Can't Buy Me Love (2 page)

“Lydia? Yes, she's the bridesmaid.”

“Well then, we need to get a couple of shots of the two of you—bride and bridesmaid as well as future sisters.”

What did she know about the photo list? “I suppose that would be okay.”

Nick followed, waiting while Lydia finished her conversation and turned toward them, leaning to give Bellamy a hug.

Click.

Since when was her backside considered an attractive photo op?

“The photographer your parents hired for the party—” Bellamy stepped away from Lydia. “—wanted to get a photo of the two of us.”

But Nick was already taking pictures, his camera whirring.

The smile on Lydia's face faded as she advanced upon the man. Even as Nick stumbled backward, he kept taking photos.

“Hey!” Lydia's hands went up in front of her face. “What do you think you're doing?”

Within seconds, a tall man with a dark crew cut appeared behind Nick. Placing a beefy hand on his shoulder, he stopped the photographer's retreat.

“I'll take that camera.” Crew Cut's voice was a growl. “Now.”

The photographer tried to shrug out of the other man's grasp—and failed. His hair fell forward across his eyes. “Are you kidding me? I'm not giving you my camera! Do you know how much a photo of Lincoln Webster's wife is worth?”

Lydia yanked the camera from his hands as Crew Cut removed the strap from around his neck. “It's bad enough you parasites hound me and my husband on the street. This is a private party—”

“Everybody has a price, baby.” The photographer's smile morphed to a sneer.

“Well, I hope you can manage without a paycheck.”

With a few quick motions, Lydia deleted all the photographs on the card and the camera's internal hard drive.

“Hey! I had other pictures on there—”

“Too bad.” Lydia tossed the camera into the air, not even watching to see if the man caught it before turning away. “Eli, show the man out—but first, make sure you check his pockets for anything he may have stolen.”

A small crowd had gathered while Lydia took on the imposter photographer. People moved aside as Eli—and just who was he?—none too gently led him away.

“I'm so sorry.” Bellamy tried to figure out how many different ways she could apologize. “I didn't know . . . he said he was the photographer—”

“He's just another person who thinks he has every right to make his living off me—because I'm married to Linc.” Lydia paused, shaking her head, causing her chandelier earrings to sway. “And here comes the cavalry.”

Reid and his father, followed by Bellamy's father and two of her brothers, made their way past the murmuring crowd. Mr. Stanton spoke first.

“What is going on?”

“Nothing Eli couldn't handle, Daddy.” Lydia patted his arm and pressed a brief kiss to his cheek. “And before you ask, yes, I will stop fussing about the security guard that Linc insisted on hiring.”

Eli was Lydia's security guard?

“Are you okay?” As Reid placed an arm around her shoulders, the scent of his understated cologne wrapped around her.

“I'm fine.” She relished the warmth of his solid embrace. “I can't believe I was that naïve.”

“There was no way you could know he wasn't the family photographer.” He clasped her hand, his thumb rubbing a gentle circle on the back of her hand. “I didn't mention that Francine Frey has taken our family's photos for years. She photographed Lydia's wedding last year.”

A personal photographer. Mrs. Stanton had a personal chef. And a chauffeur. Mr. Stanton had a private pilot to fly his personal plane. Her whirlwind romance with Reid kept bringing her back to these questions: How long would it take
for her to fit into the Stantons' lifestyle? What other mistakes would she make before she did?

She allowed Reid to lead her away, waving off her brothers and father. Let them talk to Lydia. She didn't want to handle the barrage of questions that was sure to come either now or later. She'd take later—much later. Or somehow manage to avoid it all.

• • • 

A few more miles and they'd be at Bellamy's—well, at her parents'. Reid couldn't hold back the smile that tugged at his lips whenever he thought of Bellamy living over her parents' garage—it was so old-fashioned. Bellamy said it was a great way to save money, but readily confessed that somehow her savings account never quite grew the way she anticipated.

“All in all, the engagement party went well.”

Bellamy remained quiet, her eyes closed, her head resting back against the seat of his car, her long curls wilted around her shoulders. Was she asleep?

