Can't Buy Me Love (4 page)

And with those words, Bellamy liked Samantha Tate—understood her. She knew all about making choices that landed you in a mess. And wanting someone to rescue you—not remind you of all the other impulsive choices you'd made that had been wrong, wrong, wrong. Like the time she was in middle school and went to a slumber party and tried a henna tattoo—and ended up with a horrific allergic reaction all over her hand.

“If you don't like it—say so.” Amanda's voice interrupted Bellamy's unwelcome memory. “But if you do—and you decide to purchase it—then you're happy and Samantha's happy.”

The least she could do was try the gown on.

“It's my size?”

“Yes. You're both tall and thin. And it's not blush.” Amanda offered her a knowing smile in the mirror. “Who knows? Samantha may have ordered this dress for you. God works in mysterious ways sometimes.”

Samantha exited the dressing room, and within moments Bellamy faced away from the mirror again as Amanda slipped the dress over her head. Arranged it over her shoulders. Zipped the back. Without saying a word, she positioned Bellamy to face her reflection.

“Well? What do you think?”

Something akin to electricity thrummed through Bellamy's veins even as the air seemed to still around her. The dress seemed to cast a soft glow on her skin, and her eyes were a deeper, more mysterious shade of green.

Where the first dress hinted at pink, this one shimmered golden, the satin underskirt covered by a layer of delicate tulle adorned with hundreds of tiny crystals that sparkled whenever Bellamy moved. When she half turned, the off-the-shoulder neckline dropped down her back—but not so far as to be suggestive or immodest.

“It's . . .” Amanda's voice didn't disturb the spell cast by the dress.

“Magic . . .” Bellamy whispered the word.

“I was going to say ‘superb.' ” Amanda knelt and swirled the skirt out behind Bellamy. “But you're right—the dress is magical. On you.”

Bellamy closed her eyes. Opened them again. Was she seeing something that wasn't really there because she wanted to?

“Let's go ask my maid of honor what she thinks.”

“Wait.” Amanda stepped in front of the door. “Let me add a few touches before we show her the gown.”

Amanda slipped from the room, leaving Bellamy alone with her reflection. She closed her eyes. Waited. Opened them. The beauty of the dress remained. If possible, the electricity pulsed stronger.

This
was her wedding dress. Nothing Elisabeth might say—or not say—would talk her out of buying this dress.

Amanda reappeared and, within moments, had fashioned Bellamy's hair into a loose bun against the nape of her neck. Then she added a pair of sparkly drop earrings and a jeweled clip in her hair.

“I'm not certain if you want a veil, but this gives you a more polished look.” She presented a shoe box. “The dress is a little long, so I guessed your shoe size and brought these. Of course, we could order some to match the gold color of the dress.”

Bellamy slipped on the low heels adorned with jewels on the back. “They're a little snug, but even so, I feel like Cinderella . . .”

“And now you're ready to show your maid of honor.”

Once again, Amanda let Bellamy lead the way to the front of the salon, where not only Elisabeth waited, but also Samantha and her friends. Silence reigned as Bellamy stood in front of the tall bank of mirrors.

“Belle . . . wow.” Elisabeth exhaled her name and then covered her mouth with her hand, muffling her “wow.”

Now that they were outside the small dressing room, the crystals seemed to illuminate the dress even more. Bellamy's eyes mirrored their sparkle. With her hair and makeup done just right, she would walk through a gauntlet of photographers and right past Reid's parents and not even notice if his father smiled at her.

Samantha—the rightful owner of the dress—wore a pair of black yoga pants and a long-sleeved wrap top. Maybe her slender figure came from working out instead of family genes like Bellamy's. One of her friends leaned over and whispered something to her, causing her to shake her head without looking away from Bellamy.

What was going on? Did she want the dress after all? How could Bellamy go back to the samples now that she'd worn something this perfect? Bellamy traced the neckline of the dress with her fingers. But how much did a dress like this cost?

Time to let go of the fairy tale.

