The Wedding Flight Read online

  The Wedding Flight

  The Almost Wives Club Book 4

  Nancy Warren

  Ambleside Publishing

  Contents

  The Wedding Flight

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Also by Nancy Warren

  About the Author

  One Matchmaking

  Wedding Gown, Five Brides.

  Who will wear this enchanted gown down the aisle?

  The Almost Wives Club

  Chapter 1

  Megan O’Reilly was strolling down Melrose Avenue on her lunch break when she fell in love. It wasn't just a passing fancy, or a sudden crush that would come and go in an instant; it was full-blown, smack you in the face and knock you out love with a capital L.

  She walked those few blocks so often that she knew most of the window displays by heart. So she always took notice when a display changed. Joe's Past and Present was a vintage store that she’d been to a couple of times. Their content was well curated, offering everything from designer resale to the kind of quirky stuff that anybody shopping thrift stores or yard sales might stumble across if they had a good eye. But she’d never seen a window like this.

  It wasn't a man she fell in love with. It was a dress. Not just any dress, but a romantic fantasy made real. The wedding gown seemed to be calling to her. From the pearls on the bodice to the graceful folds of the skirt, everything about it said, “Yes, Meg O’Reilly, I am yours.” She had a momentary fantasy that stepping into that dress would be akin to waving a magic wand, or Dorothy snapping the heels of her sparkly red shoes together. A fantasy that could change reality in a moment. It wasn't that she was desperate to get married, but she was a single woman struggling in LA. It wasn't that easy to meet people, and she didn’t make much money as a literary agent’s assistant.

  The gown shimmered with the promise of everything from Prince Charming to an easy life. All she had to do was walk in and try it on.

  She stepped closer, so close that her nose butted the window. There was no price tag visible, which seemed like it might be bad news. That gown hadn’t been thrown together by some girl who’d purchased a sewing pattern and a few yards of silk, and ran it up on her mother's old Singer. Everything about that dress screamed high-end couture.

  The window display fascinated her. When she finally tore her eyes away from the wedding dress that held center stage, she noticed a series of bridesmaid gowns surrounding it like ladies in waiting before a queen. They ranged from flirty blue cocktail dresses to elegant sheaths, in every shade from reds through pinks and purples, all the way to black and white. She wondered if this was a sample sale because every gown seemed to be in the same size. Fascinated, and with not a lot else to do, she stepped inside the store.

  A bell jingled as she walked in, and even the bell made her want to smile.

  There were a couple of other customers browsing but it wasn't very crowded. She wandered through the store, pausing at various racks, her hands flipping through blue jeans that she didn't need, over to a huddle of tweed jackets. She walked deeper into the store to where an entire section was devoted to bridal wear. These gowns seemed as though someone's mother had been saving their dress for them and the bride had said, as tactfully as possible, “No thank you.” None of them called to her.

  There was a youngish guy behind the counter, his eyes glued to a computer screen. He was cute. As though he felt her gaze on him, he looked up. “Can I help you?” He was tall, lean, and rangy. He wore a simple black T-shirt and jeans. His hair was brown and a little shaggy. He had one of those not-quite-beard things that could either be carefully manicured every day, or else he was too lazy to shave on a regular basis. Something about this guy suggested laziness rather than a need to be pretty. He had a high forehead and full lips, but it was the eyes that got her. They were gray-green, and when they focused on her she felt like she was the only woman in the world.

  No, he couldn't help her. No one could help her. She was having some kind of psychotic breakdown. But, even as she realized her behavior was insane, she said, “Yes. Can you tell me about that wedding dress in the front window?”

  His gaze sharpened on her. “You've got a very good eye. Have you heard of the designer, Evangeline?”

  “Vaguely.” She thought about it. She had heard the name recently; since she worked in publishing, she tried to keep up on blogs and gossipy websites—and then it came to her. “She's a wedding gown designer, but I think the business is in trouble.”

  “I don't think so. Do you know what an original goes for?”

  “If you say it like that, I'm pretty sure I can’t afford one.”

  She took a step backwards, ready to flee, and he stepped out from behind the counter. He was the sexiest vintage-store guy she'd ever come across. He said, “It doesn't cost anything to try it on.”

  “I don't want to put you to any trouble.”

  “It's no trouble. It’s not like there are twelve others in the back. If you want to try it on, I have to take it out of the window. Just give me a minute.”

  She watched, fascinated, as he reached in and lifted the gown with great care. Maybe it was her imagination, but she felt as though the dress swirled towards him almost as though it were dancing with him. He looked at her and looked at the dress. “It's about your size.”

  She glanced down at herself, “I'm not exactly dressed to try on a wedding gown.” She wore Doc Martens on her feet, cropped black trousers, a gray T-shirt and a black linen jacket.

  But, he’d taken the dress out of the window for her, so the least she could do was try the thing on. He wafted the dress through the air to the back where there were two changing rooms, each with a heavy red velvet curtain that pulled across a black iron rail. “If you need any help getting into the dress, I could call my mom, she's upstairs.”