Then she half turned to face him, her face hidden in the shifting light and shadow of the moving automobile.

“I'm sorry about what happened—”

“Bellamy.” He covered her hands with one of his, his palm brushing against her engagement ring. “You've apologized to me. To Lydia. To Francine. To my parents—and to anyone else you could think of. It wasn't your fault.”

“I just feel so stupid.”

“No more apologies. It was a small part—a very small part—of our celebration. I had a wonderful time showing you off to my friends and colleagues.”

“Showing me off—right.” Even as she shrugged off his comment, her fingers tightened around his.

“I meant what I said about showing you off. You're lovely. Charming.” The tires spit out loose gravel as he turned the car onto the unpaved road leading to the Hillmans' house, causing Reid to decrease his speed. Then he lifted her hand to his lips, kissing her fingertips adorned with those unexpected red nails. “You had everyone laughing while we were opening presents. You were gracious. People now know several reasons why I am marrying you.”

“Because I make you laugh.”

“There is that. For the past few years, I've been so focused on work it's as if I'd forgotten how to have fun. You've reminded me to slow down and make time for the good things in life.” Reid parked the car alongside the garage, turning the engine off. Leaning toward her, he caressed the side of her face with the back of his hand. “Think one of your parents would come out and check on us if we do a little passionate necking in the car?”

“Reid Stanton! You are a grown man!”

“Exactly—a grown man engaged to a very beautiful woman whom I haven't kissed once today.”

“That is not true. You kissed me when you picked me up.”

“I did? That was hours ago. You're going to have to remind me.” He curved his hand around her neck and urged her closer.

“Reid—” Bellamy pressed her hand against his chest, as if she was fending off his advances.

“Kiss me first. We can talk later.”

Her kiss ignited a delicious burn inside him. Her lips were soft against his, flavored with a faint tart taste of lemon and sugar from the dessert Bellamy had indulged in. Kissing his wife-to-be was his own sweet indulgence, and he shifted, tightening his arms around her and weaving his fingers through her hair.

A few seconds later, she broke away, burying her face in his neck. “Stop. Be good now.”

“I was trying to do just that—” He tried to capture her lips again for another kiss, but she eluded him, turning her face away, her hand clasping the lapel of his jacket.

“You want to tell me what that sigh was for, Belle-love?”

Her voice was low. “I hope your parents were happy with how today went.”

“You do not have to worry about my parents. You were nervous before we even drove past the gate guard at Kissing Camels. You'd think that guy was going to interrogate you.”

“I don't think your father approves of me—”

“Of course he does.” Reid tucked a strand of hair behind her ear—the same curl she'd tucked behind her ear again and again during the day. “Besides, I'm a grown man, you know. I don't need my father's approval to marry you.”

Another sigh, but Bellamy let the issue drop. “Walk me to my door, please?”

“If I must.” When she looked at him again, he traced the outline of her mouth with the pad of his thumb. “Will you promise me another good-night kiss?”

“If I must.” She slid out of the passenger seat, tossing him a saucy grin over her shoulder.

He tucked her hand inside his, navigating the narrow wooden steps leading to the quaint carriage house apartment above her parents' garage.

“Only three months.” Reid admired Bellamy's silhouette framed by the porch light.

“Yes—and still so much to do.”

“You've got your dress. I've got my tux. What more do we need?”

“For a Stanton wedding in Manhattan? Are you kidding me?” She paused and looked back over her shoulder. “I just ordered the wedding invitations, but I still need to get the envelopes to the calligrapher. Your mother mentioned today she wants a formal portrait of me in my wedding gown. We need to decide on gifts for our attendants. And we need to think about the wedding cake—”

Reid stopped halfway up the stairs. “Bellamy.”

“What?”

“It's late. You're tired. I'm tired. We are not talking about the wedding tonight—unless you want to tell me your favorite gift from today.” Reid continued his way up the stairs. “Thanks to my mother agreeing to keep the presents at their house until after the wedding, I have only one thing left to do tonight.”

“And that is?”

“Kiss you good night again.”

“Sounds perfect.”

