‘I look completely hideous!’ The voice of Nicola, aka bridezilla extraordinaire, echoed from the depths of the cedar-clad guesthouse.
Bridie paused on the porch, pushing her glasses up her nose, unsure what to do. Nicola was already forty minutes late for her outdoor ceremony. She and her minions were holed up in the guesthouse’s lounge, using it as a makeshift powder room.
If Bridie had thought the past week would crawl by with no new business to drum up, she couldn’t have been more wrong. The constant stream of demands from Nicola in the wedding’s lead-up—over the phone and in email—had made it fly. While the weather had been kinder this week, the bride had been decidedly less so.
Bridie flinched as the shattering of glass rang out in the air. Nicola’s champagne flute likely.
‘I look like Cousin Itt dragged through a hedge backwards,’ Nicola continued at the top of her lungs, despite the fact guests were seated not far away on the lawn. Bridie could have sworn the string quartet upped the volume to drown out her words. ‘Shrek’s long-lost cousin. One of Cinderella’s frickin’ ugly stepsisters.’
‘Maybe a little more bronzer?’ the hair and make-up artist could be heard serenely suggesting. Obviously she’d dealt with her share of Bridensteins before. Not that it appeared to help. ‘And a touch of hair serum?’
Bridie glanced at her pearly-white watch again. She couldn’t let Nicola ruin the Belshaws’ carefully laid plans. Not at this late stage. Summoning up all her courage, she grabbed a nearby dustpan and crept inside to sweep up the broken glass—and assess the situation up-close. Nicola’s ridiculous number of bridesmaids were draped around the room, looking glassy-eyed and over it before the wedding had officially begun. None seemed fazed about tending to the broken glassware but they’d probably seen it all before.
Bridie drew to a stop, sucking in a breath. Nicola had her back to her in the make-up chair, but Bridie could still see her dress from all angles, courtesy of the mirror. It was the first time she’d laid eyes on it. A canary-yellow, ruffle-layered ball-gown, which looked like a love-child between Big Bird and a Scarlett O’Hara-style number. Yet somehow it worked. Way to stand out in a crowd, dressed in black-and-white, as per the bride’s own instructions.
Head down, Bridie scooted over to clean up the shards of champagne flute from the carpet, as predicted. Why oh why had she gone the dirt-attracting white option for her own dress? After discarding the remains in the make-up bin, she stood up to her full height and channelled the calm of Jennifer Lopez in The Wedding Planner. Or tried to.
‘Wow, you look amazing,’ she told Nicola, tilting her head to one side and slowly nodding. ‘Utterly spellbinding.’
The unfortunate thing was the bridezilla really did look a picture too, with her smouldering dark eyes, bee-stung lips and hourglass figure. Shame about the personality.
Nicola fiddled with the sparkly tiara atop her chocolate curls, seeming almost … shy. ‘R-really? I wasn’t sure about the whole look.’
‘What? You look incredible.’ Bridie made sure to drag out the adjective’s syllables for full effect. Sometimes it took an outsider for compliments to really sink in. ‘And no-one’s going to forget that dress in a hurry. No-one. It’s the gown of the century. Although, in truth, you could wear a garbage bag and look amazing.’ Bridie glanced at the blue-haired make-up artist. ‘Shona, you have to teach me that trick with the highlighter later on too.’
‘No problems,’ Shona returned, her left eyebrow knowingly curved.
Bridie rested a hand on Nicola’s arm. ‘You should see Seth up the front. He can barely wait to put a ring on it. Just wait until he sees how unbelievable you look.’
Nicola exhaled, defying the complicated corsetry of her gown. ‘I can’t wait to see him either.’
If only a few choice words had saved Bridie on her wedding day. She could have kept up appearances and then annulled the occasion the following week, to much less fanfare.
Nicola’s scowl returned. ‘And people bloody better remember this dress. It cost as much as my Citroën.’ Bridie bit her tongue as the bride got to her spiky-heeled feet, swiping at her bouquet of black-and-white roses. ‘C’mon, ladies, let’s blow this popsicle stand.’
