‘So what’s going on with you and Bridie?’
Cody looked away from the purpling sky through the lounge window and back at Jaxon on the couch that Thursday. He’d guessed this sort of bullshit was coming, he just hadn’t realised how soon. Brothers. Cody swigged from his beer, biding his time. ‘What do you mean?’
Vance, on the opposite couch, was glued to the idiot box—a runway show on FashionTV, unsurprisingly.
Jaxon hooked an arm behind him. ‘You and Bridie have been hanging out a lot. Almost seems like you’ve taken a shine to her.’
Cody exhaled, feeling the frustration rise up. ‘C’mon, she lives and works on the property. I’d have to go out of my way to avoid her. And besides, any time I’ve spent with her has been in a professional sense. Plus, someone has to make her feel comfortable around here.’
Thou doth protest too much, he was well aware. But it was hard to stop when he was on a roll.
Jaxon’s dark eyes glinted behind his specs. ‘She had your jumper, man. And it’s not your prerogative to make her feel at home—she’s an employee, not a friend paying us a visit.’
Cody ran a hand through his hair with his free hand. Good thing he and his brothers weren’t going into business together for long, it could get messy. Violently so. ‘Vance, can you help me out here? Our middle brother has lost the plot. Being someone’s boss has gone to his head; now he thinks he’s running the show too.’
Vance’s insightful response was a ‘huh?’, his gaze not budging from the TV. To be fair, he probably knew half the models parading swimwear down the catwalk.
It gave Jaxon license to carry on. ‘It’s not just about the job, though there is the issue of sexual harassment to consider.’ Cody choked on his beer—that was overstepping the mark—but Jaxon pushed on. ‘Bridie does seem like a nice girl, which is why I’d hate for things to get … awkward. Let’s be honest, you don’t have the greatest track record when it comes to relationships, and you’re not sticking around town for long. Case in point: when was the last time you had a serious girlfriend?’
An image of Paloma Romeo giggling as they watched Uncle Buck at his LA loft, thrust into Cody’s mind. She’d worn her fave peach-coloured Juicy Couture tracksuit and they’d dined in front of the telly on creamy chicken pasta. While he’d cooked in his tiny kitchen, they’d shared as many glugs of white wine (intended for the sauce) as kisses.
Behind closed doors, they’d been like any normal couple. And she’d told him, after her public breakdown—when life in the spotlight overwhelmed her—that he was like a breath of fresh air. Funny it hadn’t taken long for the oxygen sustaining their fling to run out.
Cody chugged down another malty mouthful, turning the tables on Jaxon. ‘Like either of you guys are poster children for long-haul relationships. And why so protective of Bridie all of a sudden? Trying to edge out any competition ‘cause you’re really the one who’s interested?’
Jaxon narrowed his gaze. ‘As if. I just want to make sure you’re aware of how things might look, where they could go wrong.’
‘And I heard you loud and clear, Jax. But you’re barking up the wrong tree.’ Cody then turned his back on his brother, and the conversation. Dark green leaves scuttled outside.
Though he’d never admit it to Jaxon, maybe there was something in what his brother had said about getting too friendly with Bridie. Cody would have to be blind not to find her physically attractive, but it was more than that. He thought of finding her cowering from the cop cars in that crystal shop, like a scene out of a Goldie Hawn movie. She was a contradictory bundle of energy and fragility; an intriguing combination. Not his usual type. But keeping her at arm’s length did seem a smart idea.
The dancing leaves also stirred up memories of Paloma and a private shoot he’d done with her beneath autumn-coloured trees. Back when their relationship had been in its heady, embryonic stages. She’d worn a floaty white shirt, brown suede boots over jeans, and a smile that lit him up all over like a pinball machine. If only he could have preserved that loved-up feeling in real life, not just on film.
Now? She was someone else’s bride.
