Can't Buy Me Love

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To Roxanne Sherwood: We've always shared our writing dreams with each other—everything from “One day we will . . .” to “I think I want to try to write a novel . . .” and all the reasons to celebrate or pray and work harder. I wouldn't want to do the writing life without you, roomie.

ONE

T
his time, she'd made the right decision.

Hadn't she?

Abandoning the planned for the impromptu was worth the schedule and attitude adjustments. Then again, sometimes you ended up in the midst of a disaster. Bellamy had faced that harsh reality more than once—and probably every one of her seven siblings had kept count of her spur-of-the-moment ideas gone wrong.

But tonight . . . tonight was good—even if she was losing.

The Manitou Springs Penny Arcade reverberated with the metallic pings of pinball machines, the motorized roar of virtual race cars zooming toward finish lines, the wooden
klunk
of skee balls disappearing into numbered chutes. Nonstop conversation punctuated with the laughter of children and adults only added to the hubbub filling the old buildings.

Bellamy palmed a polished wooden ball, waiting as her fiancé took aim and tossed a skee ball so it rolled up the curved wooden incline and popped into the hole numbered fifty. How did he keep doing that?

“I thought you said you'd never played this game before.” Bellamy's attempt earned her twenty points. Again.

“I haven't. It's all about hand–eye coordination.” Reid retrieved another ball from the side pocket and took aim. “Like tennis. Or racquetball. Or baseball.”

Fine, then. She knew how to throw him off his game.

As Reid positioned himself to launch another skee ball, Bellamy stepped behind him, wrapped her arms around his waist, and kissed the back of his neck, just above the collar of his button-down shirt.

Reid's throw wobbled, and the ball landed in the gutter.

“Hey!” With a laugh, Reid twisted around to face her. “No fair!”

“All's fair in love and a nice, competitive game night.” She stole a brief, real kiss while running her fingers through his brown hair and messing up the well-groomed style. “And if I can't win with skill, I'll win with distraction.”

“Oh, really? Well, two can play at that game—” Reid tightened his arms around her and leaned in toward her, his blue eyes darkening.

“But you're not losing—I am.” With a giggle, Bellamy slipped from Reid's arms. “And this is a family establishment. Let's finish this match and try something else—like the motorcycles. And I will beat you, Mr. Stanton.”

Hasty words—since Reid had already beaten her at air hockey, water-gun horse racing, shooting “hoops,” and three different types of pinball machines. But win or lose, it didn't matter. With every new game they tried, every shared high five, Reid's shoulders relaxed. The furrow between his eyes lessened. Maybe he was forgetting about his workload at the investment firm, if only for a few hours.

Sure, going out to dinner as Reid had planned would have been nice. Nice and predictable. Which was why she'd vetoed their regular Friday-night date at one of their two usual restaurants. Handed Reid two rolls of quarters. And then she'd ordered him to “Just follow my directions.”

“Who knew you could have this much fun with quarters?” Reid finished with the top score once again and retrieved his reward tickets.

“And when you're ready to check out a true penny arcade, I did bring some pennies with me.” Bellamy patted the side of the vivid orange cross-body purse slung over her shoulder.

“Don't tell me those machines in the other building still work.”

“Some of them do, and some are just to look at.”

“Come on, then—I've got to see this.” Always the gentleman, Reid took her hand and helped her off the mechanical motorcycle. “And who knows? Maybe the penny arcade is more your speed.”

“Hey!” Bellamy tugged at his hand, as if to pull away, but allowed him to lead her through the maze of buildings to the area housing the antique games. While they wandered among the memorabilia, neither of them kept track of who won or lost a game. When Reid mentioned he was hungry, it was time to surprise him with what else she had planned.

Less than two hours later, Bellamy sat across from Reid in the booth at Red Robin while the waiter served him the burger she'd ordered for him.

Reid waited until the waiter left to lift the bun and examine the contents. “What's an egg doing on my burger?”

