Bargaining with the Bride (11 page)

"Right, well, I know my big speech is tomorrow, but I just wanted to take a minute and say how thankful I am that Rachael has found someone like Garret. I know that we don't know him all that well, but in the few glimpses we've had of the two of them as a couple, I think we can all agree that their love is tangible. The way you guys look at each other, defend each other, and laugh with each other is an inspiration. I hope we can all be as luck one day." Eliza lifted her glass and added, "To Rachael and Garret."

The crowd around the table chanted the words, and then sipped their glasses in unison as a team of waiters began delivering the first course.

Rachael scooted from her chair and mumbled something about heading to the bathroom and when she'd cleared the tiny party room, he made an excuse to follow her.

He'd expected her to bolt for the bathroom, but when he walked through the doors, he found her pressed to the hallway wall, her eyes closed as she took one long, deep breath at a time.

"Stressed?" He asked.

Her lids flew open and she blinked a few times before answering. "I'm okay. Sorry. I just needed a minute. Go back, I'll be there in a minute."

"No."

"Sorry?"

"I said no." He stepped closer to her, and though she tried to move away, she had nowhere to go. His fingers closed around her bicep gently, and he said, "I want you to tell me what's on your mind."

"It's really nothing. Promise. Just silliness."

"Is it the secretaries? They've been gossiping about us all week. Natalie and I made a little game out of it and—"

She shook her head. "It's not that. I mean, I'm not crazy about that either, but that's not it."

"You worried about Lance? If he shows up—"

She guffawed. "Lance has all my money and my most expensive stuff. If he showed up, I'd have him arrested and he knows it. I'll never see him again. He's an asshole, but he's not stupid."

So if it wasn't Lance and it wasn't something that had happened in the office...

"You're going to have to clue me in eventually."

"I'm telling you, it's nothing. Just forget it."

He took a deep breath, "Okay. We'll forget it."

Without another word, he headed back into the rehearsal dinner.

The rest of the evening dragged on with nothing to recommend it. While Eliza did her best to stave off any more catastrophes, there was no denying the tension clouding the atmosphere like a plume of toxic gas.

At the end of the night when everyone had gone their separate ways and only he and Rachael remained, he thought he might have another chance, but she was quick to extinguish the idea.

"I'm staying in Eliza's hotel room. It's bad luck to see the bride before the wedding." Just like that, she kissed him on the cheek and stalked out of the restaurant.

Somehow, he thought that a little bad luck would be the least of his worries.

G
arret straightened
his tie for the millionth time, but it still didn't feel right.

Then again, not much of anything felt right anymore.

He'd been to business meetings in nearly every country in the world. He'd met some of the most important businessmen and dignitaries in the universe. And still, he was certain that he'd never felt so nervous as he did right now, only thirty minutes from a fake wedding.

His
fake wedding.

He gave up on the tie, and then settled onto the tiny couch in the dressing room. Right now, he had more important things on his mind.

Like Rachael and the way she'd looked at the rehearsal dinner yesterday. It was the same expression she'd worn in those early mornings and late nights when he caught her sleeping on her desk. The same way she looked whenever she mentioned Lance.

In the mirror, he caught sight of the door cracking open and he shifted, half expecting to see Rachael's stern-looking father, prepared for a long talk regarding his expectations of how his little girl ought to be treated.

After meeting Frank Ford, though, Garret probably should have known better.

Instead, Eliza stood in his doorway, leaning one hip on the doorjamb as she surveyed him.

"Hello," he said awkwardly. It felt not a little like the first time she'd burst into his life. Like he was under the bright lights of her sisterly interrogation without her having to say a word.

Still, this time she looked more...somber. It was the first time since he'd met her that she'd even shown a hint of her family's trademarked severity.

"I came to talk to you," she said, straightening as she stepped into the room, and then closing the door behind her.

"I hope it's not about the wedding night," he attempted a smile, but for once Eliza wasn't in a joking mood. Instead, she plopped onto the leather sofa and stared at him, her lips flattened into a long, thin line.

"Everything okay? Is your sister—?"

"She's fine." Eliza waved. "It's not about any of that."

"So...what is it, then? Because, pardon me for mentioning it, but you look like you just found out I had a secret life as a Vegas Showgirl."

Finally, Eliza's face split into her wide smile and she shook her head. "No, no, nothing like that. I'm sorry. I'm just a little lost in thought."

"Care to enlighten me?"

She looked him over for a long moment, then folded her hands on her lap and began. "I just came from my sister's room. She's nervous as hell."

"Can you blame her? Your mother is out there."

Eliza laughed again, and then fell back into her thoughtful trace. "It's not that. These past two weeks, while I helped her get everything ready..."

