Saying Yes To The Dress!

“Hey, guys,” he called. “Team meeting. Fabric’s here.”

His guys, four of them, gathered around.

“Becky, Jared, Jason, Josh and Jimmy.”

“The J series,” one of them announced. “Brothers. I’m the good-looking one, Josh.” He gave a little bow.

“But I’m the strong one,” Jimmy announced.

“And I’m the smart one.”

“I’m the romantic,” Jared said, and stepped forward, picked up her hand and kissed it, to groans from his brothers. “You are a beauty, me lady. Do you happen to be available? I see no rings, so—”

“That’s enough,” Drew said.

His tone had no snap to it, at all, only firmness, but Becky did not miss how quickly Jared stepped back from her, or the surprised looks exchanged between the brothers.

She liked seeing Drew in this environment. It was obvious his crew of brothers didn’t just respect him, they adored him. She soon saw why.

“Let’s see what we have here,” Drew said. He opened a box and yards and yards of filmy white material spilled out onto the ground.

He was a natural leader, listening to all the brothers’ suggestions about how to attach and drape the fabric to the pavilion poles they had worked all morning installing.

“How about you, Becky?” Drew asked her.

She was flattered that her opinion mattered, too. “I think you should put some kind of bar on those side beams. Long bars, like towel bars, and then thread the fabric through them.”

“We have a winner,” one of the guys shouted, and they all clapped and went back to work.

“I’ll hang the first piece and you can see if it works,” Drew said.

With amazing ingenuity he had fabricated a bar in no time. And then he shinnied up a ladder that was leaning on a post and attached the first bar to the beam. And then he did the same on the other side.

“The moment of truth,” he called from up on the wall.

She opened the box and he leaned way down to take the fabric from her outstretched hand. Once he had it, he threaded it through the first bar, then came down from the ladder, trailing a line of wide fabric behind him. He went up the ladder on the other side of what would soon look like a pavilion, and threaded the fabric through there. The panel was about three feet wide and dozens of feet long. He came down to the ground and passed her the fabric end.

“You do it,” he said.

She tugged on it until the fabric lifted toward the sky, and then began to tighten. Finally, the first panel was in place. The light, filmy, pure-white fabric formed a dreamy roof above them, floating walls on either side of them. Only it was better than walls and a roof because of the way the light was diffused through it, and the way it moved like a living thing in the most gentle of breezes.

“Just like a canopy bed,” he told her with satisfaction.

“You know way too much about that,” she teased him.

“Actually,” he said, frowning at the fabric, “come to think of it, it doesn’t really look like a canopy bed. It looks like—”

He snatched up the hem of fabric and draped it over his shoulder. “It looks like a toga.”

She burst out laughing.

He struck a pose. “‘To be or not to be...’” he said.

“I don’t want to be a geek...” she began.

“Oh, go ahead—be a geek. It comes naturally to you.”

That stung, but even with it stinging, she couldn’t let To be or not to be go unchallenged. “‘To be or not to be’ is Shakespeare,” she told him. “Not Nero.”

“Well, hell,” he said, “that’s what makes it really hard for a dumb carpenter to go out with a smart girl.”

She stared at him. “Are we going out?” she whispered.

“No! I just was pointing out more evidence of our incompatibility.”

That stung even worse than being called a geek. “At least you got part of it right,” she told him.

“Which part? The geek part?”

“I am not a geek!”

He shook his head sadly.

“That line? ‘To be or not to be.’ It’s from a soliloquy in the play Hamlet. It’s from a scene in the nunnery.”

“The nunnery?” he said with satisfaction. “Don’t you have a fascination?”

“No! You think I have a fascination. You are incorrect, just as you are incorrect about me being a geek.”

“Yes, and being able to quote Shakespeare, chapter and verse, certainly made that point.”

She giggled, and unraveled the fabric from around him.

“Hey! Give me back my toga. I already told you I don’t wear underwear!

