Free His 1-800 Wife by Shirley Hailstock Page A

in love with him. Half an hour later he'd rejected every male in the area over twenty and under fifty. They were too young, too old, too silly, too starchy, too tight, too loose, too everything. . .Jarrod wouldn't admit he didn't want her marrying anyone else. He couldn't see her lying on that floor in her dining room, throwing invitations and laughing or playing bride-and-groom with any­one other than him. If this engagement was a test of his will, he'd already lost the battle.
     
    ***
     
    The bridal shop was busy with happy brides, brides­maids and mothers. Catherine turned in circles at the direction of the seamstress, who put pins everywhere. The clerks moved through the aisles, carrying dresses in and out of fitting rooms. Every now and then there was a burst of laughter or a cry of surprise as a bride, completely dressed in wedding regalia, stepped out and awed her friends and family. Catherine turned to look every time she heard the sound. She found it hard not to get caught up in the moment, to remember that she was here to go through the motions, that her wedding was a friendly arrange­ment and not a real marriage.
    "Stand up straight." Catherine forgot the seam­stress's instructions. "We're nearly finished." Quickly she obeyed the small woman's command and looked over the brightly lighted room. Audrey was the only person with her. Elizabeth would be her maid of honor. Audrey and two other close friends would act as brides­maids. Their dresses were scheduled to arrive next week and they would come for their own alterations.
    "Okay," the woman said with a satisfied smile. She stood back. She wore a short blue smock over her dress. A tape measure hung around her neck, a wrist pincushion on her arm.
    Tears sprang to Catherine's eyes as she turned on the thirty-inch pedestal and saw herself reflected in the three-way mirror. Pain pierced her heart at the reflection of a bride, a beautiful, lace-covered bride, ready to take her vows and join the man she loved. She couldn't help it. The tears spilled down her cheeks, hot and salty.
    "That's a common reaction," the seamstress said to Audrey. "Most brides don't know what emotions will come out when they put on their gown. Then everything is beautiful—blurred, but extremely beau­tiful."
    "Catherine, you're so lucky," Audrey said. "Most brides don't find gowns that need practically no alter­ation."
    Catherine stood on the pedestal, above her sister and the seamstress, oblivious of anyone else in the room. She stared at the woman in the mirror. Inside the white lace and beads was her, Catherine Carson, impetuous, capricious, spontaneous, unpredictable, Catherine Carson. But who stared at her from the mirror? Who was this woman dressed in white? She'd never thought of herself as a bride, never really expected to marry, especially after her breakup with Jeff Sherman. There was too much to lose in marriage, but with this dress on, she could see all the promise, all the expectations of the bride and groom. She could hear the music playing, see the church aisle, imagine herself as she floated on her father's arm. She could see the bridesmaids and the groomsmen waiting.
    It was surreal, cloaked with streaming rays of light, refracted through stained-glass windows. And at the end of the aisle . . . she gasped.
    Jarrod!
    He stepped out of the rays with his arms out­stretched, waiting, inviting, beckoning. Catherine shook her head, dislodging the image. She had to get out of this dress.
    "Unzip me," she said, moving off the pedestal and heading for the dressing room.
    "Wait, Catherine," Audrey called. "You'll stick yourself with the pins. The dress doesn't need much, but there are still pins in it."
    "Unzip me," she said through clenched teeth.
    "'Is anything wrong?" A salesclerk rushed over, look­ing distressed. Catherine couldn't explain what had come over her. She didn't know it would happen. She needed to talk to Jarrod. He was right. This was not the right thing to do.