“It belongs there—along with the bacon. I ordered you the Royal Red Robin burger. The description in the menu said, ‘Which came first, the bacon or the egg?' Cute, huh?”

“I've never had an egg on my hamburger before.” Reid replaced the top of the bun on his burger and opted for a french fry.

“But that's the fun of it, Reid. Remember how I told you the married couples at my church went on a scavenger hunt date night, and one of the things they had to do was order dinner for each other—”

“I got that part. But I ordered you what I knew you'd like.”

Bellamy swallowed a bite of her classic cheeseburger topped with cheddar cheese and all the regular fixings of mayo, lettuce, and tomato. The char-grilled aroma caused her mouth to water right up to that first bite.

“But you didn't have to do that. You could have surprised me and done something different.”

Reid ate another french fry.

Maybe this was her first misstep of the evening. First she'd dragged him to play arcade games. And then she'd taken him to Red Robin, a casual family restaurant, where they'd waited half an hour for a booth. And while Reid had won all the games they'd played and also liked a good burger, he was probably missing his routine about now.

She slid her plate toward him, careful to avoid tipping their drinks. “Here. I've only taken one bite. You want to trade?”

“Absolutely not.” Reid gripped his burger with two hands. “I am not a quitter.”

“And there's the Stanton competitive spirit I love.”

After a few bites, Reid lift the glass of tangy Freckled Lemonade she'd ordered for him in a mock toast.

“I salute you, Belle-love.”

“You like it?”

“Enough to see if my parents' chef is willing to try his hand at making this same type of burger—surprise my dad one night.”

Bellamy choked on her sip of icy cola. “Oh, I'd love to see your father's face when he's served one of these.”

“Well, you are becoming a family member, Bellamy. Odds are you will be there.”

“You're not suggesting they serve these for our engagement party on Sunday—”

“No.” Her question earned her another one of Reid's smiles that brought his lone dimple out of hiding. “I'm certain my mother has finalized the menu for that already. We'll wait until next summer. My parents will be closing up the house in Kissing Camels in a few months and settling in the Tucson house.”

The Tucson house.

At some point she'd get used to the fact that Reid's parents owned two homes—and a penthouse in New York. It was normal for the Stantons. One day, maybe by the time she and Reid celebrated their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary, it would be normal for her, too.

“So you're ready for the engagement party?”

“I think so.” Bellamy set her burger back on her plate, her heirloom engagement ring glinting in the overhead lamplight. “I mean, I have my dress back from the cleaners—”

“You didn't buy something new?”

“No . . . I have a dress I've only worn once that I thought would be fine. My shoes are new, though.”

“You're right. It's just my mother was discussing all the details for the party, and I don't want to disappoint my parents . . . not that I'm suggesting you'd ever do that.” Reid stared past her, taking another drink of his lemonade. “Don't worry. I'm sure you'll look lovely.”

“I wasn't worried about it, Reid.” Bellamy tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Your mother said it was a small party with family and close friends.”

Reid's deep chuckle did not reassure her.

“My parents' idea of a small party might be misleading, Bellamy. It just means there won't be more than a hundred people there.”

“What?”

“And I know for a fact my mother invited the family photographer—”

“Your family has a photographer?”

“Yes—for all the important occasions. Graduations. Engagements. Weddings.”

“The man who took our engagement photos in Manhattan last month is your family photographer?”

“No—he was recommended by our regular photographer, who was already committed to a wedding that weekend.”

“Reid, I told my parents this was an engagement party—not an . . . an
event
. And my sister Bailee isn't even planning on coming.”

“Why wouldn't she want to come?”

“Of course Bailee wants to come. But she just had a baby, remember? She and Hudson aren't getting any sleep. An engagement party is no place for a five-week-old and two sleep-deprived parents.”

“I can ask my parents to see about hiring a professional babysitter—”

“Reid!”

“What?”

He was just being nice—offering to hire a babysitter for her sister. But her niece was a newborn. Her sister had no intention of leaving her daughter this soon, even if it was with a babysitter in some remote room of the Stantons' home—not that she could say any of that to Reid.