Praise to J Lo, the Almighty.
The seven non-dwarves, in their LBDs, jumped up, as instructed, and scuttled out ahead of Nicola. They were probably counting down the hours. Two of the blondes, Bridie realised, were identical twins, which was kind of ironic considering the triplet camera crew.
Out in the blossom-sweetened air, Bridie headed back towards the throng, signalling for the string quartet to start the Wedding March. The flower girls and pageboys met the bridesmaids at the end of the black carpet runner, and in order, they began their funeral-like procession. The rug, in big, white cursive letters, bore the words: ‘Nicola, I can’t wait for you to be my wife. Love, Seth.’ No doubt Nicola had come up with the phrasing. The ginger-haired Seth, at the far end, blotted his brow with a tissue. Bridie sympathised; who could help who they fell for?
A hush descended over the crowd as Nicola made her way down the aisle solo. Either, she didn’t know her dad like Bridie, had recently pissed him off, or just didn’t want to share the spotlight. Either way, she looked stunning.
Bridie’s gaze snagged with Cody’s, beyond the row of seats. Having dropped down his camera for a nanosecond, he gave her a thumbs-up and a smile that warmed her foolish heart. He’d stepped it up in a tux to rival Daniel Craig that day.
The rest of the festivities, spilling between a marquee and the front lawn, like the last one, went surprisingly well.
Bar one slight irritation.
The blondes, who Bridie had mentally dubbed the ‘Bobbsey Twins’, had decided, for some reason, to attach themselves to Cody and Vance. Okay, the reason was obvious: the brothers were hot. And the twins, with their whiter-than-white teeth and solarium tans, were, in their minds and otherwise, worthy of them.
Wherever the pair were clicking their cameras, the Bobbsey Twins were in the background, posing, pouting and giggling. In between, they were hanging off the boys’ elbows.
Bridie had no right to play the jealous girlfriend around Cody. Or even a protective ‘surrogate’ sister. She was an employee. A temporary one. Still, that didn’t stop her clenching her teeth whenever the twins’ silvery laughter, in unison, perforated the air.
As the MC announced the bridal couple’s first dance, Bridie moved to the sidelines to watch. Unlike last weekend, the sky was a clear midnight-blue and the Shania ditty was replaced with Paloma Romeo’s You’re My Treasure. She wondered if Cody even noticed …
The couple danced beneath a rustic chandelier hanging from a tree. Adding to the backdrop, on a nearby table was a black-and-white wedding cake with a whopping five tiers and a big, black bow as a garnish. It complemented the rest of the black-and-white themed menu, which had included appetisers of black olive caviar bites and pickled whitebait, and mains like pan-blackened steak and white lasagne. Somehow Nicola had pulled off the impossible again.
Tapping her foot to the tune, Bridie imagined being spun around the dancefloor in a less ostentatious dress by an even more handsome groom. Someone who looked nothing like Rory and a helluva lot like Cody. On a night like tonight, a girl could permit herself a teeny fantasy—
Bridie’s breath caught in her throat. For a moment there, it almost looked like Nicola had, unwittingly, bumped the back of her voluminous gown against the cake table. Gasps erupted all around. Oh no. No. Bridie hadn’t been seeing things.
The lavish dessert, on its stand, wobbled once, twice, then before anyone had a chance to move, toppled over the edge. It was like watching a Ferrari careen off a hill in slow-motion. The cake smashed on its side on the chequered dancefloor.
Nicola’s gaze swept around the crowd, her smile freezing as she clocked each guest’s horrified expression. Nope, those weren’t good gasps. Seth was sweating like a sauna user, obviously unsure how to break the bad news to his bride. No doubt he’d perfect the art over the years. The DJ had the grace to stop the music. Nicola finally darted a look behind her. Time stilled. Then she let rip.
‘My cake! My exquisite, perfect, amazing, fucking cake!’
‘Y-your dress …’ Seth tried to explain.
Nicola looked from the back of her gown to the ruined cake, then unleashing an Adele-like wail, lifted up her hefty skirt and legged it from the dance floor. Howling all the way. Hour-long seconds later, a wide-eyed Seth shuffled after her.
