The Wedding Must Go 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 senior 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 turned 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.’

Nate smothered a wince. The woman had it wrong. Roxy wasn’t Emma. There was no Emma and wouldn’t be for a very long while, if he could help it.

The woman looked between the uncertain two, then slanted her head. ‘Is there something wrong with the gown, dear?’

‘Oh, no,’ Roxy said. ‘I love it. More than any gown ever. The satin’s as soft as rose petals. Every line is exquisite. It’s just that this dress is—’

‘Beautiful,’ Nate cut in when he knew he ought to have let her finish and set the misunderstanding straight. But the dress was stunning, he thought again, drinking in those satiny curves and falls, whether Marla ended up wearing it or not.

When Roxy’s slow smile said she appreciated his compliment, a kernel of heat bloomed in his chest, a sensation he enjoyed as much as he spurned. Then she turned and admitted to the woman, ‘But I’m not this man’s fiancée.’

The woman blinked. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘I own this salon. I’m Roxanne Trammel.’

The woman absorbed the news and, nodding absently, introduced herself as Ava Morris before her focus swung to Nate. ‘Where’s your bride-to-be? Nothing’s wrong, I hope.’

Nate scrubbed his jaw. He’d only meant to help—to give Roxy a hand up with a potential sale. But duplicity, well intended or not, had caught up. Nothing for it but to face the music.

‘Actually,’ he began, ‘my fiancée’s—’

‘Out back,’ Roxy said, cutting in. ‘Emma’s choosing accessories.’

Mrs Morris held her stomach and breathed out over a relieved smile. ‘Well, that was quick!’

‘Happens like that sometimes,’ Roxy said, slipping Nate a ‘you owe me’ look.

A call from the dressing room. ‘Can someone help with this?’

Picking up her skirts, Roxy went to hurry off but Mrs Morris put up a hand.

‘I’ll help Violet. You see to your other matter.’

Mrs Morris rushed away while, sheepish, Nate tugged his ear. ‘Sorry about the Emma thing.’

‘You shouldn’t have lied. I in no way condone it.’ Roxy’s expression lightened a smidge. ‘But I do appreciate you trying to help. I didn’t need to embarrass you.’

As he’d embarrassed her that night?

But she didn’t look half as ticked off as she had a moment ago. In fact, her eyes were almost smiling, somehow reaching out. And he liked the positive change. Liked it way too much.

Nate cleared his throat and hauled himself back. ‘We’ll need to see each other again. To discuss the Marla-Greg plan,’ he clarified quickly.

‘I’ll give you my email address.’ She cut across the counter and slipped a business card from a holder. ‘Why don’t you send over your ideas for Greg and Marla? I’ll be with Violet for a while yet hopefully.’

‘I’d rather toss around ideas face to face.’

‘I don’t know what time I’ll be free.’

‘I could hang around. Help out some more. Maybe do some zip repairs.’ His weak smile faded and he tucked in his chin. ‘I really am sorry about that.’

She tried to hold her scowl. ‘Guess you can’t help if you’re too strong for your own good.’

‘I should have taken more time.’ Thought ahead.

Hell, maybe he shouldn’t have come at all. But he believed in Greg and couldn’t abandon him. He believed in their business too, and he definitely wouldn’t abandon that. There seemed no other way around this bind, and to pull this make-up plan off he needed help. He needed Roxy.

Looking radiant beneath the lights, she offered over the card, but Nate found his attention drawn instead to the side of her throat where a tiny pulse popped. Strange, but at this moment he seemed to feel that heartbeat as well as he felt his own. Steady. Deep.

Hot.

When she tipped closer, still offering the card, Nate extended a hand and accepted. He hadn’t meant for his fingers to linger, to stretch that bit further and brush over hers. And in that instant he saw the pulse in her throat beat faster and her gaze grow heavy while his dropped to her glossy parted lips.

Time and again, he’d wondered what would’ve happened if he’d stayed that night six months ago. What principle of physics decreed that he would share his father’s fate, as well as his grandfather’s, and back on down the line? But as he continued to drink in Roxy’s curious gaze the world fell away and a series of snapshots flashed through his mind…

His parents on their wedding day, two months after they’d met. His grandfather and grandmother in tails and lacy veil six weeks on the heels of a first date. If ever he mentioned the myth, his father would simply shrug. When a Sparks man found the right woman—the one who left his senses reeling and blood crashing like giant rollers on a shore—nothing else mattered. He might as well surrender. The toll of wedding bells was imminent. Marriage and domesticity a foregone. So, it would seem, was lack of personal growth and motivation for building security for one’s future.

After marrying, his father had given up his dream of finishing medical school and becoming a surgeon. Instead he’d taken a job as a hospital wardsman, which meant less income to support the five kids that came along but more time to spend with his beloved wife, the only thing in his life that seemed to matter. Not always as romantic as it might sound.

Nate couldn’t forget the weeks his mother had spent convalescing after a car accident when he was twelve. The children had needed leadership, strength, hope. Instead, their father had stopped eating, stopped communicating. He’d all but pined away for love. Or the time his father had had the chance to return to his education but had decided to support his wife’s dream of becoming a renowned painter when, hell, they could barely afford to feed themselves, let alone buy art materials and exhibition space.

Similar stories of Sparks men and their women had survived … hasty marriages followed by a lifetime of Byronic devotion. Was it genetics or a curse? Of course it could all be coincidence.

It was only when Nate realized his other palm had curled around the satin cinching her waist—when Roxy trembled and his head dropped deliberately over hers—that he knew the truth.

Coincidence had nothing to do with it.

He should have run while he could.

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