Charming You (Thirsty Hearts Book 1) (19 page)

"No. No. I don't." His quick insistence struck Nick as odd. Jonah hadn't even stopped to think. As he packed up and walked toward the door, Nick put Trevor Sitges at the top of his list for further investigation. He knew enough about the Morans to know something was amiss.

B
y Thursday afternoon
, Micky and Taryn had enough talk of conference rooms, fliers, and whether ordering kosher menu items would satisfy the requests for halal meals. Micky's brain was overrun with details, and as they sat in Micky's office, Taryn was starting to get distracted.

"What time is your dress appointment?" Micky asked.

“Three thirty. I'm just hoping they have something in my budget. I've been looking online, and every wedding dress I've seen that I want is, like, double my price range. I will not go over budget. I've sworn up and down that I won't. I think it's just going to be a matter of trying on a million dresses until one pops. I'm not sure I have the stamina for it today, but I want to get this nailed down so I can have y'all start looking for bridesmaids dresses."

Taryn had plotted out her wedding into a detailed project schedule, complete with decision trees that paralleled action items and her budget plan. The expectant bride had chosen the colors for her bridesmaids, but she wanted them to have some leeway to pick dresses that flattered them, while still coordinating with the bride's dress.

In Taryn's mind, it was critical to identify the style of her wedding gown as soon as possible so they could start their search. Plus, if she spent more on the dress, then she'd have to cut back somewhere else.

"Why don't I skip out of here and come with you?"

"You sure you're up for that?" Taryn asked.

"I'm up for anything that doesn't involve PowerPoint or a spreadsheet."

"Then, yes, please. We'll adjourn to an off-site meeting," Taryn said, grinning.

"Where is this off-site meeting, again?"

"Danya. It's a boutique off I-35 in the design district."

"I'm there. Let's duck out of here."

The drive to the wedding boutique from their office was a short one. Scanning the row of industrial-looking buildings, both women almost missed it—until they spotted an elaborate, ivy-covered trellis positioned underneath a gilded sign reading, "Danya," in beautiful, but almost illegible script.

Micky stepped into the foyer encased in marble and raised her eyebrows. With each scrolled cornice and crystal-draped fixture she spotted, a mental cash register sounded off in her mind.

"Are you sure your budget will survive this place?" Micky asked her friend.

"I know that they do mid-tier, high-end, and very high-end dresses. They also have a hell of back room sale rack," Taryn said. "I'm just hoping that one of the cheaper gowns in this place will work, but we can't let them know we're only here for the bargains. My budget is three to four thousand, but I'm just going to see how it goes."

Micky opened her mouth to respond, but then a tiny, thin woman strode across the marble floor. As slender as her waist was, her hair was high. A frozen fluff of platinum blond hair sat atop a strikingly taut, carefully painted face. She was Dallas personified in four-inch heels. Micky guessed she was maybe sixty years old, but looked, well, who knew.

"Hello! I'm Danya Stewart. One of you must be my three thirty bride. Which one of you is Taryn Leiber?"

Taryn waved at the dynamo hurdling toward her and presented her hand.

"That would be me, and this is one of my bridesmaids, Micky Llewellyn. We work together so she volunteered to be my wingwoman today," Taryn explained.

"Wonderful, every bride needs a sane second opinion and friends are the best! Between you and me," Danya held her hand up to her mouth as if she were going to whisper, but she didn't. "Family is mostly just stress, stress, stress. Let's go meet first in my office. I want to get to know you a little bit so I can help you create the picture perfect wedding of your absolute dreams."

The flurry of words, click of stilettos on marble, and waving hands studded with diamond rings came at them like a tornado. Micky knew Taryn was in good hands. This is precisely the kind of woman you want in charge of your wedding dress and probably your wedding and—at points—your life.

They settled into Danya's office. A large picture window flooded the room with light. While she had a desk, a tall, round wooden table served as the focal point of the room. She directed Taryn and Micky to plush counter-height bar chairs around it.

Danya started by asking Taryn questions about the wedding party. Taryn explained she and her fiancé had each picked two attendants, and she began to discuss what she envisioned for the dresses in the wedding party, including her own. Danya jumped in to detail her philosophy regarding wedding dresses. She believed it needed to be a balance of everything you've ever dreamed and elements that you wouldn't imagine for yourself, but that elevate the look to the unexpected.

