Three Weddings and a Dress Read online

  Three Weddings and a Dress

  By

  Mary Martinez

  Three Weddings and a DressCopyright @ 2012 Mary Martinez

  www.marymartinez.com

  This book is a work of fiction. While references may be made to actual places or events, the Names, characters, incidents, and locations within are from the author’s imagination and are not a resemblance to actual living or dead persons, businesses, or events. Any similarity is coincidental.

  Published by Canyonland Press

  This book is licensed to the original purchase only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of International Copyright Law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines and/or imprisonment. The book cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No part of this book can be shared or reproduced without the express permission of the publisher.

  ABOUT THE BOOK YOU HAVE PURCHASED:

  Your non-refundable purchase of this book allows you to only ONE LEGAL copy for your own personal reading on your own personal computer or device. You do not have resell or distribution rights without the prior written permission of both the publisher and the copyright owner of this book. This book cannot be copied in any format, sold, or otherwise transferred from your computer to another through upload to a file sharing peer to peer program, for free or for a fee, or as a prize in any contest.

  Such action is illegal and in violation of the U.S. Copyright Law. Distribution of this e-book, in whole or in part, online, offline, in print or in any way or any other method currently known or yet to be invented, is forbidden. If you do not want this book anymore, you must delete it from your

  computer.

  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

  ISBN: 978-0-9851243-3-5

  Released in the United States of America

  Cover artist: Rae Monet

  Dedication

  To all of my friends and family who support me every day.

  Dear Diary;

  The Beginning

  I’m finished. With gentle fingers, Heidi stitched the final bead to my over-lace. My silken satin trembled at the knowledge. From that moment on, I would be known as—Bella, a Heidi by Design creation.

  Brides came from all over the world to the Manhattan show room to see Heidi’s designs. Tomorrow I would be showcased center stage draped over the coveted black headless dress mannequin.

  It would be my day.

  What would my bride be like? Would she be gentle and soft like Heidi? Would she be feisty and brash like the office manager who gave orders to one and all?

  “Okay, my girl.” Heidi’s voice whispered softly over my Alencon lace causing a shiver to ripple my ribbons. “Are you ready for tomorrow?”

  I’d been nervous since she first took her scissors to the heavy smooth fabric with the high sheen. Oh my, was I ready?

  The satin that now lay perfect under the flawless ivory lace, shot with silk ribbons. I wished I could have answered with a resounding ‘yes.’

  She carefully carried me, yards of material that comprised my chapel train, draped over her arm. When she reached the raised pedestal with the coveted fabric mannequin, she held me high and let my satin slither over until I clung to it.

  Any girl wearing me, Bella, would be the most beautiful bride in the world.

  Heidi stepped back and clapped her hands. “Girls, this is Bella. Tomorrow is her day.” She waltzed around the room, as was her way, touching some of my sisters reverently on the sleeve or the train. Heidi’s love shimmered over all of us.

  “Remember always, each of you have your soul mate. Your perfect match, just like your bride has her perfect match. When the three of you come together, it will be magical. You will all live happily ever after.”

  Heidi clapped her hands again, this time in glee. She loved when she finished a creation.

  “Just like in a fairy tale, I’m so lucky!” She walked to the door with her finger on the light switch and glanced back at us. “All of you are special, remember that.”

  Darkness descended. Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock the sounds of time marching toward the hour when the salon would open made it seem to take forever. Anticipation ruffled my lace and crinkled over my bolero.

  Finally, light filtered through the window as the sun climbed over the towering buildings of Manhattan. Heidi’s staff prepared for the day with their morning ritual. I had witnessed this several times during my creation. This would be my first experience from the showroom. The smell of coffee beans brewing in the pot tickled my beads.

  Then it was time. The lights came on. Heidi tapped her hands to her sides. “Everyone ready?”

  A chorus of the assistants’ ‘yeses’ drifted over the salon as our designer twisted the lock with a click.

  The OPEN sign blazed on.

  The bell tinkled above the door heralding the first customer. My fabric clutched to the dress dummy as I waited in expectation. A young woman trailed two older women into the salon. The mother of the bride, and the mother of the groom, I presumed. Those two definitely looked happy.

  Dark hair flowed down the slim woman’s back who strolled around the salon studying the elegant displays. Then she swung around, her attention full on me.

  I waited for the magical zing. The one Heidi had promised my soul mate would cause to go through me.

  Disappointment tightened the edging along my neckline. This bride-to-be was not my soul mate. Her expression was downright sour. I wanted to crinkle up and hide. Her interest in me held as her long legged strides brought her to the pedestal.

  The happily chirping older ladies followed in her wake. I tried to keep my focus on the bride, as the three circled like running stitches around a hem. By then the young woman was behind me.

  “This dress will do. Attendant, take it to a dressing room for me.” If it weren’t for the sarcasm dripping from her tone, I would have thought her voice quite pleasant.

  No, this was one fed-up bride-to-be. I wanted nothing to do with her. My under silk cringed.

