Twist of Fate

FOUR

Four

The next day, Bel was restocking the grocery shelves for the final time before her leave for the wedding. She’d taken a week off and her boss, Doreen, had been grumbling ever since she’d put in her request a whole two months earlier.

As far as bosses went, the Dwyers were okay. They’d owned the service station and general store for years and were now both in their early sixties. They’d made Bel the manager six years earlier and were pretty much retired, heading off on long trips in their motorhome and taking up hobbies they’d never had the time to do before. It was a good arrangement and Bel was a great employee, rarely taking time off, so asking for a week leading up to the wedding shouldn’t have been a big deal. Only Doreen wasn’t the warm fuzzy kind, and she had been getting used to her retirement. She wasn’t overly thrilled to be called in to work.

When Doreen had asked, ‘Do you really need to take this time off?’, it had taken a lot of nerve, and the thought of dealing with a disappointed Larkin, for Bel to hold her ground.

The door opened and the relative peace and quiet of the little store was broken as the bride herself blew in like a category four cyclone.

‘It’s a disaster! The wedding’s ruined!’ Larkin announced, her big blue eyes filling with tears. She walked past Bel to the freezer section and pulled out a one-litre tub of cookie dough ice cream.

Bel bit back a sigh as she removed the container from Larkin’s hands, replacing it with a small bag of pistachios from the nearby healthy snack rack.

‘Your dress,’ Bel reminded her with a wry grimace. Ice cream would also be her own go-to remedy in a crisis, however only last week it had taken Bel the entire drive home from a dress fitting to talk a sobbing Larkin down after the zipper on her wedding dress hadn’t been able to do all the way up. Bel had been under strict instructions not to allow anything fattening to pass her cousin’s lips until after the wedding day.

‘I won’t even need a wedding dress if we can’t find napkins!’ Larkin said, raising her voice as she ripped open the small packet of nuts.

It had been twelve months of crises, each with the potential to ruin the big day, and Bel had become an expert at defusing these situations. Bel now chose her words with all the skill and caution of a seasoned bomb technician.

‘What’s happened to the napkins we already chose?’ After walking around three Sydney suburbs and looking at hundreds of white napkins until they found the right white …

‘There aren’t enough and they don’t have any more. We’ll never match them exactly! It’s a disaster,’ Larkin said, shoving more nuts into her mouth as fresh tears began to flow. Only her cousin could cry and still look beautiful, Bel thought absently as she struggled to find enough patience to deal with this crap at the end of a long day.

‘Can we maybe go with a different white?’

‘It’s not white, it’s salt . And it was expertly matched by my interior décor expert. Now nothing matches!’

How hard can it be to match freaking white napkins? ‘Can you maybe ask your interior décor person to find another shade we can use?’

‘It’s too late! The entire colour scheme will have to be changed!’

‘That sounds a bit extreme—’ Bel stopped as her cousin glared. She quickly searched for something constructive to say but was saved by the door. This time, when Bel glanced up, she knew she wouldn’t be uttering another sensible word as her tongue seemed to swell inside her mouth and her brain scrambled.

He had returned.

‘Larkin? Is everything okay? What’s happened?’

‘Oh, Tate! No! Nothing’s okay. Everything’s a mess,’ Larkin simpered as she reached out to put her hand on his arm and tell him about the great napkin debacle.

Bel simply stood there and soaked him in. He was so close that she could smell whatever divine manly scent he was wearing, bringing to her mind a big, tough lumberjack cutting down enormous trees in a Canadian forest. Bel’s eyes were glued to his face—that finely chiselled, Greek god-like face that was focused intently on Larkin. A man who listened.

When Larkin finished, Tate smiled and Bel swooned so heavily that she thought one of her ovaries actually exploded.

‘Everything is going to be fine,’ he said gently. ‘Leave it with me. I know a guy. He’s a professional event organiser. He owes me a favour.’

‘Oh, Tate. Really?’ Larkin gasped, looking up at him in complete awe.

‘Absolutely. I’ll go call him right now.’

‘You’re a lifesaver.’