But it was her turn to play with the gauzy fabric. She inserted herself in the middle of it and twirled until she had made it into a long dress. Then she swathed some around her head, until only her eyes showed. Throwing inhibition to the wind, she swiveled her hips and did some things with her hands.

“Guess who I am?” she purred.

He frowned at her. “A bride?”

The thing he liked least!

“No, I’m not a bride,” she snapped.

“A hula girl!”

“No.”

“I give up. Stop doing that.”

“I’m Mata Hari.”

“Who? I asked you to stop.”

“Why?”

“It’s a little too sexy for the job site.”

“A perfect imitation of Mata Hari, then,” she said with glee. And she did not stop doing it. She was rather enjoying the look on his face.

“Who?”

“She was a spy. And a dancer.”

He burst out laughing as if that was the most improbable thing he had ever heard. “How well versed was she in her Shakespeare?”

“She didn’t have to be.” Becky began to do a slow writhe with her hips. He didn’t seem to think it was funny anymore.

In fact, the ease they had been enjoying—that sense of being a team and working together—evaporated.

He stepped back from her, as if he thought she was going to try kissing him again. She blushed.

“I have so much to do,” she squeaked, suddenly feeling silly, and at the very same time, not silly at all.

“Me, too,” he said.

But neither of them moved.

“Uh, boss, is this a bad time?”

Mata Hari dropped her veil with a little shriek of embarrassment.

“The guys were thinking maybe we could have a break? It’s f—”

Drew stopped his worker with a look.

“It’s flipping hot out here. We thought maybe we could go swimming and start again when it’s not so hot out.”

“Great idea,” Drew said. “We all need cooling off, particularly Mata Hari here. You coming swimming, Becky?”

She knew she should say no. She had to say no. She didn’t even have a proper bathing suit. Instead she unraveled herself from the yards of fabric, called, “Race you,” ran down to the water and flung herself in completely clothed.

Drew’s crew crashed into the water around her, following her lead and just jumping in in shorts and T-shirts. They played a raucous game of tag in the water, and she was fully included, though she was very aware of Drew sending out a silent warning that no lines were to be crossed. And none were. It was like having five brothers.

And wouldn’t that be the safest thing? Wasn’t that what she and Drew had vowed they were going to do? Hadn’t they both agreed they were going to retreat into a platonic relationship after the crazy-making sensation of those shared kisses?

What had she been thinking, playing Mata Hari? What kind of craziness was it that she wanted him to not see her exactly as she was: not a spy and dancer who could coax secrets out of unsuspecting men, but a book-loving girl from a small town in America?

* * *

After that frolic in the water, the J brothers included her as one of them. Over the next few days, whenever they broke from work to go swimming, one of them came and pounded on her office door and invited her to come.

Today, Josh knocked on the door.

“Swim time,” he said.

“I just can’t. I have to tie bows on two hundred chairs. And find a cool place to store three thousand potted lavender plants. And—”

Without a word, Josh came in, picked her up and tossed her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

“Stop it. This is my good dress!” She pounded on his back, but of course, with her laughing so hard, he did not take her seriously. She was carried, kicking and screaming and pounding on his back, to the water, where she was unceremoniously dumped in.

“Hey, what the hell are you doing?” Drew demanded, arriving at the water’s edge and fishing her out.

The fact that she was screaming with laughter had softened the protective look on his face.

Josh had lifted a big shoulder. “Boss, you said don’t take no for an answer.”

“No means no, boss,” she inserted, barely able to breathe she was laughing so hard.

Drew gave them both an exasperated look, and turned away. Then he turned back, picked her up, raced out into the surf and dumped her again!

She rose from the water sputtering, still holding on to his neck, both their bodies sleek with salt water, her good dress completely ruined.

Gazing into the mischief-filled face of Drew Jordan, Becky was not certain she had ever felt so completely happy.

CHAPTER TWELVE

AFTER THAT BECKY was “in.” She and the J’s and Drew became a family. They took their meals together and they played together. Becky soon discovered this crew worked hard, and they played harder.