With that in mind, the dress expert gave Taryn a quick test like an eye doctor. She flashed a series of dresses in front of Taryn two at a time. Taryn was to give her an immediate reaction in favor of number one or number two.

"Great, great, so you have a very definite style. You like a traditional line with some flare. Not too much princess. No tulle. Easy on the lace."

Taryn beamed. "That's exactly what I want, and I want to settle on a color for the bridesmaids dresses and let the girls pick the styles that flatter—while keeping them with the same general shape. I brought some examples for both, but we can start with the wedding dresses," she said, pulling a folder from her large handbag and handing Danya some printouts from websites and clippings from bridal magazines.

"These are marvelous. We have a couple of them in stock…although this one," Danya pointed to a mermaid-style dress, "I'm afraid is best on a taller bride. I hope you understand. It's lovely. You are even lovelier—beautiful and petite. There are several styles to accentuate your figure. The silhouette on this with the flared, mermaid skirt…I just don't know."

Taryn looked at the picture and crinkled her brow.

"I can see your point, but I'd like to try it on anyway if you have it," the bride-to-be said.

"Absolutely! You should try on everything you think you'd like or that might work. It's the best way to get a feel for the look you want on your wedding day. Now, my daughter Dahlia will take you to the dressing suite, and in a few minutes, my best assistant Ronaldo will bring you the dresses we've pulled along with the ones you've requested—or at least some very similar options. Would you like something to drink? We have bottled water—sparkling and still—as well as Cokes and champagne."

"Champagne," Taryn and Micky said in unison.

"It's that time of day, isn't it?" Danya asked, laughing with them. Her similarly big-haired, precisely made-up daughter guided them down a plush hallway to a large, bright room with six couches strategically placed in front of six dressing rooms. Three were on one side and three on the other. Taryn and Micky had just settled into their couch when a lithe man glided in carrying two glasses of champagne.

"For you and for you," he said, handing them their glasses. "I'm Ronaldo, Danya's assistant, and I'll be helping you all the way up until your wedding with your dress selection, fitting, delivery of the dress—everything. Consider me Danya's right hand."

Ronaldo held himself tall, his chin lifted and with an easy smile. Micky looked over the sweep of his hair, which didn't move, yet somehow didn't seem gelled or hairsprayed. It adorned his handsome face with perfect shape, yet looked effortless. Everyone and everything in the shop was manicured to perfection, but somehow, it didn't seem stuffy or pretentious. These people knew how to craft an experience. The marketer in Micky was astounded and impressed.

"I'm Taryn, the bride, and this is one of my bridesmaids, Micky."

"Oh, how cute are you! Do you get tired of hearing cute? So sorry in advance, but you look just like Kristin Chenoweth. So lucky. I've got Kristin Chenoweth and…" Ronaldo paused and looked closely at Micky, "a bit of Mila Kunis and a bit of Catherine Zeta-Jones. No lie! What gorgeous wedding party you'll have." He then turned and waved in another woman who pushed a rack of dresses next to the door of Taryn's dressing room. Taryn set down her glass and launched herself at the rack of gowns with Micky right behind her.

"Oh, my God, these are so awesome!" Taryn exclaimed.

"They are arranged from simplest to most elaborate, so we can try them on in that order or if there's one in particular—"

Ronaldo didn't even get to finish.

"We'll start with this one. Danya wasn't sure about it, so I think I'll just try it on and get it out of the way if it's not right. It looked so beautiful in the magazine."

The gown was strapless, sleek, and curvy, fitted in the bodice and around the hips with a graceful, bell-like flare starting at the knee. Taryn disappeared into the dressing room and came out. The dress swam around her petite frame, but Ronaldo swooped in with heavy-duty clips to pull it taut in the back and give Taryn a better view of the front. The top was great. Beads and rhinestones jeweled the bodice, which had a softened sweetheart neckline. That was the only adornment as the dress fell in smooth satin to the floor. The issue was the bottom as Danya had predicted.

"The bottom makes me look like a munchkin. It's huge." Taryn turned up her nose and pursed her lips in disappointment.

"Maybe if it were shorter and the flare less pronounced?" Micky said, though truthfully, she knew it wasn't the right dress.