Bridie shook her head, her mouth hanging open like a Venus flytrap. To think they’d almost, almost made it to the finish line without the bride snapping. Around her, the crowd descended into excited chatter. Probably quite a few thought Nicola had, appropriately, got her just desserts and were only there through force, like the misfortune of being related. The DJ turned the music back on, at a more discreet level, and Jaxon, bless his Armani socks, appeared with a mop and bucket.
‘Well, that took the cake,’ a deep voice sounded in Bridie’s ear. It was Cody, surprisingly without a Bobbsey Twin welded to his non-camera-wielding arm.
She couldn’t help stupidly grinning at the sight of his handsome features. ‘Very funny.’
‘Think we should go and see if she’s okay?’
‘Probably.’ Bridie paused to watch waiters circling with pre-cut cake slices, like Cakegate had never happened. ‘Oh! I forgot only the bottom tier was real and the rest was foam—just for looks. That there was another slab of actual cake waiting in the fridge. Which means Nicola’s mostly just missing out on the cake-cutting pic.’
Cody slowly nodded. ‘I took a shot of the cake earlier, thankfully. And I reckon Vance could do a good job of Photoshop-ing it into a posed pic of the couple.’
‘That ought to placate her,’ Bridie enthused.
Cody half-smiled. ‘Should we go find the bride?’
‘We should …’ Bridie readjusted her glasses. ‘Unless the Bobbsey Twins will miss you.’
The adolescent remark had rolled off her tongue before she had a chance to get herself under control.
Cody frowned. ‘The Bobbsey Twins?’ Then he laughed, and as usual, she relished its throaty sound. ‘Oh, I get it. Take a look over there, though. I might have talked up Jaxon a bit since. Don’t think they noticed him behind his video camera before. Now they’ve worked out they’ve got an identical set, like themselves, to play with, I can get some peace.’
Bridie turned to see where he was gesturing. One of the blondes was currently taking a bite from a chunk of cake in Jaxon’s grip. He must have rescued it, untarnished, from the dancefloor. It seemed over-made-up, unnatural blondes—her old look—weren’t Cody’s thing, after all. If only she had some sort of claim on him.
To hide her pleasure, Bridie hitched up the hem of her white halter dress and gave him a challenge. ‘Beat you to the lake.’ Then she took off in the direction that Nicola had fled in.
Unfortunately, she was disadvantaged by heels and could hear Cody’s breaths close to her ear before long, even though he’d had to park his camera somewhere first. Good thing Rory hadn’t been as quick at chasing her down. The air left her lungs as Cody’s strong arms encircled her near the moon-lit lake, sweeping her off her feet. Literally and otherwise.
‘Up for a swim?’ he joked, his voice sounding huskier in the dark of the night. If only they’d been playing kiss-chasey. Nicola and Seth were nowhere to be seen.
Bridie playfully whacked him on his rock-hard chest, well aware they were teetering on the brink of something dangerous. ‘You wouldn’t dare.’
‘No, not in that dress.’ Cody’s aqua gaze pierced hers, all too close. Only her faux glasses provided a barrier. ‘You could get married tonight, wearing white.’
‘Not according to Nicola,’ Bridie attempted more humour. ‘Yellow reigns supreme.’
Comedy was her last line of defence against those kissable lips, tantalising centimetres from hers.
A womanly scream pierced the air, shattering the moment. At just the right time. Though, probably Cody had just been having fun with her like she was his kid sister anyway.
He gently set her back down on the grass. ‘Sounds like we’ve found our bride.’
Bridie turned towards the guesthouse where the racket had come from. She’d forgotten Nicola still had the spare key. ‘Yep. Guess it’s now or never.’
They picked through the dewy grass, hearing crashing as they got closer. Furniture? Bridie thanked her lucky stars she’d locked most of her stuff in the bedroom. They stopped at the front door, suddenly hearing a strange, rhythmic thudding against the wall. Realisation dawned. Bridie glanced at Cody, her eyes wide.