Bel caught her breath at his impossibly ocean-like blue eyes, which crinkled slightly at the corners.

Glancing across to her cousin—who was now smiling brightly at Tate as he turned and walked away to make his call, all traces of her earlier tears gone—Bel’s giddy excitement came crashing down. What was she thinking? That next to her gorgeous, bouncy, blonde-haired, blue-eyed cousin someone like Tate would honestly give her, with her big glasses and muddy brown hair, a second look? She would never have Larkin’s charisma—or the confidence that came with belonging to that class of society Tate so obviously belonged to.

Emma was wrong. There was no way someone like her was going to ever get a guy like him. She’d have to stick to reading about romance in her books. Which suited her fine. Inside books, she could be whoever she wanted to be. When she read a book, she wasn’t plain old Mabel Buckley. She was a runaway bride, or a billionaire’s personal secretary who steals his hardened heart to become the love of his life, or a nanny to some rich oil sheikh’s children in a far-off exotic foreign land, who he falls madly in love with.

She’d stick to books. The ordinary, quiet girls always triumphed in books.

‘Attention, please,’ Betty Miller raised her voice from the head of the long table and gave a sharp clap of her hands, waiting for the conversations around her to stop.

‘Did she just clap her hands at us like a bunch of kindergarten kids?’ Emma murmured to Bel from where they sat further down the table.

Betty was the president of the progress committee, as well as a number of other groups in town, and was one of those amazing people who thrived on overcommitting themselves. Although, in all fairness, without people like Betty driving them, most of the organisations would have probably folded.

‘This is the last meeting before the market and movie night, so I’m going over the list and confirming with everyone that they have their schedules and know the times they’ll be needed to man the committee’s fundraising stall. Just a reminder that all baked items and goods for sale need to be dropped off before the day and we will need people to help with pricing and packaging,’ she said, staring pointedly over the top of the reading glasses perched on the end of her nose.

Bel had known Betty for most of her life—her gran had been on some of the same committees over the years—and the woman didn’t seem to age. She also didn’t seem to get any less intimidating. Bel always felt the urge to squirm in her seat whenever the woman stared at her. Even now, as she listened to Betty speaking, she felt the same way she had when she was ten and Betty had turned up at Gran’s house in a tizzy because Bel and Emma had picked Betty’s prize roses to make their own range of perfume with the perfume factory kit Emma had gotten for Christmas.

The meeting had dragged on for another forty-five minutes when a disagreement broke out over who was the original tenant in the old cordial factory, which had nothing whatsoever to do with finalising the event.

Bel swallowed her frustration. She just wanted to go home.

Finally, the meeting drew to a close and Emma and Bel wasted no time on their farewells.

‘Dear Lord, I thought that would never end,’ Emma said as they stepped out into the cooler night air.

‘I know. Thank goodness that was the last meeting for a while.’

‘So?’ Emma said as they walked towards their cars.

‘So … what?’

‘How goes the great soulmate quest?’

‘It doesn’t. I blew it. I ruined my chance at a great first impression and now he doesn’t even notice me.’ She recalled how he hadn’t even seemed to be aware there’d been anyone else in the room because Larkin had outshone everything else around her as usual.

‘Look, I know you believe in all this manifestation stuff, but maybe this wasn’t a sign? Maybe he isn’t the one?’

‘He’s exactly what I put on my list,’ Bel said, shaking her head.

‘But is he? You don’t really know him well enough to say that for sure though, do you?’ Emma replied.

‘I wanted my own real-life Jax Lexington,’ Bel said stubbornly. ‘The universe sent him but I missed my opportunity.’

‘Well, if it is meant to be, don’t you think you’re giving up a little too easily? I mean, nothing worthwhile is supposed to get handed to you, right? Maybe this is the universe testing you?’

Bel frowned a little as she considered her friend’s words.

‘All I’m saying is don’t give up if this is what you really believe in. Men don’t just drop out of the sky around here.’

Bel grinned. ‘Wow. Careful, you sound like you almost believe in it too.’