“That's very nice of you. I'll ask my sister again about the engagement party, but I think she's already sent her regrets to your parents.” Bellamy was losing her appetite. “Is there anything else I need to know about this party?”

“No—and there's nothing to worry about. I'll pick you up about an hour beforehand on Sunday. It will be fun.”

Bellamy stared at her half-eaten cheeseburger. Yes, it would be fun—once she went shopping. And scheduled an appointment for a haircut—and maybe scraped together money for a mani-pedi. A worn-it-only-once dress wasn't going to do for Sunday. All she could hope was that, once she prepared in the appropriate Stanton fashion, she would somehow receive Reid's father's seal of approval.

TWO

B
ellamy had held her breath as Reid escorted her through the open doorway of the Stantons' expansive home. This kind of luxury and wealth might be the normal, everyday existence for Reid and his family, but Bellamy experienced all of Cinderella's wide-eyed wonder after the pumpkin-turned-coach brought her to the castle.

And by holding her breath, Bellamy had resisted the urge to hum the chorus of Abba's “Money, Money, Money” song—and choked back the accompanying giggle.

Thank you, Reid, for taking me to see
Mamma Mia!

This was no time to break into song or to give way to inappropriate laughter. Yes, Mrs. Stanton had smiled at her, but Reid's father had only given her his customary nod—and nothing more. What would it take for the man to like her?

Of course, it didn't help that there was a standoff between their parents. Not the two mothers, who both seemed eager to just have fun with all the preparations. No. But ever since she'd told her parents the Stantons had offered Reid and her additional money to help pay for their Manhattan destination wedding, her father had stepped away from everything. His comment as he'd handed her a check for fifteen thousand dollars still echoed in her mind:
“I understand this is a Hillman-Stanton wedding, Belle. Even so, I'd like to think I could pay for your wedding, just like I did for Bailee and Bridget, and will for Brooke.”

But now was not the time to worry about her father. Today Bellamy would do Reid proud at this engagement party. All it took was a new dress. New shoes. One
“please, please, please, squeeze me in”
haircut. Applying and reapplying her makeup to conceal the weariness that came from not sleeping well after Reid told her what his mother meant by a “small” party. Dozing off in the chair at the nail salon during her pedicure this morning—just after praying God would forgive her for skipping church for a mani-pedi.

Thank God for Elisabeth, who'd stuck by her side ever since Reid had been whisked away by his father to meet . . . well, Bellamy didn't know whom. Mr. Stanton had kept his son circling the room in some sort of conversational waltz for almost an hour.

“Those nails are a new look for you, Belle.”

Her best friend's whisper pulled Bellamy's attention away from the ever-moving mass of well-dressed people populating the main room. How did minimalist furniture arranged just-so and several abstract sculptures manage to suggest affluence without screaming
filthy rich
? Mr. Stanton's upscale, intimate restaurants had not only served their clients well—they had also secured his family's fortune for generations to come. Guests flowed through the sliding glass doors, which afforded an expansive view of the well-groomed lawn. The late-afternoon September sun sparkled off the infinity pool that seemed to disappear into the red rock landscape of Garden of the Gods.

Bellamy turned her left hand, revealing her engagement ring—and her long, crimson-red nails. “They do make a statement, don't they?”

“If you want the statement to be
I have
talons
, yes.” Elisabeth ignored her glare. “What prompted you to get gel nails?”

“Exhaustion. The nail tech suggested it instead of a regular manicure and I agreed. I was half asleep. It sounded fun. I thought long nails would look nice for today.” Bellamy tapped her fingertips against one another. “I didn't realize these things would handicap me. I couldn't zip up my dress. It's a good thing I live near my mother.”

“Well, you look gorgeous. And the nails are very old-movie-star glam.”

“I should hope so. I'd pinned this very dress on my
Outfits I Love
Pinterest board. Little did I know I'd buy it! I walked into White House/Black Market looking for a dress, and came out with a dress, shoes, and my jewelry. That was one savvy saleswoman.”