His all-too-sexy mouth twitched. ‘Um, sounds like they’ve patched things up.’ Holy fuck, they were consummating their marriage. Maybe that was what kept Seth hanging around; all the drama led to bedroom fireworks. Cody coughed into his hand. ‘Shall we leave them to it?’
Bridie could only nod, words escaping her. Both shaking with silent laughter, they ran back to the reception, the wedding hubbub and music soon enveloping them again.
* * *
‘Am I interrupting something?’ Cody teased Bridie as he stood on the guesthouse’s doorstep later that night. ‘A satanic ritual maybe?’
She was still in that damn sexy white dress, which showed off her peachy shoulders and lithe hips, and was holding a smoking, tied-up bundle of dried herbs. His nose wrinkled. It smelled sweet like sage.
Bridie twisted her rosebud lips. ‘Sounds strange but I was trying some energy-clearing in here. This is a smudge stick. My friend, Megz, recommends them. Thought it might get rid of any weird vibes after … well, you know.’
‘The new Mr and Mrs Bergen paid it a visit?’ he supplied.
‘Yes.’ Bridie shook her head. ‘You’re just lucky you didn’t catch me earlier on, clapping in the corners and mumbling positive intentions.’
Cody laughed. ‘Well, you can put the herbs away, because there’s no way you’re sleeping here. The cleaners need to go through the place first. You can have my bed. I’ve already changed the sheets and everything.’
‘Oh, no.’ Bridie blushed. ‘I can’t kick you out of your own bed. I’m not a wedding guest. And besides, my room was shut when there were—’ she looked like she was about to gag for a second, ‘—visitors.’
Whether he believed in bad juju or not, he couldn’t leave her there that night. Not with the memory of Nicola, and all her dramatics, still tainting the air. ‘You’re not kicking me out, I am,’ he said firmly.
Bridie waved her smouldering smudge stick. ‘So where will you sleep? I know the manor’s overflowing again with guests staying on for the post-wedding brunch tomorrow.’
‘I’ll find a bit of floor somewhere.’
‘And risk being attacked by the Bobbsey Twins in the middle of the night? Nah, I can just sleep on the floor in your room, that’d be easier. Like when you slept on the couch in here. Hey, we’re “work family” now.’
It was an underlining of their professional relationship, in case he’d forgotten.
‘No, I’ll take the floor,’ he said, even though he knew sharing a room was dangerous. For him. The more he got to know Bridie—the warmth she showed when talking about her close circle, her girlish innocence, her sunny smile—the deeper the hole he dug for himself. Still, he needed some shuteye to face Nicola and co. again tomorrow. ‘Meet me upstairs when you’re ready.’
As he turned to go, she called out to him, hesitation colouring her voice. ‘Can I ask you one last favour?’
Cody turned back. ‘Sure. Shoot.’
Bridie nibbled on her lower lip. ‘It’s kind of embarrassing, but would you mind unzipping the back of my dress, just halfway? I had to get one of the catering staff to do it this morning. The bloody thing requires contortionist skills, I tell you.’
Anything but that, his mind hollered. But saying this would mean he’d have to explain why. So instead he said a brusque ‘no problems’. He’d just have to attack the task like he would re-locating a Huntsman spider outdoors. Cautiously, methodically …
Bridie rested her smudge stick in a nearby bowl. Then she spun around, pushing her caramel mane up with both hands, her elbows pointing out. A line of dark freckles curved like a question mark on the back of her neck. If the question was: ‘was he doing the right thing or playing with fire?’, then he already knew the answer. But it was too late. He edged forwards, breathing in her cherry pie scent and admiring the silky-softness of her skin up-close. With a flick of his wrist, he had the dress’s zipper at half-mast. The bloody thing was like a stairway to heaven. He couldn’t risk going a millimetre further.
‘You’re done,’ he growled. ‘I’ll see you back at the house.’
‘Thanks,’ came her quiet reply.
As he walked away, he had to remind himself he had a city halfway across the world to get back to and a career that didn’t favour commitment. He prayed this resolve would last the night.