  “My dear, Cecelia, don’t you want to look around a little more first?” The taller of the trailers responded.

  “No, Mother I do not. I have things to do today, let’s get this mockery over.” The tap, tap, tap of her toe echoed her impatience as she waited for Darlee, Heidi’s assistant, to remove my fabric from the dress model.

  “Cecelia, I know you’re busy at the firm but Chandler can handle things for a little while.” The lady with hair the color of ugly yellow thread frowned in Cecelia’s direction. If I hadn’t been occupied with Darlee, my silk lining would have quaked. “You know my son wants you to have only the best.”

  “Mother Evans…” Cecelia sneered, one-degree cooler in her response. “Heidi by Design is the best.”

  Cecelia followed Darlee into gallery five, my satin cradled and protected in her arms. I could tell she was afraid to let me anywhere near the angry woman.

  I marveled that Cecelia didn’t rip her clothes as she tore them from her body in order to try me on. Darlee helped guide my satin down over her shoulders, draping elegantly around her hips. Cecelia turned to regard herself in the mirror.

  Her body stilled, and moisture glistened in her eyes. The tight, angry lines smoothed around her forehead and mouth. Her carriage softened when she saw herself with me draped over her body.

  Disappointment hammered my bodice. I fit her as if I’d been made for her. Perfection. Calm slid over my lace. Yet I felt nothing. Where was the magic?<
br />
  I wondered what was going to happen to me?

  The door swung open, I saw the reflection of mother Evans and the bride’s mother. Skidding to a halt, they gasped in unison.

  “Beautiful, it’s the perfect dress. I should have known you’d pick the right one the first time,” her mother said.

  Frustration gripped me at the intrusion.

  Cecelia’s body stiffened. Her face scrunched, again, into a scowl. Heat rippled over her skin singing my silk, so intense I feared spontaneous combustion.

  “I…” her chest expanded, as she inhaled to the point my bodice seams were in jeopardy of splitting open. “Do not care what I look like.”

  I could see Darlee behind the bride. She was in the process of pinning the back of me. At Cecelia’s movement, the assistant’s eyes widened and her finger rose to her mouth. She must have stuck herself with a pin. Darlee was a pro though and I knew not a drop of blood would mar my silky fabric. If I could have talked, I would have told her how proud I was of her.

  Because these three ladies, if you could call them that, were scaring the bejesus out of me.

  Chapter One

  Cecelia Wilson took a deep breath as she gazed at herself in the mirror. Bella, Heidi named all of her creations, was exquisite and under happier circumstances she would have loved the dress on sight.

  Bella represented everything right with the world, which emphasized everything wrong with hers. Starting with the fact, she had to marry a man she didn’t love. Not to mention her family loved the law firm more than their own daughter. Her parents didn’t give a rat’s ass about her happiness. If she took the time, she was sure there would be much more she could add to the list.

  The sooner she got this charade over with, the better.

  Good God, it wasn’t the dark ages. Marriage contracts and everything that went along with them had gone out of style over a century ago. Her parents couldn’t legally force her to marry.

  If it weren’t for the contract.

  Both families had signed the document. She’d researched the wording until her eyes had crossed with fatigue. Unfortunately, the text was legally binding. If she didn’t marry Chandler, they would both lose their inheritance and be fired from the firm. Cecelia wouldn’t put it past her father to have her blackballed from every reputable firm where she would try to find employment.

  If she chose not to honor the contract, that is.

  At the thought, a band tightened around her chest. If she were the only one to suffer the consequences, it would be a lot easier to make a decision.

  A slow burn nestled in the pit of her stomach. If she were honest if only to herself, she would admit that the main reason she was letting herself be forced into the union was her father. Would he finally love and respect her? Or would she still be a possession to him? Something her father could use to gain power for the almighty firm.

  When she was younger, she’d dreamt of her father walking her down the aisle, he’s face wreathed in a proud smile. Love shining through for her big day. A sigh came from the depth of her lost soul. She wasn’t a daughter but a commodity, one that could bring another addition, the prestigious Evans name, to the firm. And Chandler’s family money would be a big bonus.

  Cecelia was seriously considering her options. If only she hadn’t been born a Wilson. How different her life would be. Looking to the ceiling for a moment an idea filtered over her… that’s it. She could always change her name.

  She turned so the assistant could help her out of the beautiful gown. A second sigh escaped before she could prevent it, she’d have to go through with their parent’s plans.

  She mentally shrugged, what choice did she have? Chandler didn’t seem to care. There were always rumors about him at the firm and his latest flavor of the month. He’d probably continue to live his life as always.

  Fast cars. Fast women. She really didn’t want to know what else. The iron vise squeezed tighter forcing the breath from her lungs; she tried to suck in some air. Dots danced before her eyes, she blinked to focus. Her ears tinkled as if they had little bells hanging from their lobes.

  She and Chandler were both in the same position. She couldn’t judge him harshly. If it weren’t for the contract they’d probably be good friends.