At every break and after work, the football came out. Or the Frisbee. Both games were played with rough-and-tumble delight at the water’s edge. She wasn’t sure how they could have any energy left, but they did.

The first few times she played, the brothers howled hysterically at both her efforts to throw and catch balls and Frisbees. They good-naturedly nicknamed her Barnside.

“Barnside?” she protested. “That’s awful. I demand a new nickname. That is not flattering!”

“You have to earn a new nickname,” Jimmy informed her seriously.

“Time to go back to work,” Drew told them, after one coffee-break Frisbee session when poor Josh had to climb a palm tree to retrieve a Frisbee she’d thrown. He caught her arm as she turned to leave. “Not you.”

“What?” she said.

“Have you heard anything from Allie recently?” he asked.

“The last I heard from her was a few days ago, when she okayed potted lavender instead of tulips.” She scanned his face. “You still haven’t heard from Joe?”

He shrugged. “It’s no big deal.”

But she could tell it was. “I’m sorry.”

He obviously did not want to talk about his distress over his brother. Becky was aware that she felt disappointed. He was okay with their relationship—with being “friends” on a very light level.

Did he not trust her with his deeper issues?

Apparently not. Drew said, “It’s time you learned how to throw a Frisbee. I consider it an essential life skill.”

“How could I have missed that?” she asked drily. As much as she wanted to talk to him about his brother, having fun with him was just too tempting. Besides, maybe the lighthearted friendship growing between them would develop some depth, and some trust on his part, if she just gave it time.

“I’m not sure how you could have missed this important life skill,” he said, “but it’s time to lose ‘Barnside.’ They are calling you that because you could not hit the side of a barn with a Frisbee at twenty feet.”

“At twenty feet? I could!”

“No,” Drew informed her with a sad shake of his head, “you couldn’t. You’ve now tossed two Frisbees out to sea, and Josh risked his life to rescue the other one out of the palm tree today. We can’t be running out of Frisbees.”

“That would be a crisis,” she agreed, deadpan.

“I’m glad you understand the seriousness of it. Now, come here.”

He placed her in front of him. He gave her a Frisbee. “Don’t throw it. Not yet.”

He wrapped his arms around her from behind, drawing her back into the powerful support of his chest. He laid his arm along her arm. “It’s in the wrist, not the arm. Flick it, don’t pitch it.” He guided her throw.

Becky actually cackled with delight when it flew true, instead of her normal flub. Soon, he released her to try on her own, and then set up targets for her to throw at. The troubled look that had been on his face since he mentioned his brother evaporated.

Finally, he high-fived her, gave her a little kiss on the nose and headed back to his crew. She watched him go and then looked at the Frisbee in her hand.

How could such a small thing make it feel as if a whole new world was opening up to her? Of course, it wasn’t the Frisbee, it was him.

It was being with him and being with his crew.

It occurred to Becky she felt the sense of belonging she had craved since the disintegration of her own family. They were all becoming a team. Drew and his crew were a building machine. The pavilion went up, and they designed and began to build the dance floor. And Becky loved the moments when she and Drew found themselves alone. It was so easy to talk to each other.

The conversation flowed between them so easily. And the laughter.

The hands-off policy had been a good one, even if it was making the tension build almost unbearably between them. It was like going on a diet that had an end date. Not that they had named an end date, but some kind of anticipation was building between them.

And meanwhile, her admiration for him did nothing but grow. He was a natural leader. He was funny. He was smart. She found herself making all kinds of excuses to be around him. She was pretty sure he was doing the same thing to be around her.

The days flew by until there were only three days until the wedding. The details were falling into place seamlessly, not just for the wedding but for the week following. The pagoda and dance floor were done, the wedding gazebo was almost completed, though it still had to be painted.

Usually when she did an event, as the day grew closer her excitement grew, too. But this time she had mixed feelings. In a way, Becky wished the wedding would never come. She had never loved her life as much as she did right now.