Standing two steps below the landing just outside her door, Reid slipped his arms around Bellamy and pulled her close. Perhaps he could entice more than one good-night kiss from his fiancée. “I love you. We're good together.”

“I love you, too, Reid.”

Just as he was about to kiss her again, Reid stopped. “Oh, one more thing—”

Bellamy rested her head against his shoulder. “I thought we were only kissing good night.”

“I did say that, didn't I? But I promised my mother I would remind you about the charity auction in November.”

“The charity auction?”

“To benefit the children's hospital, remember? She heads up the committee and the entire family attends—we sit at a table front and center and have fun bidding on items.”

Bellamy leaned back so she could look into his eyes. “I remember now. It's early in November, right?”

“Yes. Another chance to dress up. I'll be wearing a tux—kind of a preview of our wedding day.”

“Wonderful—but you don't want to see my wedding dress.”

“Nope. It's tradition. But no matter what you're wearing, you'll be the most beautiful and gracious woman there.”

The memory of Bellamy's kisses lingered as Reid drove home.

How ironic that he'd found his future wife covered in dog hair—after he'd agreed to pick up Wiley, his mother's much-loved mutt, from his weekly bath. Bellamy's hazel eyes and welcoming smile had him volunteering to both drop off Wiley
and
pick him up the next week. And then he'd shown up the next day—without a dog on the leash—and invited Bellamy out for coffee after work. And she'd said no.

“No?” Reid's skin warmed, a sure sign he was blushing like a middle-schooler—a family trait he couldn't conquer even at almost thirty. He struggled to find a way to back out of the veterinary clinic—to retreat to the shelter of his car—and then call his mother and tell her that she could take her mangy mutt to the groomer herself.

“I mean, I'd love to have coffee with you.” Bellamy's smile appeared again as she reached out her hand across the counter that separated them, as if sensing his desire to escape. “But I, um, have to clean the kennels in the back first. You don't want to wait around while I do that.” She motioned to his pressed pants and button-down dress shirt. “It'll take me a couple of hours.”

“I could help—”

His offer sparked a quick laugh that held the sound of wind chimes—but somehow he knew she wasn't laughing at him. “I can't let you help me clean animal kennels! What kind of woman do you think I am?”

The word “intriguing” crossed his mind, but he didn't tell her—not that night, anyway. “Well, how about if I find something to do and come pick you up and take you to dinner once you're done here?”

“You're serious . . .” Her eyes glinted like rare emeralds.

“Yes, I am.”

“All right, then. Dinner it is.”

“What's your preference?”

“Surprise me. I like surprises.”

“Me, too.” And he did—particularly ones with long black hair and eyes framed by thick black lashes. And a musical laugh that reminded him how he'd forgotten to laugh. And smile.

Their relationship had moved fast—a whirlwind romance to be sure—with him proposing and her saying yes as he slipped an heirloom diamond ring on her finger three months after they met.

Bellamy restored his belief in love—and in himself. Something he'd lost and feared he'd never regain. In a few short months, he'd reclaim his parents' trust—and then he and Bellamy would be married. Life would be everything he'd ever hoped it would be. And more.

THREE

H
ow had she lost two hours looking at Pinterest?

Bellamy pressed her fingertips to her eyes, releasing a soft groan that turned into a yawn. One in the morning—and she had to be at work at eight.

Reid's last enticing kiss, with a whispered “sweet dreams,” happened at ten thirty. She'd changed into her pajamas, flipped open her laptop for a quick check of her email, and then Facebook . . . and then wandered over to her Pinterest boards.

First stop, of course, was the
Destination Wedding Gowns
board overflowing with dresses. Long gowns. Tea-length gowns. Ivory gowns. White gowns. Romantic. Outrageous. This board had given her the courage to stand up to her mother's and sisters' suggestion that she use one of their wedding gowns.

“Why waste money on a new dress when there are three perfectly good dresses you can choose from?”

“Three?” Math wasn't her forte, but even Bellamy knew only two of her three sisters were married. “Brooke's not married yet. She's not even dating anyone right now.”

“Three counting mine, of course.” Her mother almost seemed to bounce up and down on the couch. “Your sisters and I've already talked about it, and we've agreed you can alter the dresses if you want to—make one of them your own.”