Emma shrugged, clicking her key remote. ‘Who am I to say manifesation isn’t real? People believe in much stranger things than this. I just want you to be happy,’ she said, leaning in to hug Bel lightly.

Bel watched as her friend climbed into her car. Maybe she had given up too easily. After all, had Edward given up on Bella in Twilight ? Jamie would never give up on Claire in Outlander , and Romeo and Juliet … well, that probably wasn’t a great example, but still. Maybe she shouldn’t throw in the towel just yet.

As she sat on her bed later that night, Bel took her soulmate list from inside the book and smoothed it out. She closed her eyes and repeated the words on the paper until she felt the same sense of peace and determination that she’d felt all those months earlier when she’d first written them.

Letting out a long breath, Bel put the list away and slid down in between her freshly washed sheets, enjoying the feel of crisp linen and the delicate smell of sunshine she imagined still lingered on them. Drifting off to sleep, she dreamed of Jax Lexington smiling at her across a Black Jack table … or was it Tate? She wasn’t sure and, to be honest, she didn’t really care. All she wanted was to be swept away into a life far more exciting than the one she was currently in.

‘Morning, Bel,’ Larrisa greeted her as she walked into the cafe.

Larrisa was a few years younger than Bel and a single mum to two young boys. She’d been working in the bakery ever since she’d left high school and had recently bought out her old boss to become the owner. ‘Morning,’ said Bel. ‘How’s things?’

‘Not too bad, had a little extra traffic. I’m hoping Larkin’s wedding will bring in a heap of out-of-towners over the next few days.’

‘It should.’ Bel smiled. ‘The guest list is a mile long.’

‘How’s it all going?’

‘About as crazy as you’d imagine.’

As Bel waited for her coffee, she checked the bridal group chat. ‘Have you checked in on your bride today? Remember your duty as a bridesmaid is to reassure her!’

She closed the app again immediately and glanced up to see Dean walk inside. She hadn’t seen him since the other night at Emma and Craig’s. She bit back an irritated huff and braced herself.

‘Hi,’ he said, eyeing her warily. A part of her was happy that he seemed unsure of his reception after their last conversation.

‘Hello.’

‘I … uh,’ he started, shifting his weight slightly. ‘About the other night.’

Bel raised her eyebrows slightly.

‘What I said came out wrong. I wasn’t having a go at you. I was … I don’t know …’

‘Was astonished that someone could still be living here all this time?’ she asked.

‘No,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘Surprised, yeah, but … if you want to know the truth, pleasantly surprised.’

Huh?

‘Pleasantly?’ she repeated, as she eyed him uncertainly.

He shrugged and shoved his hands in the pockets of his faded fleece-lined jacket. ‘I wasn’t expecting anyone I knew to still be out here. Figured it’d be kinda lonely. Plus, most of the people around here are married and have a tribe of kids.’

His shy reply took away some of her earlier irritation. ‘Yeah. Me too. But it’s not so bad. There may not be a lot of nightlife, but we’ve got a pretty decent progress committee. And the local hall is always hosting get-togethers and events,’ she told him. ‘You just have to get involved.’

‘I saw a few flyers up around the place for the movie night and markets. Are you going?’

‘Yeah. I’m kind of obligated since I’m on the committee. But it should be fun.’

‘Sounds good.’

Bel was starting to concede that Dean might no longer be much like the fourteen-year-old jerk who’d stolen her bra and hung it from the flagpole in high school. ‘Well, I better keep going, I suppose. I’ll have to face Larkin’s wrath if I’m late for my dress fitting.’

‘Ah, the Wedding of the Year.’ Dean nodded sagely. ‘Is it true they’re bringing in that celebrity chef from the TV to cater it?’

‘Is that the rumour going around this week?’

‘Heard it down at the pub.’

‘Interesting. No, I don’t believe so. There is a reality TV star invited, but I have no idea which show they’re from.’

‘Sounds like a major production.’

‘It’s going to be something, all right.’

Larrisa called to Bel and handed over her flat white.

‘Well, good luck,’ he said.

‘Thanks. See you around.’ Bel waved and headed out, taking a fortifying breath as she walked back to her car.