She trailed off, apparently lost in thought, but Garret didn't push her. She'd speak when she was ready.

"My sister has gotten used a lot. You know that."

A weight sank in Garret's stomach, but he nodded, still intent not to interrupt. So, this was the cause for all the somberness. Eliza had found out about the bargain.

"I saw her with Lance. Saw the way he took advantage of her. And before that was a guy who was after her money. Before that." Eliza shook her head. "My parents would be more than happy to detail every single one, but I'm sure I don't have to tell you all this."

"No." The words came out raspy from his dry throat.

"After years of watching my sister used and hurt and stepped on? Watching our parents remind her over and over again what a sap she is?" Eliza hung her head.

Here it was.

The moment she called him the scum of the earth for treating her sister like a petri dish.

Worse, he was starting to realize he deserved it.

"I guess I just wanted to thank you."

"You what?" He blinked back the surprise, trying his best to keep a straight face.

"I want to thank you for being the person to make my sister believe in love. To make her feel...I don't know, special. Rachael works so hard and focuses so much on other people that I thought she'd never be selfish enough to find someone who loves her for
her
instead of what she can do for them."

"Right," he nodded.

Every word of Eliza's speech landed on him like a brick, weighing him down until he felt pummeled and overcome by the weight. Worse was the way she looked at him. Adoringly. Like he was the fireman who'd just saved her granny’s kitten from a tree.

Instead, he'd lit that tree on fire and the kitten along with it.

She leaned over, fingered his tie, and then fixed it around his neck. "You know, I hardly know you, and I already love you as a brother. I've never seen my sister so happy."

He nodded, swallowing hard. "I'm pretty happy myself."

"I can tell." She straightened the tie, and then stood. "Don't tell Rachael I was here. She won't believe you if you tell her I had something serious to say."

He nodded again, if only because it was the single thing he could bring himself to do. "You have my word." He finally choked out, and just like that, Eliza was gone, the door snapped shut behind her.

What was there to do now?

In the space of ten minutes, she'd managed to explain every wrong he'd done to the woman he'd come to...care for. And what had he done to show that affection?

He'd used her, just like every other man in her life.

He sat back, disgusted with himself and floundering.

He'd have to go through with the wedding. That much was for Rachael. The only thing she'd ever asked of him. Today, he would hold up his end of the bargain and do her proud.

But the rest of it? The charts and the studies and the questionnaires?

He'd do away with all of it, as a punishment to himself and a reminder.

Rachael was better than that.

R
achael continued
the struggle with her wedding dress while Natalie watched from a nearby lounger, apparently nonplussed.

"Why do they make these things impossible to put on except by the team of skilled professionals?" She huffed the itchy veil out of her face, when scrunched the tulle at her waist in frustration.

"Practice makes perfect," Natalie shrugged, then got up and headed toward her. Rather than helping with the dress, though, she stepped past her, toward the champagne and poured a fresh class.

"Come here and calm down. Have a drink. The show doesn't start for a while yet. It's too soon to be getting into that thing."

Rachael sighed, then stepped from the dress, still determined not to look into the mirror. After an hour of make up and two hours of hair, both of which were deemed less than acceptable by her mother, she didn't think she could hold herself together if she had to stare at herself for another moment longer.

That and…something else.

Something else she wasn't ready to face just yet.

She took the outstretched glass from her friend and sipped, then plopped onto the leather sofa in the corner of the dressing room.

Natalie was wrong, of course. There was no time for any of this. If the wedding planner had anything to say about, it, she would have been in that frilly contraption hours ago. The photographer was already here. Guests were starting to arrive.

And she...

"Have you ever been consumed with a feeling of impending doom?" Rachael spied her friend over the rim of her flute, and Natalie tilted her head to the side, letting her wave of brown hair cascade over her lavender dress.

"How do you mean? Like, wondering if I'm pregnant?" She raised her eyebrows accusingly.

"No, no. I just mean...have you ever felt like you were going to make a big mistake and you couldn't do anything to stop it? Like you'd gotten yourself in over your head?"

Natalie sat back, watching her glass has she swirled the amber liquid inside. "Well, I did when I agreed to
something
with a boyfriend. I won’t list the specifics. Other than that." Her lips tilted to the side and for the first time in her nonchalant friend's life, Rachael thought she spied a hint of sadness in her features.

"Then there was my second marriage." Natalie added.

When she sipped her champagne and didn't bother continuing, Rachael prompted her, "What, like, the way it ended?"

"No, the way it started." Natalie laughed. "I was getting into my giant wedding dress, and I remember staring at myself in the big old mirror at my mom's house thinking, 'what am I doing? Is this the most enormous mistake of my life?'"