  “Your mom?”

  “Yes. She's the Joe of Joe's Past and Present.”

  “In my head I was thinking of you as Joe.”

  He grinned at her. “No, I'm Dylan.” He held out a hand and she shook it.

  “I’m Meg. I think I can probably get myself into the dress.”

  “No worries. Shout if you need any help.”

  She stepped into the alcove, fortunately large enough for her and the dress, and began to chuck off her clothes. Her skin tingled with excitement. She undid the tiny covered buttons on the back of the dress and stepped into it. All she had on was a pair of blue-and-white polka-dot panties, and fortunately a lacy bra. The dress smelled wonderful, like a wedding gown should smell—like flowers and hope. The silk caressed her as she slipped her arms into the sleeves and pulled the bodice up over her chest. This had to be the finest silk and lace, and although she was no expert in couture, she had a sneaking feeling those pearls were real.

  She reached behind her and managed to get about a half-dozen of the tiny buttons closed and then gave up. The dress was modest enough that a man could help her finish the buttons. Since he worked in a vintage store that catered mainly to women, she imagined he was fairly accustomed to helping out with zippers and buttons.

  She couldn't get a proper view of herself inside the dressing room so she pulled back the curtain and stepped out. Dylan wasn’t exactly hovering, but he hadn’t gone back to bury himself in his compute
r either. When she stepped out, he walked towards her and she felt the moment of impact as an expression that he could not disguise crossed his face. It was like that moment when a man looks at a woman and she can feel his attraction.

  He whistled low. “I am not blowing smoke, that dress was made for you.”

  He took her hand and led her towards a triple mirror so she could see herself reflected on all sides. And when she saw herself in the mirror, she knew he was right. This dress could not have fit her better had it been sewn right onto her body. It was beautiful, and it made her beautiful. Her breath caught in a full-on princess moment.

  “Let me help you with the rest of those buttons,” he said, stepping behind her. She felt as though she could hear, faintly playing, the strains of “Here Comes the Bride.” His hands were lean and strong and each time he hooked one of the buttons, she felt a shiver cross her skin. He didn't do anything to make what he was doing less than businesslike, but she felt an incredible pull, and unless she was wildly mistaken, he was feeling it too. She glanced up and their gazes connected in the mirror. And she felt again that punch, almost of recognition, like the moment when Sleeping Beauty wakes up to find a complete stranger has just kissed her and brought her back to life. Damn, don't think about kissing him. But even as she had the thought she saw his gaze drop to her lips. Wow, this was seriously crazy.

  “I'm not sure my Doc Martens are exactly the right footwear for this gown.”

  He stepped back and surveyed her. “I think it's a bride's right to wear anything she wants to. And frankly, when you're in that dress, there is no way to screw it up.” He suddenly cleared his throat and said, “So, when's the big day?”

  She was twirling this way and that and she felt that the dress wanted to waltz her down the aisle to where a mysterious Prince Charming waited for her. In her sudden vision, of course, the mysterious Prince Charming looked very much like Dylan, a man she’d met about eight minutes ago.

  “The big day?”

  “Your wedding. When are you getting married?”

  “Oh . . .” She had no idea what to say. She hadn’t had a date in months, never mind a boyfriend. She was as far from engaged as a girl standing in a wedding dress could possibly be. Of course, now that he’d gone to all the trouble of getting the dress for her, she didn't want to tell him she was twirling around in a wedding gown under false pretenses, so she said, “We haven't set a date yet.”

  Maybe the first step to finding the right guy to marry was to buy a wedding dress. No, she was crazy, but she wasn't that crazy. Still, she said, “There's no price tag on the dress. Is that bad?”

  “That dress is priced at five grand.”

  Her eyes opened wide and her jaw dropped. “Five thousand dollars?”

  “Go look on Evangeline's website. She only makes one dress at a time. And for what they cost, you could buy a car.” Then he thought about it and said, “Well, if it was my car you could buy about twelve of them.”

  She couldn't help but smile at him. “I could never afford that.”

  “Unlike Evangeline, we do deals in the store. And, since I have some pull with the owner, I could probably get you a screaming deal.”

  “Anything more than three figures is probably more than I can afford.” She was so disappointed. “It was a nice fantasy.”

  She started to head back for the changing room and he said, “Wait.”

  “Right, the buttons.”

  “No. We're planning to do some advertising around this dress and the wedding display. And, like I said, that dress was seriously made for you. Have you ever done any modeling?”

  She shook her head so her curls bounced. “I have definitely not ever done any modeling.” She was slim enough, but not super tall and would never have considered herself pretty enough.. “This dress should be modeled by a top runway model.”

  “Maybe at a couturier show. But not in Joe's Past and Present. Trust me on this.”

  “Wow. You seriously use shoppers as models?”