* * *
‘Good golly,’ Aunt Raelene exclaimed from the other end of the video call, her hazel eyes sparkling amid her round face. ‘You look just like your mother with your hair like that.’
Bridie attempted a smile as she settled back into the guesthouse’s leather couch. ‘Thanks … I think.’
It was the first time she’d done the video thing with her aunt since fleeing across the border and it was so good to see her kind face again. Even if Bridie could do without the comparisons to her mum.
Her aunt called over Uncle Jim, who’d been shuffling about in the background. ‘Have a look at how different Bridie looks.’
Jim’s face loomed into view, his white-speckled, sandy moustache taking up half the screen. ‘Hello, poppet. Well, you look as pretty as always to me.’
Bridie shook her head with a grin. Trust a man not to notice when she’d dropped her usual spray-tan and forgone the coloured contact lenses for once. ‘Thank you. You’re looking well yourself.’
Aunt Raelene grabbed the phone back. ‘I like the change. You look less …’
‘Orange?’ Bridie joked.
‘Well, you could say that actually, yes. You said it first. But I was going to say less gaunt, sharp. More like yourself. Softer.’
Maybe spies of her aunt had seen Bridie scoffing too many scrummy slices at the local café. Really, though, her image reset had been akin to a chameleon shedding its skin. A make-under, as they said on Snog Marry Avoid?. Like stepping back in time.
‘At any rate,’ Aunt Raelene carried on, ‘I’m glad to see you’re looking happy and healthy after all the upheaval. And it’s wonderful to see your face. I know you don’t like using your phone too much right now.’
Tears stung Bridie’s eyes. ‘It’s good to see you both too. If only it were in the flesh.’
What she would give for the chance to sit on her aunt’s chintzy floral sofa, eating homemade chicken soup off a TV tray while watching Family Feud—her aunt gushing over what a brilliant host Grant Denyer was as her uncle rolled his eyes.
‘All in good time.’ Aunt Raelene wafted a pretty pink necklace, made of beads and lace, before the camera. ‘I found this at a local market, by the way, and thought of you. Is it something you might wear? I’m not really up with the fashion world.’
‘It’s gorgeous,’ Bridie gushed, meaning it. ‘Though you really must stop buying me things. I’m costing you a small fortune.’
‘You’re worth it.’ Her aunt’s smile wavered for a moment. ‘I suppose I couldn’t have a forwarding address?’
‘Oh …’
Bridie sunk her teeth into her bottom lip. It wasn’t that she didn’t have faith in her aunt and uncle. She’d trust them with her life. It was just that she’d planned to keep her location under wraps from anyone, so there was no chance of it being mistakenly revealed. No-one but her could be at fault. But the calendar kept on flicking over and this was the real world, not an eighties Mel Gibson flick.
Bridie twirled a strand of hair around her finger. ‘Guess it doesn’t matter if I tell you the address over the phone. Just please get rid of the paper you write it down on afterwards. And use my other name on the parcel.’
‘Of course,’ Raelene reassured her.
Bridie rattled off the property’s address, feeling compelled to whisper like she was Goldie Hawn’s character in Foul Play. If only she was just acting in a role, not starring in her own real-life drama.
Uncle Jim’s voice sounded in the background, his chrome dome shining beneath the down-lights. ‘Any idea how much longer you’ll be gone?’
Bridie rubbed her lips together. ‘I’m hoping a month will be enough time for the dust to settle.’
Maybe if she said it out loud, it would all work out okay.
A loud bang to her right made her jump. But it was just the guesthouse’s front door knocking in the wind, causing the shells on her dreamcatcher to disco-dance. She must have left the thing unlatched.
Before she properly closed the door, she had a burning question to ask, though. ‘No-one’s been bothering you for information about my whereabouts, have they?’
‘If they have,’ her aunt responded with firmness, ‘we’ve told them we know you’re safe and well, but that’s all we can say on the matter.’
Bridie breathed out. ‘Thank you. All right, I’d better go. Talk soon?’
