Page 83 of Lucky Star

Chapter Thirty-Two

Sarah

As the twin-engine Piper Navajo Chieftain made its descent toward the south terminal at Vancouver International Airport, Cameron reached across the aisle to hold my hand. “Did I tell you yet today that I love you?” he mouthed over the roar of the engines.

“About ten times,” I mouthed back.

He nodded. “Good, only ninety more to go.”

When the wheels hit the runway, the brakes engaged and soon we were taxiing toward the terminal, our idyllic vacation in Eagle Harbour at a close. Soon we’d return and make new memories.

For now, I had other things to think about. Like the fact that I was getting married in three weeks and didn’t have a dress to wear.

With Cameron expected on set the next day, we’d decided it made the best sense for me to fly back down to L.A. for a marathon shopping session with Carly and then drive back up the coast with Duke just before Christmas.

Much to my surprise, my mother had insisted on flying in for a couple of days to join us. I wasn’t sure what made her happier—that her aging daughter was finally getting married, or that she was gaining a celebrity as a son-in-law—but as long as she didn’t harass me about my weight or try to force me into buying something I hated, I begrudgingly welcomed her presence.

I’d been firm in laying down some ground rules for her visit beforehand though. Even so, I’d braced myself for some cringe-worthy moments over the coming days. My biggest fear was that she was going to call the paparazzi and tell them where Cameron Scott’s super-secret fiancé was wedding dress shopping. If I stepped out of the dressing room to a bevy of flashbulbs, there would be hell to pay.

By the end of my first day of dress shopping I knew two things: (1) high-end bridal gown designers hated plus size women, and (2) I didn’t know if I’d survive my mom’s visit.

At each of the three stores we’d visited so far, she’d taken the bridal consultant aside and asked them to bring me a couple of big, puffy ball gowns with acres of tulle instead of the ones I’d indicated I wanted to try on. The exact type of dress I’d told both she and Carly that I had no intention of purchasing. I’d also discovered, much to my chagrin, that most dresses above a sample size twelve were of the strapless, bedazzled variety. One of them, I was pretty sure, was a replica of Cinderella’s dress.

“But Sarah, you’ll look like a princess!” my mother whined when, for the fourth time, I’d shaken my head and told the sales associate to take the offending frock out of my sight.

“Which would be fine if I was twelve years old.” My patience with her was reaching the end of its rope. “Look,” I said, zipping my brown leather boots over a pair skinny jeans that had been much tighter a couple of months ago, “if you can’t respect my wishes, I’m going to have to ask you to go home.”

“Fine, be that way,” she huffed, stalking out of the dressing room ahead of me, the heel of her spiky black Manolo Blahniks clacking with each punctuated step she took.

I looked at Carly and rolled my eyes. “You’d think I was being difficult or something, not wanting to look like a giant, white skein of cotton candy on my wedding day.”

Carly shrugged. “Remember, the only person you have to please is yourself.”

When I hugged her goodbye a few hours later, weary to the bone over the day’s misadventures, I clung to her like a lifeline amidst the storm known as Jane Travers.

* * *

Two days later,we were back at it again. This time, however, my mom kept her opinions to herself. As much as she was able to, that was. She didn’t try bribing any consultants into bringing me any princess-style dresses, but she did roll her eyes whenever I walked out in a lace or chiffon dress that wasn’t bedazzled to within an inch of its life. It wasn’t that I particularly loved any of the dresses I’d tried on so far, but I had at least hoped I wouldn’t have to endure her passive-aggressive hostility when I showed them off.

Finally, we arrived at a boutique I’d been told carried elegant, simple gowns for those of us who had a little extra meat on our bones. Unfortunately, by the point in the long afternoon, I wasn’t feeling all that bridal. I was sweaty and gross from getting in and out of dresses that weighed as much as Duke while locked in overheated dressing rooms, shop owners having turned up their heaters to combat what Angelenos thought was a frigid sixty-two degrees.

I was disheartened, disinterested, and ready to give up when Carly returned with a sales associate carrying yet another dress for me to try on. “I know this is a long shot,” she said as the petite blonde unzipped the white garment bag and pulled the dress out. “But I think it will look amazing on you. It’s not like any of the others, and while it’s a bit fussier than you said you wanted, there’s just something about it.”

I was about to explain—again—that I didn’t want anything too busy, and that I knew exactly what type of dress I wanted when I stopped short. As the sales woman held it aloft for my inspection, I admitted that on at least one front Carly was right. It wasn’t like any of the other dresses I’d tried on the past couple of days. Whereas they’d been all wrong, this one—a vintage-looking Battenberg lace sheath with a square neckline—had potential. The back had a keyhole opening, adding a touch of drama that made the dress both prim and sexy at the same time, while the short sweep train was the absolute right length for an informal wedding. Best of all, I wouldn’t need to worry about a stupid bustle. In a word, it was stunning.

Greedily, I grabbed it out of the woman’s hands and practically dove into the dressing room where I threw it on haphazardly. Despite it not being zipped and buttoned properly, I knew immediately. This dress was the one. Staring back at my reflection, I saw myself as I’d be when I said my vows.

When I became Cameron’s wife.

I quietly stepped out of the little room and into the larger space that contained a raised platform in the center. I glanced at Carly and her face split into a giant, ear-to-ear grin. My mother hadn’t even glanced up. Instead, she continued looking down at her fingernails as a file swung back and forth across her already perfect manicure.

“Jane,” Carly intoned, “I think you’re going to want to see this one.”

My mother didn’t raise her eyes from her hands. “Why? It’s just going to be another basic white gown with no shape or sparkle. Why she insists on those plain dresses is beyond me.” Her dismissive language and derisive tone made something inside of me snap.

“Mother, if you can’t be civil, you need to leave. Now.” I didn’t bother to disguise my anger. There was being nice to your mother because she had given birth to you and was the only one you’d ever have, and then there was indulging her drama as she did her level best to tear you down. Right then I was done with both.

“Now, Sarah,” she chided, finally looking up from her nails to take in the sight of me in the dress I’d already fallen in love with.

“Oh, my!” she stammered, bringing her hand up to cover a gasp of surprise. “Oh,” she breathed out before going completely silent, her hand dropping back down to her side. And then her eyes filled with tears and she walked over to me and enveloped me in a light hug, careful not to crush the dress before she stepped away.

“It’s … you’re …” She stopped, took a deep breath, and started again. “You’re beautiful, Sarah. Cameron is a lucky man.”

“I know Mom; but thank you for saying so.” I hugged her back.

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