Natalie shrugged. "Of course, I thought that was just normal cold feet kind of thing. You know, I felt that way before husband number one, too. But with husband number two...it was sharper. Keener, you know?"

The pit in Rachael's stomach dropped another ten notches.

"Yeah," she said.

"Of course, you do have the benefit of this being, you know, completely fake."

Rachael let out a laugh she very much did not feel. "Yeah, you're right. That's a pretty big bonus all right."

"What's the matter? Second thoughts about letting Lance go? Is all of this about him?"

"Definitely not.” She shook her head, letting her perfectly arranged ringlets fly in every direction. "Just work stuff."

"Work stuff? Girl, let that place go for now. After all, how often does a girl get fake married? That's two, three times in a lifetime. Four if you're lucky." Natalie clinked their glasses together, and then took a long pull on hers.

"And it terms of fake grooms, you've got the pick of the litter. Bright, handsome...a little strange."

Rachael laughed despite herself. "Yeah, what woman doesn't dream of marrying her boss in exchange for having him use her like a science experiment? I'm shocked
that
Barbie hasn't come out yet. She'd come with little test tubes and a veil."

"Don't be stupid. I see the way the two of you are together. This is
way
past any of that."

"Maybe," Rachael sat her barely-drunk champagne on the little oak table beside her. "Now come on, help me get this thing on. We're running late."

Natalie sat her empty glass beside Rachael's and followed her to the mound of white lace on the floor.

What she'd said before was right—practice did make perfect, and a well-seasoned bride like Natalie knew her way around a corset. Within minutes, Rachael was laced so tightly she could hardly breath. Though, the closer she got to walking down the aisle, the more she wondered if the breathing thing had anything to do with the dress.

Just as she fixed her veil in place for the last time, Eliza bustled through the door, bouquets in hand.

"Found them at last," she waved the roses around with her usual force.

"Great. Let's go." Rachael reached for her, and the second the bouquet was in her hand, she could already feel her knuckles go white with the force of her hold.

"One last look before you go." Eliza grabbed each of her shoulders and steered her back toward the mirror, despite all of Rachael's protestations.

The wedding planner knocked on the door, "Let's go."

"Come on, Eliza. You heard her." Rachael focused on the door. Maybe if she concentrated there she could avoid looking in the mirror. Just maybe she could get through this without feeling like—

"God, you look like a bride." Eliza cooed. "Look."

She shouldn't have done it. She'd known it was a mistake the moment she turned. Still, the second she laid eyes on herself, her heart broke into a million tiny, splintering pieces.

She
did
look like a bride.

Behind her, her best friend and her sister were dressed in the lavender dresses she'd imagined since she was a little girl.

And Rachael?

Her hair, normally so wild and unruly, was perfect. Her make up was elegant and beautiful. And the dress...

It was the kind of thing dreams were made of. The delicate white lace hung off her shoulders, making her look like an old Hollywood starlet and a real-life princess all in one. The detail flowed down past her waist until it finally flared into an explosion of tulle.

It was her perfect wedding dress.

It was her perfect wedding.

He was her perfect groom

...And none of it was real.

She couldn’t do this. Not to Garret or to herself. No matter who she disappointed, how was she supposed to go through with another year of being prodded and probed and examined by the man she loved?

She couldn’t take it away from him or back out of the deal. It wouldn’t be fair for him to follow through and for her to back out.

Which, of course, meant there was only one thing left to do.

“Are you ready in there?” The wedding planner knocked again.

“Ready,” they all called in unison. And Rachael meant it.

This time, she really did.

She was ready to be done with the lies. Ready to be the person she wanted to be, no matter what her parents had to say about it.

The next thing she knew, she was standing behind closed oak doors, clutching her father’s arm and listening as the final strains of the processional sounded.

“Rachael?”

Rachael looked up, shocked to find her father looking down at her with something that looked suspiciously like concern.

“Yeah?” she asked, swallowing past the vast dryness in her throat

“Be sure not to trip.”

She stared, unsure what to say. She’d known there would be no speech about protecting herself or how much he loved her. She wasn’t an idiot.

But this? It was so far out of left field

She nodded, not sure what else to do, but the burden of response was lifted from her as the doors opened in front of them and the bridal march began.

She'd dreamed of this moment since she was a little girl. The organs sounding, the people turning to watch her walk down the aisle gracefully alongside her father. Of course, back in those days she'd thought Justin Timberlake would be waiting for her at the alter, but the general feeling of it was still there.

The anticipation. The sheer adrenaline.

But clouding all of it?

Was the undeniable understanding that something was deeply, horribly wrong.

Sure, it was the church and the dresses and the songs she wanted. It was even the man she wanted standing there waiting for her.