‘Yes, please,’ her aunt replied.
* * *
‘Look who made the front page of Balkissoch Watch,’ Jaxon crowed, holding up the paper as Cody headed into the office the next morning. He was the last to arrive—Vance was already staring at his laptop, sipping from a long black.
Jaxon’s words properly sunk in. ‘Don’t tell me …’ Cody murmured, stealing the rag from his triplet’s fingertips. The headline glared back: ‘Belshaws Putting the Kiss Back in Balkissoch.’ Classy. ‘That came out quick. I thought the story would be buried in the back somewhere.’
‘Least Ted did an all right job with the photo.’ Jaxon grinned, who seemed in a more agreeable spirit than yesterday. ‘With our help.’
Cody scanned the article, his stomach cramping at the mention of him having snapped ‘stars like Paloma Romeo’. He flicked to the inside page where the story continued, and got another jolt. An inset photo of his dad stared back, looking full of life, with his shock of white hair and glittering navy-blue eyes.
Dad, what were you thinking in coming up with your mad-as will?
Had ol’ Valentine really thought he could tether Cody and his brothers to this town, just because it was where he’d met the love of his life? If anything, his parents’ tragic love story gave Cody license to spread his wings. Love equalled heartache.
‘Here comes the bride,’ Jaxon mock-sung, looking towards the doorway. ‘All dressed in pink.’
Cody turned to find Bridie hovering there with a bouquet of Australian native flowers, from rich, red waratahs to fluoro-yellow wattle. Her cheeks, meanwhile, had flushed as pink as her top.
‘Very funny,’ she said shyly. ‘Uh, the florist brought some “test” arrangements for us to photograph and text to Crystal, so she’ll see how they look in the setting. This is just one bunch. Anyone keen to help with the heavy lifting of the rest, plus taking the pics?’
It was almost hard to believe their first on-site wedding was really happening, the next day. Just like Cody’s dad had planned. The marquee hire people were busy setting up outside already, tussling with the wind that had recently kicked up.
The way things were looking, Cody would be back in LA before he knew it, doing what came most naturally.
‘Jaxon and I are on our feet already, so we’ll help you, Bridie,’ Cody decided, so Jaxon wouldn’t get any funny ideas about him trying to steal alone-time with their girl-Friday.
‘Thanks.’ Bridie’s gaze wandered to the paper in his hand. ‘Ooh, who are those local celebrities?’
Cody grimaced. ‘Very reluctant ones.’
Bridie tut-tutted. ‘Ah, you can’t complain about a bit of fame when you catch people off-guard for a living.’
Jaxon clapped Cody on the back with a chuckle. ‘Touché.’
Cody threw the paper back on Jaxon’s desk. He much preferred Bridie’s demure side.
The woman in question set aside the bouquet, which had nicely offset her peachy complexion. ‘Before I forget—I saw a strange image on my phone for tomorrow’s forecast. I know weather predictions can be pretty inaccurate, but the skies have been looking gloomy.’
Fishing her phone from her handbag, she flicked past a few screens, then handed the device to Cody. Jaxon cast a shadow over his shoulder. Glaring back on-screen was an image of an ice-laden tree, caught in a rainstorm. The picture was accompanied by words like, ‘morning frost’ and ‘heavy rain’, and a temperature way below the November average.
Fuck. There went tomorrow’s guests kicking up their heels outdoors and sleeping under the stars. Who’d have thought to check the weather, with it being spring-perfect lately?
Vance turned up the sound on his computer, streaming the local radio. ‘Despite summer being just weeks away, South Australia is bracing for a freak cold snap this weekend. And the Adelaide Hills will be among the hardest hit, with residents due to relive winter with heavy rain and even sleet to come …’
‘From fire to ice,’ Jaxon muttered.
‘It’ll probably only last the morning,’ Vance said uncertainly. ‘You know how the media hypes things up.’