She dreaded these stupid fittings. She had no idea why there had to be so many, but thankfully, this was the final one. There was added stress today—the possibility of running into Tate had been sending her into alternating fits of anxiety and excitement. She couldn’t wait to see him again, yet every time she thought about it, a wave of nausea instantly followed. She was a complete mess.

She tried to distract herself during the drive by turning up the playlist of love ballads and drowning out all rational thought, which did help somewhat until she arrived at the imposing gates and could no longer put off the inevitable.

Pulling her car to a stop, she took out her phone and began to record. ‘Well, here we are at Glentoberon,’ she said, zooming in on the gates. ‘It’s the final bridesmaid fitting before the big event. I imagine tensions will be running high inside. Wish me luck.’

Her followers had gone nuts over the wedding updates she’d been posting lately. It was amazing how many likes the content she posted on her hometown and daily life often garnered. People were clearly interested in how country folk lived.

‘Finally!’ Bel’s aunt called out in lieu of a proper greeting, taking her arm and leading her towards the drawing room, where a group of women were already gathered. ‘You’re next. Quickly, now.’

Yes, so nice to see you too, Aunt Lois.

‘Right. Undress,’ Gisele said as Bel entered, clapping her hands briskly. Apparently wedding planners extraordinaire even oversaw the final dress fitting before the wedding.

‘Here?’ Bel asked, looking around for a private corner.

‘Yes, yes. Don’t be shy, it’s only us girls here,’ the snippety wedding planner added.

Across the room, Kelly, another bridesmaid, was stepping out of her dress with the help of the seamstress, Leslie, the same woman Bel had met at the last dress fitting in Sydney. Bel noticed Kelly’s pretty matching bra and underwear set in cream lace and felt her cheeks getting warm. After the first dress fitting, when she’d realised she would be semi-naked as she stepped in and out of her dress, Bel had purchased a few new sets, but they were just the department store ones, not the designer lingerie kind the other girls favoured. And when she’d gotten dressed earlier, the only matching set she’d had left in the drawers were her hot pink ones, probably not the ideal selection for a dress fitting.

The drawing room was a massive area that could easily fit a hundred people or more, as it had often done for the various charity events her aunt and uncle had hosted over the years. Light streamed in from the huge windows overlooking the front driveway and gardens, which was obviously why they were using the room. It felt incredibly … open. Anyone could look in through the windows or walk in.

Bel was feeling more than a little uncomfortable at this thought as she hesitantly unzipped her jeans and dropped them to the ground.

‘It’s okay, Bel,’ Larkin said, coming up behind her. ‘All the men have gone to play golf—a bonding session of sorts.’ Bel glanced across at Lisa, the other bridesmaid who was there, lounging comfortably in a light robe which barely covered her undergarments. She and Kelly, the matching blondes, laughed and drank champagne without a hint of self-consciousness.

‘That pink is great on you,’ Larkin added, holding out a wheat-coloured robe for her.

Taking off her top, Bel accepted the wrap and quickly slipped into it as she was bundled over to the impatiently waiting Leslie.

The dressmaker was an odd-looking woman, tall and thin and always dressed impeccably in a pencil skirt and button-up blouse. The style had been the same each time Bel had seen her, but the colour changed. Today, she wore navy blue. Her dark eyes were almost black, but it was hard to tell their exact shade as she was always squinting or sizing something up. Bel had to concentrate to not keep staring at Leslie’s beak-like nose, which was incredibly hard since the more she tried to ignore it, the more she found herself focused on it.

Today, Leslie’s emotions seemed to be running high. Never exactly warm or welcoming, the bird-like woman was even more abrupt than usual. Bel wasn’t one to be easily offended and put it down to being under enormous pressure to have all the dresses, including Larkin’s, perfect for the big day. There was a lot riding on this wedding. For Leslie, her reputation—and the business that would come her way from the social elites if everyone was gobsmacked by her designs—was on the line.

Bel kept her mouth shut as she was turned this way and that, and did what she was told. She was greatly relieved when the zipper at the side did up without resistance and hoped Larkin appreciated the month-long ice cream ban she’d imposed on herself.