Of course they'd already discussed it—without including her. They only meant to surprise her, not exclude her. But she wanted to make her own decisions about her wedding. And she wanted a brand-new, never-been-worn wedding gown, not a hand-me-down. She'd tolerated Hillman hand-me-downs all through her life, but not on her wedding day.

An image of the wedding gown she'd purchased served as the central photo for her
Destination Wedding Dresses
board. Of course, that photograph was the designer original and she'd purchased an off-the-rack imitation. Even so, she couldn't resist the still-strong allure of the other dresses she'd pinned to her board. She had another whole board devoted to shoes. And another for hairstyles—but which updo did she want for her wedding day? Soon she and Reid would have to settle on a wedding cake design and flavor—and what if he wanted a groom's cake? Thanks to yet another Pinterest board, she had plenty of suggestions.

And somehow daydreaming always pulled her into another world of maybes and possibilities. So far her splurges had been careful ones. A calligrapher to address their invitations. An ice sculpture at the reception. And she'd ordered a dress to slip into halfway through the reception, something fun for dancing and for when she and Reid left for their honeymoon. Her bouquet . . . well, that was going to be distinctive—if she could pull it off.

One click and there was the
Brooch Bridal Bouquet
board. Bouquets made solely of brooches. Bouquets of brooches mixed with real flowers or silk flowers. Multicolored bouquets. Monochromatic bouquets. And the video tutorials that had started her daydreaming about designing her own one-of-a-kind jeweled bouquet.

She hadn't expected that her NaNa's heart-shaped faux-diamond brooch would inspire her wedding bouquet. She'd come across it tucked away in her jewelry box, and remembered seeing the brooch bouquets on Pinterest—and all thoughts of a traditional floral bouquet evaporated.

The box of brooches she'd gathered seemed to call “Come and browse”
to her from her bedroom, but Bellamy resisted. If she started sorting through the brooches she'd been given at the engagement party, as well as the ones she'd found at garage sales and little shops in Old Colorado and Manitou, she'd truly be up all night. Of course, she could crawl into bed and let visions of baubles dance in her head, imagining possible ways to arrange and rearrange the jewelry.

Bellamy yawned again, but even another glance at the clock in her kitchenette couldn't stop her from taking one last look at the board of wedding gowns she'd pinned after Reid had proposed. Vintage gowns. Feathery gowns. Princess gowns. Avant-garde gowns.

Bellamy clicked off the webpage. Yes, she was still content with her dress—and the fact that no one else had worn it before her. The style was perfect—but it also symbolized standing her ground against an onslaught of motherly and sisterly persuasion. She'd resisted all the opinions thrown at her by her mother and sisters. Hairstylist Bridget suggested styles with feathers and outlandish embellishments. Still-single Brooke, too busy with her career as a sign language interpreter, veered toward Grecian styles. And even new mom Bailee, who'd cut back on her hours as an audiologist, steered Bellamy toward flowing princess gowns.

But wearing the dress she'd chosen, she felt feminine and beautiful—like a bride. Just like all those smiling, teary-eyed women on
Say Yes to the Dress
seemed to feel when they chose their gowns. With the gown's understated, elegant lines and the glamorous details on the back, Bellamy had imagined herself walking down the aisle toward Reid as a perfect Manhattan destination bride.

On a whim, Bellamy Googled “Lydia Stanton and Lincoln Webster wedding.” She'd started dating Reid months after his sister had gotten married, and had only faint memories of reading about the international event. Within seconds, a gazillion links appeared, the top one taking her to
People
magazine's coverage of the event. One more click, and an image of Lincoln Webster and Lydia exiting the small country church in England appeared on the screen. Lydia was resplendent in a white satin gown with a gathered front. Another photo revealed the jeweled halter back, the dress's train cascading onto the stone steps behind her.

White satin. A full flowing skirt. Understated from the front, the true beauty of the gown was the jeweled embellishment on the haltered back.

No.

Bellamy gasped, blinking her eyes. Once. Twice. But the image remained the same.

What was Lydia doing wearing her wedding dress?