Cody blew out a breath. So much for things going off without a hitch, and him returning to La-La Land sooner rather than later.
* * *
The phone rang just as Bridie sat down at her desk again that afternoon—she’d already been to the main street for lunch, alone this time. With the boys nowhere to be seen, Bridie had been hoping to flick through the city paper she’d bought and sip her lemon myrtle tea before getting back down to business. But potential brides, or telemarketers, clearly waited for no-one.
Bridie reeled off the usual greeting and a fifty-something-year-old woman’s voice echoed down the line. ‘Hello, Hazel Wiseman here.’ Traffic noise and the tick-tock of an indicator signalled the faintly British-sounding Hazel was on the road—fingers crossed in the passenger seat or on speakerphone. ‘My hubby and I were just passing through town in our caravan and picked up a flyer on your wedding business.’
‘Oh, wonderful. Thanks for calling.’
‘No problems,’ Hazel replied. ‘The reason I rang is we’re nearing the end of our year-long stint away caravanning and wanted to do something special to mark our return to Adelaide. Some sort of bash with family and friends. It just popped into my head to have a wedding vow renewal right here in the beautiful Adelaide Hills. My impulsiveness is one of the qualities Dale reckons he married me for. Thirty years we’ve been together, can you believe it?’
‘That’s quite an innings, congratulations,’ Bridie responded while mentally performing a fist-pump. Another potential wedding client! Hopefully one who’d pick a sunnier weekend to re-tie the knot. Surely a vow renewal and wedding were on equal footing in Russ’s book?
‘I saw the pictures of Goldlake online; it looks perfect,’ Hazel continued. ‘Then there are the Belshaw brothers I spied in the local paper.’ There was a noise like paper flapping—Hazel fanning herself? ‘Having those spunks take our picture would be the icing on the wedding cake.’
Bridie swallowed a giggle as an older male barked ‘steady on’ in the background. Dale obviously. ‘Er, yes, they’re not hard on the eyes … And when were you planning on celebrating the occasion?’
Hazel named a Sunday in a fortnight’s time, saying it’d give them a chance to travel a bit further in the other direction and begin party preparations before turning back. It was perfect timing for The Wedding Entourage. Soon the Belshaws would have an event a week; not bad for a wedding business started from scratch just a week ago. Almost as though the venture’s success was written in the stars.
‘I should mention we’d like our girls, Lila and Viola, to be a big part of the day too,’ Hazel added. ‘We couldn’t throw a party without them being front and centre.’
Bridie’s heart jolted. It’d be nice if she was as pivotal in her own mum’s life. ‘Of course. How old are your girls?’
‘They’re both twelve, so, yes, they’re getting on a bit.’
Bridie’s eyes widened a kilometre before she realised Hazel obviously had a dry sense of humour. Very dry. Clearly, she’d come into motherhood later too. Something else struck Bridie. ‘Oh, so they’re twins! Are they travelling with you too?’
‘They barely leave our sides.’ Home-schooled to boot. Hazel unleashed a cigarette-stained laugh. ‘I’ve already got the cutest little outfits planned for them—lots of purple ruffles and diamantes.’
Bridie was unsure if the tweens would be as keen to resemble toilet roll dolls, but she forced a smile in her voice. ‘If you go ahead at Goldlake, we’d love to incorporate the pair in your special day in any way you see fit.’
The caravan’s indicator noisily ticked again. ‘So long as the girls have access to fresh water and space to run,’ Hazel chirped, ‘they’ll be as happy as Larry Emdur.’
WTF? Water, and space to run?
Dale’s voice sliced through Bridie’s stunned silence. ‘Hazel, you haven’t mentioned they’re our dogs.’
‘What? I’m sure I did,’ Hazel protested, kicking off a good-natured debate, typical of a long-time married couple. Bridie stifled a giggle. Now it all made sense. There was a rustling sound, signalling Hazel’s return to the phone; Dale was obviously driving. ‘Sorry, love, didn’t mean to confuse things. It’s just we’ve always treated our Bearded Collies like our children—fur kids, as they say—since we couldn’t have any of our own.’
