’s top secret—but I trust you.’ Trust. More taunting? ‘You know that runaway bride, Bridget June? Word is she’s just blown into Balkissoch.’
‘Runaway bride?’ Bridie echoed breathlessly, fumbling to unclip her seatbelt.
Cody climbed out of the Jeep to open her door, or perhaps spit in her face. She gripped the hand he extended, but her feet were wobblier than after a night on the town in six-inch heels. She slip-slid from the Jeep, falling into his strong arms. Good thing he was around to catch her.
‘You all right?’ His face, against the charcoal sky, was etched with concern.
He really didn’t know who she was. She could see it in his eyes. But how long before he put the pieces of the puzzle together? He was no fool.
‘I-I think I got a little too much sun today,’ Bridie lied, even though she was exhausted of doing so. ‘And the tropical punch might have had more kick than I thought …’
‘Let’s get you inside,’ Cody said solemnly. ‘Get you some food. You’ve been working too hard.’
His worry only made the guilt harden in her gut. A lucrative photo opportunity, that’d put him back in favour in LA, was within his reach—his arms—and she couldn’t even tell him. She had to let him go off on a wild-goose chase. But what other option did she have?
Inside, the pub was overrun with old men in fedoras downing schooners at the bar, and families with young ones, creating a racket in the restaurant area. It all felt disturbingly normal.
Bridie’s mind, in contrast, spun like a carousel as they hunted for a vacant table. If she’d just faced Rory right off the bat, if she hadn’t run all the way to Balkissoch then fallen head over heels, barely out of her bridal gown, for the worst person possible, a paparazzo—yup, head over heels, there was no denying it anymore—she wouldn’t be in the position she was in right now. Set to wound someone she truly cared about, no matter how short their relationship was meant to be.
Maybe she was no better than her mum, being so easily charmed by attractive men, yet unable to deal with the consequences when everything fell apart. As went with her genetics, all she really knew how to do was run.
She followed Cody to one of the last free tables, feeling like she was sleepwalking, and plonked her handbag on the dinted wooden surface. ‘Um, might go to the ladies and splash some water on my face. See if that’ll help.’
Cody reached to touch her arm, risking a public display of affection. ‘No problems. In the meantime, I’ll get us some soft drinks and ask the wait staff a few questions. I won’t keep you out tonight. Work can wait.’
Bridie’s smile felt as weak as her knees, knowing her time with Cody had just got even shorter. It had to be. ‘Sorry to be the party pooper.’
And a pretty (or plainish) little liar.
Chapter 12
Just as Cody sat back down with drinks at the pub, Bridie’s phone began flashing in her unzipped bag on the table. He’d been keeping his eye on the bag from the bar, but she still wasn’t back. He went to reach for the ringing device, then stopped.
They weren’t an official item. He couldn’t just dig through her things. She’d return soon and could phone the mystery caller back.
He reclined back again, but his gaze was distracted by words blinking on the phone’s screen through the zip. ‘Avoid Avoid Avoid’.
A coldness settled in his gut. Who was she so desperate to evade?
‘Lemon, lime and bitters … you remembered.’
Cody flinched. Bridie, appearing slightly perkier than before—or she was just putting on a brave face—settled back in the opposite chair.
‘Photographic memory,’ he said, trying to keep his tone light.
‘Very appropriate.’ She moved her cream bag to the floor without glancing at it, and he couldn’t bring himself to mention the call.
If she wanted to share something with him, surely she would have done so by no
w. The last thing he wanted was for her to clam up from him trying to pry. Better to let things happen organically. She leant to rustle around in her handbag and he held his breath. But she pulled out her horn-rimmed glasses, ignoring the phone, and shoved them on.
‘That’s better. My, um, contacts were bugging me.’ She reached for a laminated menu. It wavered in her grip. So much for the brave face. ‘Ooh, the dinner options look enticing.’
Unable to help himself, he reached to touch her hand. ‘Are you sure you’re up to this? We could grab some takeaway instead.’
Fact was he’d already asked the bartender with the rainbow-streaked fridge if she’d noticed any blonde newcomers in town and had had a photo of Bridget June passed around behind the bar. No-one had seen or heard a thing. And anyway, right now he was more concerned about Bridie. Was it just heatstroke and too much punch? Or had the ‘avoid avoid’ caller, whoever they were, rung earlier, making her not herself?
Bridie chewed on her bottom lip. ‘You know, maybe takeaway would be a good idea. I was feeling better there for a minute, but I think now I might be coming down with something.’
‘We could go Thai takeaway? Maybe a chicken noodle soup or something?’
Bridie shot him a wobbly smile. ‘Sounds perfect. But no rush. We can finish our drinks first.’
A flash of lightning flickered through the pub windows. A boom of thunder followed. Here came the predicted summer storm. The weather seemed determined for them to have an early night too.
By the time they’d downed their drinks and pulled into the gates at Goldlake, the rain was bucketing down and wind whipping around. Giving up the chase for Bridget June that night had been a good thing—the elusive socialite would have gone to ground anyway. Next to him, Bridie shivered in her summer party dress, a contrast to the plastic bags of spicy hot Thai takeaway at her feet.
As they neared the house, his headlights illuminated an unfamiliar white vehicle parked in the drive. He squinted past his whooshing windscreen wipers. A Toyota Corolla. Maybe a friend of one of his brothers had come to visit? Not that they’d mentioned anything when he’d called to see if they wanted a share in the takeaway—which they had. Cody pulled in behind the Corolla, noticing a hire car company’s sticker on its back window.