Today she was at the helipad looking at the latest shipment of goods. Again, there was a sense of things falling into place: candles in a large box, glass vases for the centerpieces made up of single white roses. She made a note as she instructed the staff member who had been assigned to help her where to put the boxes. Candles would need to be unwrapped and put in candle holders, glass vases cleaned to sparkling. The flowers—accompanied by their own florist—would arrive the evening before the wedding to guarantee freshness.

Then one large, rectangular box with a designer name on it caught her eye. It was the wedding dress. She had not been expecting it. She had assumed it would arrive with Allie.

And yet it made sense that it would need to be hung.

Becky plucked it from all the other boxes and, with some last-minute instructions, walked back to the castle with it. She brought it up to the suite that Allie would inhabit by herself the day before the wedding, and with her new husband after that.

The suite was amazing, so softly romantic it took Becky’s breath away. She had a checklist for this room, too. It would be fully supplied with very expensive toiletries, plus fresh flowers would abound. She had chosen the linens from the castle supply room herself.

Becky set the box on the bed. A sticker in red caught her eye. They were instructions stating that the dress should be unpacked, taken out of its plastic protective bag and hung immediately upon arrival. And so Becky opened the box and lifted it out. She unzipped the bag, and carefully lifted the dress out.

Her hands gathered up a sea of white foam. The fabric was silk, so sensuous under her fingertips that Becky could feel the enchantment sewn right into the dress. There was a tall coatrack next to the mirror, and Becky hung the silk-wrapped hanger on a peg and stood back from it.

She could not believe what she was seeing. That long-ago dress that Allie had drawn and given to her, that drawing still living in the back of Becky’s dresser drawer, had been brought to life.

The moment was enough to make a girl who had given up on magic believe in it all over again.

Except that’s not what it did. Looking at the dress made Becky feel as though she was being stabbed with the shards of her own broken dreams. The dress shimmered with a future she had been robbed of. In every winking pearl, there seemed to be a promise: of someone to share life with, of laughter, of companionship, of passion, of “many babies,” fat babies chortling and clapping their hands with glee.

Becky shook herself, as if she was trying to break free of the spell the dress was weaving around her. She wanted to tell herself that she was wrong. That this was not the dress that Allie had drawn on that afternoon of girlish delight all those years ago, not the drawing she had handed to her and said, This is your wedding dress.

But she still had that drawing. She had studied it too often now not to know every line of that breathtakingly romantic dress. She had dreamed of herself walking down the aisle in that dress one too many times. There was simply no mistaking which dress it was. Surely, Allie was not being deliberately cruel?

No, Allie had not kept a drawing of the dress. She had given the only existing drawing to Becky. Allie must have remembered it at a subliminal level. Why wouldn’t she? The dress was exactly what every single girl dreamed of having one day.

But Becky still felt the tiniest niggle of doubt. What if Drew’s cynicism was not misplaced? What if his brother was making a mistake? What if this whole wedding was some kind of publicity stunt orchestrated by Allie? The timing was perfect: Allie was just finishing filming one movie, and another was going to be released in theaters within weeks.

With trembling hands, Becky touched the fabric of the dress one more time. Then she turned and scurried from the room. She felt as if she was going to burst into tears, as if her every secret hope and dream had been shoved into her face and mocked. And then she bumped right into Drew and did what she least wanted to do. She burst into tears.

* * *

“Hey!” Drew eased Becky away from him. She was crying! If there was something worse than her laughing and being joyful and carefree, it was this. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” she said. “I’m just tired. There’s so much to do and—”

But he could tell she wasn’t just tired. And from working with her for the past week, he could tell there was hardly anything she liked more than having a lot to do. Her strength was organizing, putting her formidable mind to problems that needed to be solved. No, something had upset her. How had he come to be able to read Becky English so accurately?

She was swiping at those tears, lifting her chin to him with fierce pride, backing away from a shoulder to cry on.