Seconds later, Samantha surprised her with a hug, engulfing her with the heady mixture of perfume and hair spray. “I hate to say it, but seeing you in that gown is even more proof it's all wrong for me.” She released her, shaking her head even as she grinned. “It's amazing on you. If you want it, the saleswoman said we could work something out.”

“
If
I want it?” Bellamy embraced the stranger-turned-fairy-godmother. “It's . . . it's . . . fantastical!”

“But don't you want to ask how much it costs?” Elisabeth's query intruded on Bellamy's dream-come-true moment.

“It doesn't matter—this is my dress!” Bellamy gathered the soft, sparkling material in her hands and did a twirl in front of the mirror. “Besides, how much can it be?”

FIVE

H
e managed numbers—money—for other people all the time. But if his clients knew how many times Reid Stanton, CPA, counted down the days to his thirtieth birthday, they'd laugh in his face—and request someone else to manage their accounts.

December first was his long-awaited financial emancipation day. Freedom from the conditions of his parents' trust fund. And maybe, if God answered his most prayed-for request, they'd finally acknowledge he was a responsible adult.

The clang of metal on metal brought Reid back to the present. Lady Antebellum crooned low on the radio. Automotive oil and exhaust fumes mixed with the chilly Colorado night air wafting into the garage bay. The cement wall pressed against his back.

Reid swallowed some of his still-cold cream soda as he refocused his attention on his best friend. “Did you say something?”

“I told you twice we're all good here.” Garrett motioned to the Audi's engine. “Your car is good to go.”

“Great.” Reid pushed away from the wall, dusting his hands on the front of his jeans. “Thanks for tuning it up—and don't give me such a huge discount this time, got it?”

“Hey, friends give friends discounts.” Garrett pulled a cloth from the back pocket of his dark blue coveralls and wiped some grease from his hands.

“And friends pay for work well done.”

“You've sent me so many customers, I shouldn't charge you at all.”

“It's great to be able to recommend a good mechanic—and a trustworthy one.”

Garrett shut the hood with a soft thud, then retrieved a bottle of water from a small fridge in the back corner of the garage.

“So what's on your mind?”

Reid chose to dodge the question. “Did I say something's on my mind?”

“You don't have to. I've known you since college.” Garrett wiped the back of his hand on the bandanna tied across his forehead. “When you get quiet—really quiet—something's bothering you. What's up?”

Reid stared at the darkness lurking outside the garage. “Nothing's bothering me.”

Garrett cracked a laugh. “Usually when I'm working on your car, you're breathing down my neck, asking, ‘What's that?' and ‘Can I help?' ”

“Is it my fault my father didn't believe in teaching his kids about cars?”

“Hey, I told you, anytime you want to come over and tear apart an old car, I'm good with that.” Garrett emptied half the bottle of water. “So, what's on your mind? You nervous about getting married?”

“No—I can't wait until the wedding. I wish it were tomorrow instead of the end of December. But that, of course, is not the Stanton way.” Reid retrieved a second bottle of cream soda from the fridge, offering Garrett a nod of thanks. “Do you realize I turn thirty on December first?”

“Hey, no big deal. We all hit the big three-oh sometime—”

“
Thirty
. That means my parents lift the conditions of the trust.”

Garrett let out a soft, slow whistle. “And you become a very wealthy man.”

“It's not that.” Reid shrugged. “Okay, sure, I get that I inherit a lot of money one day. And once the restrictions on the trust are lifted, I have access to my account without some white-haired trustee in a suit controlling how much I get or how I choose to use the money.”

“My point exactly.”

“No—that's not the point.” Reid paced the front of the garage. “The point is for my parents to finally see me as an adult. To realize I can handle money without making a huge mistake—without them worrying that I'm going to embarrass them or drag the family name through the mud or . . . or whatever they've been worrying about for the past ten years.”

“I'm sure your parents trust you—”

“If they had faith in me then they wouldn't have limited the trust, would they? And they altered Lydia's trust, too, so she has to wait until she's thirty instead of twenty-five—and she didn't even do anything stupid like I did!”

