Page 15 of Fractured (Not Quite a Billionaire)
“Could be.” I’d smiled some more, but he hadn’t smiled back. “Did you get the license?”
“Collecting it tomorrow. It’ll be done. Let’s go.”
He’d grown quieter and quieter once we’d climbed into the car for the two-hour journey to Auckland, resisting all my attempts to draw him out to the point where I eventually asked him, “Do you mind if we listen to some music?”
“No worries.” He punched a button on the dash to connect the Bluetooth so that the playlist he’d made for me had filled the silence. And I told myself that a man who asked you what music you liked, then made sure it was playing for you…that was a man who loved you, no matter how silent and preoccupied he was. Which probably had nothing to do with me.
It’s not all about you,I scolded myself.He’s an incredibly busy man with a lot on his mind.
We drove through Auckland on the motorway, finally exiting at someplace called Penrose, which wouldn’t be featuring on any list of “Auckland’s Most Glamorous Suburbs.”
“Uh…” Karen said from the back seat, looking around as we drove past warehouses and manufacturing plants for things like insulation and plumbing fixtures. “Exactly what kind of dresses are you thinking we’ll wear, Hemi? Hope’s not that fashion-forward.”
“Wait and see,” he said, seeming to lighten up a little. He pulled into an undistinguished parking lot and led us through a glass door into a long, low building, then down a hallway until we emerged into a high-ceilinged, stark space, painted white and filled with racks of clothing. Most of the garments seemed to be black, with a little brown, white, and gray here and there to break the monotony, like we’d entered the No-Color Zone. Huge drafting tables stood against two walls, with men and women bent over them. Another wall was taken up by sewing machines, most of which were in action.
A tall, angular woman came out of this busy scene to meet us. She was dressed in Early Prison Uniform: skinny black pants and a boxy, severe camel-colored tunic. Her black hair was swept back from a high white forehead, while rectangular black-framed glasses made an uncompromising statement on a face made up of slabs of cheekbone, beaky nose, and strong chin.
“Hemi,” she said, reaching for him with both hands and looking up into his face. “Darling. It’s been too long.”
“Violet.” He gave her a kiss on the cheek that she accepted with cool grace, then said, “This is my fiancée, Hope Sinclair, and her sister Karen.” I was still taking in that “fiancée,” and thinking that in five days, he’d be introducing me as “my wife,” and was probably looking like a deer in the headlights at the thought, but he was going on, telling me, “This is Violet Renfrow. She’s going to dress you and Karen.”
Karen tugged at Hemi’s arm and said in a supposedly low voice that I heard just fine, and that I was sure Violet could hear, too, “Hemi. Lookaround.This is all way too plain. Hope needs girly stuff. You know how she is. She’s not going to want to tell you no, but she’s going to be sosad.It’s herwedding.”
Hemi was smiling for almost the first time today. “Nah,” he said, not lowering his voice one bit. “Wait and see. Violet’s the best Kiwi designer going.”
“Maybe,” Karen said, undeterred. “If you like black. Which Hope doesn’t. Especially not to getmarriedin.”
Violet was smiling now, too, not looking quite so scary. “Why aren’t you dressing your bride yourself, darling?” she asked Hemi.
“It was a bit sudden, you could say.” Hemi came over to put an arm around me as if he thought I might be feeling intimidated. Which would be correct. “Besides, she says I’m not meant to see her in the dress until the day. She wants to come to me like she’s…new, I reckon. She wants to knock me sideways and make me feel lucky to get her, and I want to give her what she wants.”
I was turning red, I could tell. The part about coming to him like I was new—it was true, but it sounded too sexual. Or was that just me?
Violet observed him through narrowed eyes and said, “You’re too bloody sexy for your own good, Hemi Te Mana. Has anybody ever said no to you? It’d be good for you.”
I uttered a choked laugh, and Hemi laughed, too, then said, “Ask Hope. She may enlighten you, though probably not. I’ll leave these two in your hands, shall I? Sure you can make it happen for Saturday?”
“If they can come up again on Thursday so we can do any final alterations,” Violet said. “I’ll send somebody down with the dresses on Saturday morning. But I’d only do that for you, and I’ll be charging you double. Plus the courier fee, of course.”
“And I’ll pay it. And one more thing.” He took her far enough aside that Icouldn’thear and started talking, and Violet was nodding.
I’d find out what it was all about. Maybe. The whole thing felt like some kind of “surprise makeover” show, and I wished I had some opinion about what my wedding gown should look like, but the truth was, I’d never considered it. It was the bride’s responsibility to dress herself—at the very least—which meant I’d always figured I’d wear a…well, a dress.
That I already owned.
If I got married at all.
See what I mean? I’d never had what you’d call high expectations. You could say I was out of my depth here, and you’d be right. But at least Hemi was looking more relaxed. Back to his in-charge self, which was his happy place.
Sure enough, he came back to me again and said, “You’ll text me when you’re done, and I’ll collect you.”
“Uh…” I was absurdly nervous, I suddenly had to pee absolutely ferociously, and I wanted to go back home and climb into bed. Alone. “I’m going to need…shoes.” And what else? I couldn’t even think.
Oh, God. Hair. Makeup. Waxing. Underwear. Bouquet. Uh…veil? Or what? I was sweating now.
I’d thought this would be sort of…free and easy. Spontaneous. All right, casual. But this was Hemi, so how could I have thought that? I realized now that he’d be expecting me to be perfect, and I didn’t have a clue how to manage that from a small town in a strange country, not to mention how to pay for it. I was still the same broke woman from Brooklyn he’d met nine months ago. Worse, if anything, because Karen had needed an allowance now that she was in high school, and the rent had gone up, and…well, life never seems to get cheaper, does it?
He was buying my dress, which was bad enough. How could you say, “Darling, could you please give me about five hundred dollars to get plucked and waxed and tinted and pedicured and flawless, so you’ll enjoy our honeymoon and think I’m gorgeous? And drive me to do it? And buy me some fancy shoes and bridal underwear? And by the way—I’ll need some more jewelry.”