‘You may take it off now,’ Leslie snapped. Bel had been trying to figure out the woman’s slight accent for months. Sometimes, when she listened extra hard, it didn’t sound like there was one at all, and other times there was the faintest hint of something … Russian maybe? She wasn’t sure and, judging from the woman’s tightly pursed lips, today was probably not the day to ask.

Her aunt stopped to ask Leslie something and Bel carefully undid the zip and began to pull her arms out of the sleeves to step out, the same way she’d stepped into it earlier. Only Leslie had made a few alterations and now it was too tight to free herself. She reached down and gathered up the long skirt to try taking it off over her head but found out halfway through the process that she wasn’t quite tall enough to pull it all the way off. Now, dress pulled over her head, Bel realised she was effectively stuck.

‘No! Wait!’ Leslie exclaimed, giving an irritated click of her tongue as she attempted to carefully pull the dress the rest of the way over Bel’s head.

A sharp pain tugged at Bel’s scalp and she yelped. ‘My hair’s caught,’ she said, trying not to give in to the rising panic of being smothered alive in a sea of pink baronet satin.

‘Well, well, well, what do we have here?’ a deep voice boomed.

Bel stiffened and heard Larkin shriek, ‘Get out!’ followed by more high-pitched, coy feminine protests. ‘You’re supposed to be away all day, Tristan. What are you doing back so early?’

‘We got sick of golf,’ Bel heard him explain.

A low wolf-whistle floated through the room followed by a chorus of male chuckling. Bel heard Larkin raise her voice again. ‘Out! Now. All of you!’

All of you? The cool air against her scantily clad body reminded Bel how much of her was on show, even if her head was still bured in satin, and she instinctively began to struggle against the restrictive fabric, desperate to cover herself.

‘Stop squirming,’ Leslie grunted, then gave a triumphant, ‘There!’

Bel heard an irritated mutter of, ‘Oh, for goodness sake!’ from her aunt and realised she had yet again lived up to her reputation as a disappointment. The dress fell to her feet in a puddle of harmless glistening satin. Bel grabbed for the wrap she’d worn earlier, shoving her arms into the sleeves and securing it across her tightly. When she dared to look up, she caught the briefest glimpse of one very tall, extremely good-looking romance hero lookalike as he disappeared through the door. Bel squeezed her eyes shut, completely mortified. It was bad enough that Tristan had barged in and had seen her in her underwear, half-swallowed by a bridesmaid’s dress, but for Tate to have also witnessed it? She wouldn’t be able to face him. She couldn’t.

Bel grabbed her clothes from the chair across the room and pulled them on. She sat down and tugged on her work boots, feeling her face burn with delayed embarrassment.

‘We’re going to have drinks out by the pool now,’ Larkin said, coming to stand by her side.

‘I’m going home.’

‘What? No! You can’t.’

‘I’m not staying here after … that ,’ she said, throwing her hand out towards where Leslie was carefully hanging the dress that had tried to eat her. ‘You said no one was here!’

‘They weren’t supposed to be. But who cares? They barely saw anything.’

‘They would have seen plenty,’ Bel snapped.

‘Bel, I’m pretty sure they’ve seen steamier things than a woman in her underwear. It wasn’t like you were naked.’

‘I practically was!’

Larkin rolled her eyes. ‘You’re the only one making a big deal. No one else will think twice about it. Trust me. It’s not the drama you’re making it out to be.’

Bel stared at her cousin and bit down hard on her tongue. This from Larkin, the drama queen of the Central West? ‘I am not going out there with a bunch of men who just ogled me. It’s humiliating.’

‘I’m sorry it happened, but seriously, they won’t bat an eyelid. By the end of the night, they’ll probably all be skinnydipping in the pool. No one cares.’

She knew her cousin was trying to put her at ease, but it wasn’t working. ‘Well I do. I’m not up to a pool party tonight.’

‘Okay,’ Larkin said with a resigned huff. ‘But you’d better be back for the spa day.’

Oh God.