“I didn't realize they'd restricted Lydia's trust, too—”

“Yes, same conditions as me. Although I'm going to request they change it for her. I don't know if it will make any difference, but I can ask.” Reid resumed pacing. “Why should she have to suffer because of my mistakes? I've spent the past ten years worried I'd mess up somehow and my parents would alter the conditions of the trust again.”

“Bellamy knows all about the trust fund, right? And the reason for it?”

“Are you kidding me? Do you think I'm going to tell my fiancée that my parents set up a trust fund because they were worried I was going to blow all their hard-earned wealth? Because I made a stupid mistake ten years ago? That's ancient history—it doesn't involve Bellamy. By the time we get married, the trust's restrictions will have expired.”

“If you say so, man.” Garrett mock-saluted him with a tip of the water bottle. “Although I think honesty is the best policy. The past has a tendency of coming back at the worst possible moments.”

“That part of my past has nothing to do with my future with Bellamy. If it did, I'd tell her. Now let's finish up here so I can pay you and get home, okay?”

“Fine with me.”

SIX

D
isasters were Bellamy's claim to fame—but this time she'd outdone herself.

There was no way anyone, least of all Reid, would think her impulsive decision a week ago was charming and let her squirm past the consequences. No, this time she would have to pay up.

Pay up.

Bellamy stared down the two wedding gowns—two!—hanging across the curtain rod in her bedroom. She'd brought the second gown—which was actually her original dress she'd ordered—home today. The voice of the saleswoman at the other bridal salon whispered through her mind.

“Since you're Mrs. Stanton's future daughter-in-law, I pulled strings and got it delivered early for you.”

Wasn't she a lucky, lucky girl?

She'd shown up for the final fitting, forced a smile the entire time, and said
thank you
she didn't know how many times. She now owned
two
dresses for her
one
upcoming wedding. She had the individual
NO RETURNS, NO REFUNDS
receipts to prove it.

“Bellamy. Bell-a-my!” Elisabeth's voice jerked her attention away from her how-did-this-happen-to-me bridal calamity. “Did you hang up on me?”

“No.” Her words came out small. Tight. “I'm still here.”

“You need to stop hiding. You've kept this from Reid for a week. Go to the family dinner. Talk to Reid—”

“I can't tell him, Elisabeth. I can't.” Bellamy pressed her fingers to her temple. How could something so beautiful make her want to hide it in her closet—dragging her quilted bedspread with her and disappearing under that, too?

“You didn't think about this before? Do you think he's not going to find out about the second dress?”

Elisabeth's questions were almost comical. Her best friend knew her so well.

“Didn't you two discuss the budget?”

“No, not really.”

“Come on, every couple talks about their wedding budget.”

“We did at first. My parents gave me fifteen thousand dollars—the same as they gave each of my sisters. And then Reid's parents said the whole, ‘We want you to have the wedding of your dreams. Reid is our only son. Have fun. We'll cover the rest.' ”

“But surely you still budgeted things—”

“Yes, of course we did. We outlined overall costs and said we'd be careful with incidentals that came up—”

“I don't think this dress is an incidental, Belle. At some point, he's going to find out that you spent—”

“Don't. Don't say it.”

“Whether I say it or not, it's still true. You spent twenty thousand dollars on that
magical
dress, Belle.”

Bellamy's stomach seemed to turn end over end again, as her friend quoted the price of her enchanted wedding dress, as if she'd forgotten. Surely Cinderella's fairy godmother fashioned her dress for free.

“What am I going to do? Twenty thousand dollars . . . that's more than what my parents gave toward the wedding—and some of the money Reid's parents gave us.”

“Then why on earth did you say ‘This is my dress' and ‘How much can it be'?”

“I know what I said!” Bellamy turned her back on the wedding gown quandary. She needed to get out of her room. “I was under some sort of bridal-salon spell. I wasn't thinking clearly. Why didn't you stop me?”

“Oh, now this is my fault?”