The wisest thing would be to let her. Let her go her own way and have a good cry about whatever, and not involve himself any more than he already had.

Who was he kidding? Just himself. He’d noticed his crew sending him sideways looks every time she was around. He’d noticed Tandu putting them together. He was already involved. Spending the past days with her had cemented that.

“You want to be upset together?” he asked her.

“I told you I’m not upset.”

“Uh-huh.”

“What are you upset about?”

He lifted a shoulder. “You’re not telling, I’m not telling.”

“Fine.”

“Tandu asked me to give you this.”

“How could Tandu have possibly known you were going to bump into me?” Becky asked, taking the paper from him.

“I don’t know. The man’s spooky. He seems to know things.”

Becky squinted at the paper. “Sheesh.”

“What?”

“It’s a map. He promised it to me over a week ago. Apparently there’s a waterfall that would make a great backdrop for wedding pictures. Can you figure out this drawing?”

She handed the map back to him. It looked like a child’s map for a pirate’s treasure. Drew looked at a big arrow, and the words, Be careful this rock. Do not fall in water, please.

“I’ll come with you,” he decided.

“Thank you,” she said. “That’s unnecessary.” She snatched the map back and looked at it. “Which way is north?”

“I’ll come.”

The fight went out of her. “Do you ever get tired of being the big brother?”

He thought of how tired he was of leaving Joe messages to call him. He looked at her lips. He thought of how tired he was getting of this friendship between them.

“Suck it up, buttercup,” he muttered to himself.

She sighed heavily. “If you have a fault, do you know what it is?”

“Please don’t break it to me that I have a fault. Not right now.”

“What happened?”

“I said I’m not talking about it, if you’re not talking about it.”

“Your fault is that you don’t answer questions.”

“Your fault is—” What was he going to say? Her fault was that she made him think the kind of thoughts he had vowed he was never going to think? “Never mind. Let’s go find that waterfall.”

* * *

“I don’t know,” Becky said dubiously, after they had been walking twenty minutes. “This seems like kind of a tough walk at any time. I’m in a T-shirt and shorts and I’m overheating. What would it be like in a wedding dress?”

Drew glanced at her. Had she flinched when she said wedding dress?

“Maybe her royal highness, the princess Allie is expecting to be delivered to her photo op on a litter carried by two manservants,” Drew grumbled. “I hope I’m not going to be one of them.”

Becky laughed and took the hand he held back to her to help her scramble over a large boulder.

“Technically, that would be a sedan chair,” she said, puffing.

“Huh?”

“A seat that two manservants can carry is sedan chair. Anything bigger is a litter.”

He contemplated her. “How do you know this stuff?” he asked.

“That’s what a lifetime of reading gets you, a brain teeming with useless information.” She contemplated the rock. “Maybe we should just stop here. There’s no way Allie can scramble over this rock in a wedding dress.”

He contemplated the map. “I think it’s only a few more steps. I’m pretty sure I can hear the falls. We might as well see it, even if Allie never will.”

And he was right. Only a few steps more and they pushed their way through a gateway of heavy leaves, as big and as wrinkled as elephant ears, and stood in an enchanted grotto.

“Oh, my,” Becky breathed.

A frothing fountain of water poured over a twenty-foot cliff and dropped into a pool of pure green water. The pond was surrounded on all sides by lush green ferns and flowers. A large flat rock jutted out into the middle of it, like a platform.

“Perfect for pictures,” she thought out loud. “But how are we going to get them here?”

“Wow,” Drew said, apparently not the least bit interested in pictures. In a blink, he had stripped off his shirt and dived into the pond. He surfaced and shook his head. Diamonds of water flew. “It’s wonderful,” he called over the roar of the falls. “Get in.”

Once again, there was the small problem of not having bathing attire.

And once again, she was caught in the spell of the island. She didn’t care that she didn’t have a bathing suit. She wanted to be unencumbered, not just by clothing, but by every single thought that had ever held her prisoner.

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