Every Bride Needs a Groom by Janice Thompson

me—”
    â€œMatron of honor!” Madge clasped her hands together. “Well, no time to waste. C’mon in and meet the crew. We’ve got a lot of work ahead of us. Nadia’s in her office behind the shop, so I’ll let her know you’re here. She’ll be thrilled you’re early! That’ll give her a couple of extra days for the design.”
    So much for thinking the woman was as tough as nails. Looked like she had a soft spot for contest winners, which only made my plight more pitiable. Or terrifying.
    At this point, a couple of other girls came out of a back room, joining the blonde. After Madge introduced me as the contest winner, all three started applauding. Oh. Dear. Then they took to chattering. One of them appeared to be speaking another language, but I couldn’t quite make it out, what with so many voices overlapping. Beyond them, Brady James glanced at me with intrigue in his eyes.
    Madge continued to gush over me, and seconds later Brady joined us.
    â€œWait . . . you’re the one who won the contest? Why didn’t you tell me? I would’ve introduced you to Madge and made a big deal over you being here. She’s been so excited to meet you. We all have.”
    â€œWell, thank you, but that’s the thing. I don’t really want to—”
    â€œAnd my mom. She’s in back,” Brady said. He reached to straighten a veil on the mannequin to my right. “She’s going over some paperwork in her office right now, but I’m sure she’ll be thrilled you’re here. Did she know you were coming?”
    â€œNo. I didn’t tell anyone.” And I certainly hadn’t planned on a reception like this. How could I tell them now that I wouldn’t be taking the dress? They were treating me like the queen of Sheba.
    â€œShame on you for not warning us that you were coming in early.” Madge patted my arm in a motherly fashion. “We would’ve called the press. At the very least, I would’ve brought my camera.”
    â€œOoh, I have a great camera on my phone.” The blonde grabbed her phone and started snapping photos of me. “Do you mind?”
    â€œWell, actually . . .” Ugh. I could just see it now: Jilted Fairfield bride-to-be shows up at Cosmopolitan Bridal to make a fool of herself in front of pro basketball player and his . . . mother?
    Not that I was ever really a bride-to-be. And that reminded me that I had to tell Madge I wouldn’t need a wedding gown.
    â€œI’m sure Madge and the girls would love to show you around while you’re waiting on my mom.” Brady gestured to the three young women standing nearby and introduced themas Twiggy— Really? Twiggy? —Crystal, and Dahlia, the one I’d seen earlier with Madge.
    Dahlia had one of those rich accents from . . . maybe Russia? No, Sweden. Hmm. I couldn’t really tell, but she definitely wasn’t from Fairfield. Her platinum blonde hair reminded me of one of those gals from the older Hollywood housewives show. Her face was a perfect oval. Her cheekbones high and exotic. Not a wrinkle around those beautifully made-up eyes. I’d be willing to bet she’d had work done, but no telling where. Every feature was picture perfect.
    Twiggy, thin with a short reddish-blonde pixie cut, seemed really nice and bubbly. She held herself with confidence. And judging from the way she sashayed when she walked, she’d done some time as a runway model before taking on this job at the bridal shop. Maybe that’s where the name had come from. A stage name, perhaps? And the dress she wore showed she knew her stuff when it came to fashion.
    Then there was Crystal, who drew me in at once. Her freckled nose and dirty blonde hair put me in mind of someone I knew quite well—myself. And when she opened her mouth to speak, the thickest Southern accent tumbled out. If I had to guess, I’d say Crystal