“I love this.” Elisabeth pointed to the full black-and-white floral skirt of the dress. “But I thought you were going to wear your red dress—”

“I was.” Bellamy paused. She wasn't going to tell Elisabeth about Reid's “You didn't buy something new?” comment. “I changed my mind.”

“Well, this party is a bit of a crush—classy, yes, with the waiters, but more people than I expected.”

“Other than you and Reid and my brothers and sisters, I don't know anyone here. And I've only met Reid's parents and his sister a few times.” Bellamy twisted the single strand of pearls at her throat. “If these people knew I was a dog groomer . . . that I work at my dad's vet clinic because I made so many wrong choices in college—”

“Will you
stop
?” Like a mother calming her child, Elisabeth removed Bellamy's hand from her necklace, smoothing it flat against her flushed skin. “You're Reid's fiancée. Everyone here is looking forward to meeting you.”

“They're all wondering why he's marrying me—that's what you mean, right?”

“Bellamy Hillman! What has gotten into you?” Her friend's question was asked through a pasted-on smile as Elisabeth nodded to yet another woman they didn't know. This one wore a deep red designer pantsuit and passed by with barely a glance their way.

“This—” Bellamy waved around the room. “—all of this. Reid is used to this kind of life. He's . . . he's filet mignon and I'm plain old hamburger.”

“Reid Stanton loves you, and he wants to be with you. I've watched him try to excuse himself from that conversation with those men across the room—”

“The man with the thick gray hair and blue eyes—the one that doesn't smile?—that's his father. The man on his left is his grandfather. And I don't know who the other person is—but he's probably rich.”

“Well, Reid has been watching you the entire time. How can you miss that?”

Bellamy swallowed several negative comments, but one managed to slip past. “Surely some of these people have guessed I'm not the kind of woman that his parents expected Reid to marry.”

“Where did you get that idea?”

“I don't know. I mean, his mother is nice, but his father doesn't seem to approve of me . . .”

“It doesn't matter what Reid's father thinks. You're not marrying him—you're marrying Reid, remember?” Elisabeth lowered her voice to a whisper, a grin on her lips. “And from the way he looks at you, honey, you've got nothing to worry about.”

A laugh escaped—and at last, Bellamy no longer felt like a half-off twentysomething in a room of full-price people. Across the room, Reid gave her a quick wink, a smile curving his lips. If he laughed with her, she'd catch a glimpse of his dimple—but he was “serious” Reid at the moment. His thick brown hair combed into submission, a studious look in his blue eyes. From their very first date, he'd told her that he loved her laugh because it made him want to laugh, too. If she focused on Reid—and remembered that all of this lavishness was to celebrate the fact that they were getting married in three months—she would be fine.

“Thanks, Lis.” Bellamy accepted a glass of white wine from a passing waiter. “I didn't expect quite this many people.”

Elisabeth quirked an eyebrow. “You come from a family of ten. You, of all people, should know how to manage a crowd.”

“And you, of all people, should know how I feel about being ‘the end' kid in my family.” The sip of chilled fruity wine eased the tightness in her throat. “I'm the one who gets lost in a crowd of incredibly talented, intelligent people.”

“Well then, let's do what comes naturally and get lost in
this
crowd and enjoy ourselves until your fiancé comes and finds you for the gift-opening festivities.”

Elisabeth linked their arms and wove their way through the guests. Music floated through the house, mingling with the ebb and flow of conversation. Had Bellamy ever known anyone who owned a house with an actual music room? Her parents sat on a curved-back sofa in ice-blue crushed velvet, talking with Reid's mother and another couple. The shoulder of the woman's black dress was adorned with a large jewel-encrusted brooch shaped like a peacock. Her siblings—and Bridget's and Keagan's spouses—did what the accomplished, self-assured Hillmans did. Mingled—and made it look easy.