“Yes. No. Of course it isn't your fault.” Bellamy closed her bedroom door. “What am I going to do, Lis?”

“If only Reid could see you in this dress. One look, and he wouldn't care how much you spent. You really do look stunning.”

Her friend's compliment did nothing to calm her emotions or her stomach.

“Reid's a traditionalist. He doesn't even want to do the ‘first glimpse' photos that some couples do nowadays. He insists on waiting to see me until I'm walking down the aisle toward him.”

“Well then, girlfriend, it's a good thing Reid Stanton is madly in love with you. Because as Ricky Ricardo used to say, ‘Lucy, you've got some 'splaining to do.' ”

“Thanks,
Ethel
.” Elisabeth's fake Cuban accent conjured up a weak laugh. Despite Lis playing Ethel to her Lucy since middle school, the only time Bellamy had red hair was thanks to another calamity of her own making. “I'm not sure I'm going to be able to 'splain this.”

“Reid loves you—”

“Yes, yes, he does. Let's hope that counts for something.”

“Bellamy!”

“What?” Bellamy slumped against her bedroom door.

“What a thing to say. Of course Reid's love counts for something.”

“You're right. I know you're right.”

“Can I pray with you before you head over to the family dinner?”

“Of course. You always remind me to pray. It's one of the reasons you're such a good friend.”

• • • 

From the moment they'd met, Reid Stanton made Bellamy believe in happily ever after.

Of course, her adolescent daydreams hadn't included playing a princess with a client's squirmy Lhasa apso puppy in one hand and a pair of nail trimmers in the other to Reid's striking Prince Charming. But she hadn't planned on him coming to pick up his mother's dog, either.

And tonight, he'd save her again. She'd apologize and, gentleman that he was, he'd forgive her for falling in love with a one-of-a-kind dress and upending their budget.

“Tonight went well, don't you think?” Bellamy linked her arm through Reid's, her boot-clad feet scuffing through the autumn leaves covering the ground.

Reid adjusted his steps to hers. “Your mother pulled off quite a feat—feeding such a huge crowd.”

Bellamy was unable to keep the laughter out of her reply. “That? That's pretty much a typical Hillman dinner when everyone shows up.”

“And how often does that happen?”

“About once a month nowadays, what with Bailee and Bridget and Keagan and Kristoffer starting their own families.” Bellamy inhaled the night air, still laden with a hint of the smoke from her father's grill. “The Hillmans and the Stantons did well together, don't you think?”

“Yes, not that we'll be sharing holidays. But everyone got along well enough.”

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing—we'll figure out Thanksgiving and Christmas and Easter just like any other married couple.”

“Yes, we will.” Bellamy swung their hands between them. “And probably easier than most couples.”

“Growing up it was just Lydia, me, and my parents. Things were a little quieter.”

“That must have been absolute bliss.”

“It was normal—and I admit I like it.”

“I would have loved that kind of normal growing up.”

“I know we haven't talked about children specifically—other than saying we want to have a family.” Reid tucked her hand into his pocket. “Do you want to have a large family like your parents did?”

“Most days, one child sounds perfect. A boy named Reid Junior.”

“Be serious, Bellamy.”

“I am being serious. I'd love to have a little boy who looks just like you.” Why not daydream for a few minutes longer? Talk about their future—starting a family. All too soon she'd have to talk about the here and now. “And no, I'm not like my parents. They knew when they got married that they wanted a large family—at least five children. That's never been my family plan. I want our family to be just the right size so everyone has their own place to be him or herself.”

Silence settled between them—and a huge, unspoken
Say it, say it now
loomed in her head.

“Reid, I wanted to talk to you about some wedding details—”

“And here I thought I could enjoy a romantic walk with my fiancée.” Even though Reid was saying the right romantic words, he seemed distracted—had seemed that way all evening. “What do we need to talk about now? Flowers? The cake? Adding someone to the guest list? Don't ask about the honeymoon—that's my surprise.”