"We've had some brides do that if it's just a nip and a tuck, but with what we'd need for you, doll, it would really ruin the line of the gown," Ronaldo said, honestly. Taryn sighed.

"Alright. This isn't the one," she resigned.

"Hey, it's the first one," Micky reminded her. "You have a million other options. Now you know one element to avoid. I like the shape of the bell at the bottom. If you tried on something with an A-line, that would be nice."

"Precisely," Ronaldo agreed. "You'd look amazing in an A-line gown with the right bodice. You like the pizzazz up top better than on the bottom? Oh, I know two more we should pull."

Reaching into his pocket to pull out his phone, he text messaged someone, and a few minutes later, the cart lady returned with two more gowns just as Taryn came out in another dress. It was also strapless, but simpler from top to bottom with just a sprinkle of pearled beads across the neckline. It was ruched around the waist and had a bolero jacket. Micky hated it, but she wanted to see what Taryn said.

"What do you think?" Micky asked her.

"It's really plain. I don't know." Taryn looked in the mirror. "I'm not sure about the little jacket, but I like the shape of it. It's really flattering."

"But you don't love it?" Micky asked.

"No. Do you?"

"Not really. It's not very special, and you have so much more personality than this dress."

"You're right. Onto the next one, then."

Taryn tried on several more beautiful gowns, with a couple put to the side for reconsideration. One they pulled was almost right, but not quite. Taryn insisted it would look breathtaking on Micky.

"Try it on!"

"What? No. I'm not getting married."

Could she see herself getting married? Abstractly, yes. She thought about being in a church in front of her family and friends, swearing her undying love to one man for the rest of her life.

At one point, she'd fantasized about marrying Eric. Micky wrinkled her nose. She'd given him a key to her place and allowed him to play house when he was in town. Finding out he had a real home in Chicago brought up all her general suspicions about marriage. A week after the horrible late night phone call, Micky received her house key in a bubble wrap envelope along with a note. 

She thought back to holding the folded paper in her fingers, feeling it's thick, creamy weight. Eric loved quality things—if not relationships. Was there anything contained in that halved slip of paper that could change her mind? No. Micky had easily closed her hand into a fist, crumpling the extravagant stationary and pitched into the trash, vowing to be more careful next time with whom she let into her house and her heart.

The thought of taking such a serious step with a man made her itch. The panic eased for a moment when—in her mind—she saw a broad-shouldered man with emerald eyes waiting for her at the end of the long aisle. Then, she considered she was actually thinking about marrying Nick, and the panic came back with a vengeance. They were nowhere near getting married. They had fun together. She would see him Friday night.

That was all she could handle. Micky shook her head at Taryn and her accomplice, who practically shoved the gown at her.

Ronaldo's eyes lit up. "I don't normally let other people try on the dresses, but it really would be fantastic. Go in there and step into it and see. You can file it away for later. Trust me, you can't be far behind. Once the friend is married. You'll get the itch," he said with a wink. Micky hesitated. "Just doooo it."

And with that, Ronaldo shoved the gown, and Micky, into a curtained room next to Taryn's. Micky peeled off her work suit and stood in her underwear staring at the gown. How did she get herself into this? She thought about putting her clothes back on, but that felt sillier than playing along and putting on the stupid dress. So, she slid the gown on and looked at herself in the mirror.

Even without Ronaldo and his clips, the silk dress hugged her in all the right places. Strapless, it cut across the top of her cleavage. It was sexy, but not too sexy. The gown was a spiral of silk organza carefully draped in tight folds on the bodice, banded by beads at the waist and wrapped in an elegant curve down her hip as it fell away into waves. The skirt rippled as she moved. It was frothy and feminine. Yet with how closely it followed the body, it avoided looking sweet or the dreaded "princess-y." Micky blushed. She loved it.

"Do you have it on or what, sister?" Taryn demanded. Micky stepped out, and Ronaldo grinned.

"See how right we were. So. Right." He punctuated his words with a jab of his index finger like a school marm reinforcing a lesson.

"Stay there. I'm going to try on another one, and we can compare," Taryn ordered. Micky opened and closed her mouth. There was no arguing with Taryn today. She stood there, feeling strange, but looking amazing. Ronaldo handed her another glass of champagne.