Bridie was reminded of her aunt and uncle, who’d loved her as they would the offspring they couldn’t have.
‘I understand. Um, none of the Belshaw boys are here right now, but I could get one to call you back shortly to chat in more detail? At least we know the date works for both parties.’
‘Excellent,’ Hazel agreed.
There was a loud bark in the background as Bridie bid Hazel goodbye, though it was too late a clue. Returning the phone to its cradle, she reached to shrug on the cream cardigan on the back of her chair, suddenly cold, and pulled the paper closer. Securing another client at least looked better than the weather forecast tomorrow. She couldn’t wait to tell the boys.
Flicking through the state-wide newspaper, she drank in the current affairs, fashion pics and cute animal stories she’d missed out on recently. Her self-imposed media ban was over. The world’s goings-on had a way of filtering in anyway, and surely she’d be yesterday’s news by now.
Famous last words.
Turning to the Adelaide Confidential gossip section, she froze à la the famed snow queen, Elsa. There, staring back at her from amid the pages, was her ex-fiancé, Rory Cambridge, his eyes like pools of melted chocolate and his full lips turned down glumly at the corners. The headline screamed: ‘Millionaire Hotelier Pleads for Runaway Bride to Return’, and underneath the words, ‘Melbourne Exclusive’. A sign the story had had an even more prominent run in the interstate edition.
Acid rising in her throat, she scanned the rest of the article. Along with the main shot, there were smaller pics, swiped from Instagram, of Rory looking desolate in their honeymoon destination, the Maldives, alone. So the bastard had still soaked up the sunshine and luxury while she was currently freezing her arse off in the back of beyond (the attractive triplets and manor excluded from her sorry picture). Through the window, a kookaburra evilly cackled as though to rub dirt in her wound.
Bridie devoured the article’s text next, as though it was a car bingle she couldn’t tear her eyes away from—reading about how Rory had still gone on their honeymoon in an effort to ‘mend’ his heart privately, how he was still trying to understand just what had gone down, and about how much he desperately wanted to speak to Bridie again. In his words: ‘Bridget, if you’re reading this, please get in touch. I would do anything to hear your voice again.’
From the Belshaws in the local rag to this. It was too much news, too close to home, for one day. She slammed the paper shut. Even if she could never look at Rory the same way again after everything, she knew who readers would feel sorry for, and it wasn’t her.
Bridie shook her head to herself. She never could have predicted the shit-storm it’d cause when she’d told that limo driver to turn back around from the beach that fateful afternoon—as everyone waited in their sash-adorned seats and the floaty, white bridal canopy flapped above Rory’s head near the shore. But that was the thing: she hadn’t thought that afternoon, she’d just felt, the bodice of her elaborate gown growing ever more suffocating. Who’s to say she would have done anything differently if she could have seen into the future? Running away from problems, after all, was in her genes.
Only one person from her old work life did she hate leaving behind without a goodbye: her old partner in crime, marketing assistant Joni. The lively brunette had been known around the office for always having a secret stash of chocolate on hand and the bizarre ability to smell when her female colleagues’ ‘monthlies’ were coming (something to do with the progesterone). The girl had made even the hardest workdays fly—
‘Back already, Porter.’ Cody’s teasing voice suddenly echoed behind her, causing shivers to ripple down Bridie’s spine for more reasons than she cared to own up to. Like her life wasn’t The Bold and the Beautiful-complicated enough. ‘You trying to make us look bad?’
Nimbly, she tossed the paper in her desk bin and spun around in her chair. Jaxon and Vance had just pulled up behind Cody. With all the enthusiasm she could muster, she plastered on a smile. ‘Good thing I was here. Think I might have answered the call to our Bride Number Three!’