  Damn it, he wasn’t expected to produce the heir to the Wilson-Evans throne. At least they, the four parents, were gracious enough to allow her to hyphenate her name.

  Well give them a freakin’ lollipop for their generosity.

  She was finally able to breathe in some much needed air as the band came loose and dropped away.

  “Miss, are you all right?”

  Cecelia’s eyes focused on the assistant; Darla, Darling, something or other, and realized she’d been off in her own little world. She now stood in her bra and panties.

  “I’m sorry, Dar…”

  “It’s Darlee.”

  “Darlee, really I’m fine, thank you. I can get dressed. I’ll take Bella. My mother has all the details of where you should send her.”

  The girl paused as if wanting to say something.

  Cecelia waited.

  Darlee’s shoulder lifted in a slight shrug, and then she turned and left with the ivory lace over white silk cradled in her arms as if she protected a small child.

  How would it feel to be loved and treasured like that?

  The ride to Park Avenue was anything but peaceful, Cecelia’s mother and Chandler’s mother yakkety-yaked a mile a minute. By the time they dropped her at the firm, Cecelia’s head danced to the tune of their drummers and she was sure the beat would go nicely with a little AC/DC.

  The elevator emptied before she entered and she had the car to herself. She used the short ride to the top floor offices to her advantage. Her eyelids dropped. She inhaled a deep cleansing breath, counted and exhaled. The doors slid open and she stepped into the plush offices of Wilson and Evans. At least she was fortified for the moment.

  She asked for her messages from the receptionist. Then hurried to her office hoping no one would stop her.

  Luck was not with her.

  “Cecie, hold up.”

  Cecelia stilled, and glanced over her shoulder at her fiancé. A viselike force gripped her chest, again. “Chandler, can we take it to my office?”

  Without waiting, she continued on the way to her corner office. By the time he entered, she’d dropped her briefcase on the desk and hung her suit jacket on the rack.

  Cecelia settled into her chair, snapped open her case, took out the disclosures she needed and laid them on the desk.

  Chandler still stood at the front of her desk.

  His intense gaze burned the top of her head. Sucking air into her lungs she glanced up, “What?”

  He raised that blond brow of his, irritating the hell out of her. “Mind if I sit…” ended with a mocking, “Dear.”

  All the energy drained from her body, it was a surprise she wasn’t in a puddle under her desk. “Can we not do this today Chandler? I’m already behind on my discoveries.”

  “I just want to know how the dress hunting went. Did Mother make you get the gaudiest creation she could find?”

  The humor in his voice reminded her how charming he could be if he put his mind to it. Even so, could she wake up every morning and sit across the breakfast table from him? A tremor rushed over her skin.

  No, she could not face the life she pictured. Even if, after marriage, they found a common ground to form a friendship she wouldn’t be happy. He didn’t love her. She sure as hell didn’t love him.

  She pushed away from her desk and swiveled her chair to regard the Manhattan skyline. “Chand? Do you really want to marry me?”

  Silence answered her question. She spun to face him.

  His expression unreadable. He shoved to his feet, made his way around until he could lean a hip on the desk. He bent over to place a kiss against her forehead.

  He straightened then gave her his sassy grin. “You’re not half-bad to look at. I’m
sure we’ll do fine in the sack.”

  A gasp wrenched up from her center, her hand raised then dropped when she saw his expression had sobered. “You’re joking Chandler and I’m not in the mood. I’m serious.”

  He shrugged before returning to the seat across from her. Chandler’s gaze focused on the window behind her for a considerable amount of time before his attention came to rest on her.

  Cecelia’s sadness in her heart mirrored the sorrow in his eyes. “There’s a contract and it’s the grand Wilson-Evans plan. We’re lawyers; we both know its binding.”

  “You’re willing to sacrifice your happiness for the firm? Or are you planning to follow the example of our fathers?”

  A deep rosy hue filtered over his cheeks telling her more than words could, she had guessed correctly. He planned to carry on as usual. That didn’t make him a bad person. He’d been dealt the same hand she had.

  “You make me sound shallow.”

  She settled into her chair and folded her arms over her chest. “Would you mind if I did the same?”

  Shock replaced the embarrassment from moments ago. She held in the laugh, because it wasn’t a joke. They had to have this discussion. Both their lives and happiness depended on it.

  He’d scooted to the edge of his chair. He must have realized her intent of placing him in her shoes. “Point taken, even in the twenty-first century the rules can be different for a woman. What do you want to do?”

  She swung back to the New York view to think. Not wanting to watch his expressive face, her guilt may make her confess. Even if he didn’t want to marry her, he may try to stop the plan that had begun formulating in her mind.

  “You never answered the question. Do you want to marry me, Cecelia, not the firm or the great legacy of Wilson-Evans? Do you want to marry me because you love me?”

  Keeping her view of the tall concrete jungle that made up New York, she waited for him to answer. There was only one to give her. Still, she wanted him to put it into words.