He followed up his statement with a quick kiss, their breath mingling together for just a moment, and she was left wanting more. But when she leaned in closer, slipping her arm around his broad back, he broke the kiss much too soon.

“You were saying?”

“I have no idea . . .”

He settled her against him and resumed their walk. “No more kisses for now. You were the one who mentioned the wedding.”

The wedding. The dress.
The budget
.

“Reid—” Bellamy linked their hands again. Holding hands with Reid was one of her favorite things to do. A simple sign of their being a couple. “There's one thing we need to talk about.”

“Fine.”

“Well . . . I'd like to discuss the budget.”

“The budget?” Reid tugged on his right earlobe. “I thought we'd already discussed the major and minor details. Did we overlook something?”

“Well, there's a bit of a problem—”

“Did you lose the spreadsheet I made for you?”

“No, the spreadsheet is fine—”

“Then what's wrong?”

“I overspent the budget.”

At her words, Reid chuckled. “Overspent the budget? Belle-love, that's impossible. I mean, my parents basically gave us carte blanche—although we certainly aren't taking advantage of their generosity. Remember when we calculated our overall expenses, we were quite reasonable in our planning.”

“But, Reid—I did.”

“Come on, Bellamy, did you splurge on a fancy pair of shoes?”

“N-no. I haven't bought those yet.”

That was a true statement—sort of. She hadn't bought a pair of shoes for the second dress.

“Well, what then?”

“I bought a wedding dress—”

“I know you did—wait, you decided not to have one of your sisters' dresses altered, right?”

“No. I mean, yes, I'm not having a dress altered.” Bellamy offered up a quick, silent prayer. “I bought a dress . . . and then I bought another one.”

“Excuse me?” Reid pulled her to a stop in the middle of the path, causing leaves to swirl around her feet.

“I bought another dress.”

In the wooded darkness, Bellamy could only imagine how Reid's brows furrowed over his blue eyes. “Why would you buy another dress when you already have one?”

“I realized my dress looked a lot like Lydia's wedding dress—”

“So?”

“
So?
Reid, I can't wear the same dress your sister wore—not with the media attention you said we should expect for the wedding.”

Reid's posture stiffened beneath her touch. “How much did you spend on this replacement dress? The total for both. Please.”

She inhaled a shuddery breath, the night air icing her lungs. “Twenty-four thousand—”

“Twenty-four thousand.
Dollars?
”

“Of course dollars. What do you think I'd spend?”

“Oh, I don't know. This is so . . . so dumbfounding, maybe you're going to tell me you spun straw into gold or something.”

She resisted stomping her foot. “There's no need to be sarcastic.”

“I'm sorry. You're foolish enough to blow twenty-four thousand dollars on two wedding dresses when you only need one, but I'm not allowed to react, is that it?”

“I'm sorry . . . I thought you'd understand.”

“Understand what? That my fiancée doesn't know how to handle money? Wait a minute . . . how much was your first dress?”

Why did Reid have to be so detail-oriented?

“Four thousand—”

“Bellamy, are you telling me the second dress—the dress you didn't need to buy—cost twenty thousand dollars? Wait . . . don't tell me you're planning on wearing both dresses? Do that ridiculous ‘one dress for the wedding, one dress for the reception' thing like my sister did?”

“No, of course not. I'm going to sell the first dress and put the money back into the budget.”

“Oh, that will be a huge help, I'm sure.”

“Reid Stanton, what is wrong with you?”

“Me?
Me?
” Reid walked a tight circle in front of her. “You let yourself get so caught up in some dream-come-true wedding you spent the down payment of a house on a wedding dress.”

“But we're not buying a house—”

“But we could have—don't you see?” Reid bracketed the sides of his face with his hands, applying pressure to his temples, his eyes wide. “How am I supposed to explain this to my parents?”

“This is between you and me. We need to talk this out—”

“How do we talk this out when it's already done?” Something like a groan escaped her fiancé's pursed lips. “I guess I should be glad I found this out about you before we got married.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Bellamy dug her heels into the ground.