  “What better way to hit our target market? Of course we do.”

  While they had been speaking he‘d slipped back behind the counter and pulled out a camera from a drawer below the vintage cash register. “Do you mind?”

  “I'm modeling now?”

  He laughed and shook his head. “I’ll snap a few photos of you now, to show my mom and my aunt—they’re the ones who own the store. And I will get back to you.”

  She wasn't sure. Partly because she did not want to model this dress so that someone else could buy it. She’d like to hide the gown away in a closet somewhere or slip it among the old velvet smoking jackets that probably no one ever touched, until such time as she actually had a groom and a wedding date and the funds to buy this wonderful gown. He must have seen the look of hesitation on her face because he added, “we don't pay you in money but you do get a pretty hefty store credit.”

  She perked up a little at that. “Really?” On her salary she even had to be careful shopping in vintage stores. “Okay.”

  She stood there while he snapped photos from several angles. He didn't ask her to smile or pose and she got the feeling he was more interested in how the dress looked on a human mannequin. Then he said, “Great, I’ll undo those buttons now. And when you're finished come on out and you can leave your contact information with me.”

  She turned her back and he walked up behind her and once again she felt the impact as his fingers brushed her skin. The first button was at the top of her neck. When he touched her there she shivered. He’d been fairly swift and efficient doing up the buttons but his movements were a little more languorous now. It was as though he were undressing his bride. She had another one of those crazy visions, and instead of him standing at the end of an aisle, they were in a hazily outlined bridal suite. She could see the glow of candlelight highlighting a huge bed covered with lacy pillows. As he undid each button she grew increasingly lightheaded. Without even asking her, he undid them all the way to her waist. She held the bodice against her chest and said, “Thank you.” And then she dove into the changing alcove and dragged the red curtain shut behind her. What had just happened? How could she feel turned on by a man she didn't even know who had undone a few buttons?

  She needed therapy. Or an actual date. Carefully, she eased herself out of the gown and hung it on the padded hanger. She dragged in a deep breath after she had her street clothes back on, and said to her reflection, “Don't be an idiot.”

  Strong words, but they didn't have much impact. She stepped outside to see Dylan was back behind the counter. A customer was buying a heap of clothes and he was ringing them up. She walked up and with barely a glance he pushed a piece of paper and a pen to the edge of the counter. “If you could leave your contact information, I'll get back to you in the next couple of days.”

  He could be referring to a clothing item she was looking for and she appreciated that he wasn’t making a big deal of her possibly modeling for the store. She nodded and wrote down her address. And cell number. Also, her email address. She contemplated adding her work number but that might be overkill. She didn't want to seem too eager.

  She pushed the paper and pen back towards him and said, “Thanks. Talk to you soon.”

  And then she walked back onto Melrose Avenue, surprised to find the world was running exactly the way it always had.

  Dylan West packed up his current customer’s purchases, then collected the wedding gown from the fitting room. He was putting it back in the display window when his mother walked up to him. “Did somebody try on the Evangeline gown? We only redid the display last night.”

  He was still trying to process what had happened. When had he become a man who fell instantly for a pretty face? On a woman who was engaged to another man? “Not only did she try the gown on, but seriously, it looked like the dress was designed for her.”

  “Then why didn’t she buy it?”

  “I don't think she can afford it.”

  “Too bad.”
>
  “I know. But, I was thinking. How often are we going to get a gown like this in stock? We should use this opportunity to do some advertising.”

  She glanced at him in surprise. “You’ve always said advertising is a waste of money. That we have our loyal clientele, our website and newsletter, and enough walk-in traffic that we don't need it.”

  He had a business degree from Stanford, a promising Internet startup company in the planning stages, and he also had common sense. But he wanted to see Megan O’Reilly again. That was her full name. He’d checked out her information and immediately liked the loopy scroll of her handwriting. It was like she could form each letter as perfectly as an expert calligrapher, but she didn’t have time. Her handwriting was quirky, like she was.

  “I was thinking that, since this girl looks incredible in the dress, we might do a little feature around the Evangeline original and include a few of those bridesmaid dresses. We’re in the middle of bridal season. Might help us move some of the wedding stock.”

  Joe always listened to him, but she also had strong opinions of her own. She'd been a successful model back in the seventies and eighties. She did a lot of complaining about contemporary models, especially the heroin-chic type. She asked, “Is she a professional model?”

  “No. She's never modeled before.” He went back and picked up the camera. “Take a look. I snapped some photos of her.”

  “Wow. You're really serious about this.”

  “I just got a feeling. Well, you'll see.”

  His mom took the camera but she looked at him first. Then she flipped through the four shots he had taken. “You're right,” she said after she had studied them for a few minutes. “The gown was made for this girl.”

  “What do you think? Is she the right person to model it?”

  “I think she's the right person to wear it down the aisle. Did you offer her a discount?”

  “I did. I also told her that if she modeled for us we’d pay her in store credits.”