Once outside, Bellamy took a deep breath. September was one of her favorite times in Colorado—the weather just about perfect. Beneath an oversized tent, tables decorated with vivid purple irises and white roses covered one area of the lawn, while guests helped themselves to an array of hors d'oeuvres. Reid's mother had arranged for everything from shrimp cocktail to bacon-wrapped dates to crab-salad canapés. At one station, chefs made fresh sushi, and at another, a bartender poured drinks. When she'd arrived earlier, Reid's mother had shown Bellamy the selection of miniature cakes and pies that would be served after she and Reid opened the tower of gifts. Some guests had adorned their packages with different types of brooches or sparkly earrings. The “stash,” as Reid had called it in a whispered aside accompanied by a soft chuckle, was all arranged in front of the tall natural stone fireplace in a room off the formal dining room. And somewhere in the midst of all this celebration, a photographer was capturing pictures of the guests, the family members, her and Reid, the scenery. Bellamy hadn't met him—or her—yet, but as his father hauled him off for the first of many “vital” conversations, Reid had tossed her a quick warning that photographs were being taken at the request of his mother.

“I think the Stantons invited anybody they knew in the Springs and Denver to this party. So much for Reid's hope to keep our wedding low-key by having a destination wedding in Manhattan.” Bellamy handed her half-empty glass to another waiter who hovered nearby. Since she couldn't manage to pick up anything from a tray with her new nails, she had to be careful not to drink all her calories. She needed to request a ginger ale. “After his sister's engagement and wedding attracted so much media attention, all he wanted was to somehow maintain our privacy.”

“Is that his sister, Lydia, over there?”

Bellamy couldn't help but admire how comfortable Lydia Webster was as she worked the crowd like a pro. And to be slender—not
skinny
. “Yes, that's Lydia.”

“I thought she and her husband lived in England.”

“They do, but he's away on location filming his latest movie—some action film that's already getting buzz. She said Lincoln would try to make it, but it doesn't look like it will happen.”

“How fun for you—you'll be Lincoln Webster's sister-in-law.”

“In the most distant way possible. Most important, I'll be Mrs. Reid Stanton. How did I get so lucky?”

“Reid's the lucky one.”

“Spoken like a true best friend.”

“Only because it's true. You are made in God's image—and that is just one of the reasons Reid is attracted to you.” Elisabeth held up her hand, holding off Bellamy's comment. “And now I'm changing the subject again so you can just agree with me. How about I get us some sushi?”

“Sounds perfect—with an extra dash of wasabi.” Bellamy held up her hands, wiggling her fingers. “I'm starving here.”

As they made their way to the tall table where a group gathered as two chefs created sushi, a man with long hair brushing the collar of his dark suit jacket intercepted them.

“Good afternoon, ladies. I'm Nick. Can I get a few photographs?” He tapped the side of his camera, which hung from a black strap around his neck.

Bellamy tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. At least the curls she'd worked so hard for hadn't wilted yet. And she couldn't say no when this was part of the engagement party “fun.” “I guess so. How about one of me and Elisabeth?”

“Elisabeth?” The man fumbled in his pants pocket. “You'll have to remind me just who this other lovely lady is. I seem to have misplaced the list of people Mrs. Stanton requested be photographed. Of course, there's no mistaking the bride.”

“Elisabeth Straker, my maid of honor.”

“Of course. Why don't we walk over here so the Kissing Camels is behind you?” He indicated the distinctive red rock formation beyond them.

After a few photographs, the man nodded toward Bellamy. “Now a few of just the bride-to-be.”

“Of course.” Already Elisabeth was backing away. “I'll go get the appetizers for us, Belle.”

Bellamy stopped her with a hand on her arm. “Wait and I'll go with you—”

“I'll return you to Elisabeth in just a few minutes. Let's change locations. Can't do the same thing over and over again. No ‘Been there, photographed that,' if you know what I mean.”

Nick placed his hand against her back and ushered her to a corner of the yard, close to where Lydia stood talking with a trio of older women.

“You have a great smile.” Nick took two quick pictures and then motioned toward Reid's sister. “Your future sister-in-law is in the wedding party, too, isn't she?”