“Taylor, really I can’t—”
“I’ll pay you the model’s rate.” She wagged her finger at Gemma, winking. “You drive a hard bargain.”
“I’m not bargaining.”
“I know it’s not supermodel money but—” Taylor rattled off the fee. Gemma actually gulped.
“That’s two months’ salary at The Wedding Shop.”
“I’ll get some light readings.” Taylor started down the aisle and out the door. “Get changed.”
Two months’ salary? Bump her vow and pledge. Gemma was a model today. Really, why was she worried? None of her former friends and colleagues could give a flying fig. And Matt Biglow would take a bullet before ever picking up a bridal magazine—even if Gemma miraculously made the cover. Marriage and commitment were striking vipers to him.
But there was more, wasn’t there? Gemma in a white wedding gown… It was darn near sacrilegious.
Still, an hour later she stood on a dirt-and-leaf path under a canopy of shading oaks when a truck door slammed.
Mia had styled her hair in long waves and clipped a steel rose at her temple.Oh to actually be a steel rose.Then she made up her face, complimenting her complexion and bone structure until Gemma blushed.
“Your cheekbones are perfect.”
Hardly. And nothing on the inside came close to perfect. Not at all.
The gown she modeled was off-white with sheer sleeves and a long, flowing skirt of airy silk and organza. The back was cut in a V and flowers embroidered the chapel train. The bride who chose this dress would be beautiful.
“Gemma, raise your chin,” Taylor said. “Perfect. Now lift your arm. Give me a whimsical ‘I am stunningly beautiful’ pose.”
Gemma hooked her upper lip, making a face.
“Yeah, like that.” Taylor laughed as the shutter whirred and clicked.
Then Gemma relaxed and fell into a soft, elegant pose that defied everything she felt inside. Everything she was. If she could be free, escape the darkness that echoed through her, this,thiswas how she’d choose to be.
* * *
John
He stepped onto the edge of the shoot, scanning the scene for Gemma, her phone in his hand. The photographer, Taylor, circled the model, gently giving instructions.
A soft breeze kicked at the woman’s hair then picked up the hem of the skirt so it became a wing, flying.
With her chin raised and her hand poised so delicately, she looked like one of the goddesses the ancients painted and hung in galleries around the world. Beautiful and statuesque.
But he didn’t come here to admire a wedding gown model. He came to find Gemma. Not seeing her, he started for the chapel.
“Prince, hey.”
He turned to discover the beauty in the gown was Gemma. “Sorry, lass, didn’t… You never said you were the model.”
“The one Taylor booked didn’t show, so she forced me.”
“I hired you.”
“She told me the fee.” Gemma flashed a genuine, bright smile. “Then I pushed her down and raced to the dresses.”
He laughed, which felt like bubbles in his chest, stepped back and worked up a proper, friend-like compliment. “You look very lovely.”
“It’s the dress.” She strutted around, batting the air with her hand, which stirred the annoying flutter in his chest. “The bride who wears this dress is a kick-butt-and-take-names kind of woman. Like, yeah, that’s right, I’m the bride, look at me.”
