Charlie ground her teeth but hid it with a small smile, knowing exactly what the woman was referring to and disagreeing. Martha kissed her cheek and they went to the door where the queen of Chicago looked to Matthew and shot him a smirk. One last glance at Charlie and Martha reminded, “I’ll pick you up at ten tomorrow.”
When Martha left the room, it was almost as if the sparkle of the restaurant faded. That very magic Charlie had always admired.
“Charlotte,” Matthew waited for her attention, gruff and grouchy. “What she sayin’ about tomorrow?”
Smiling up at the handsome scowl, Charlie explained, “She wants to take me to buy a wedding gown. Don’t worry though, I know you’d rather have all your fingers broken then stomach a grand Radcliffe wedding. I’ll just go to please her.”
Matthew shifted on his feet and looked to the side. After a moment, he asked, “You want a fancy dress and party?”
She looked dumbfounded. “I wouldn’t have anyone to invite.”
“You, ah, get whatever dress you want. All that frilly lacey stuff you like.”
Her slow growing smile let him know he’d said the right thing. Looking shyly at his chest, Charlie murmured, “I would like a nice photograph—you in a suit and me in a veil. I don’t need a party or a fancy wedding.”
Nodding his approval, happy to see her smiling like she was, he took her fingers in his. “How much money you want for the dress?”
“That’s awful sweet of you, but it’s not your place to buy my dress.”
This was going a direction he was uncomfortable with. “What do you mean?”
“I have my own money saved up, Matthew.” Proud, Charlie added, “Besides, I have a feeling Beau and Martha are going to want to buy my bridal gown.”
He let out a breathy growl, “Let’s get back to the hotel.”
“Oh, no, sir.” Batting her eyelashes, she took his hand. “I am taking my sweetheart out tonight. There is this little jazz club nearby with a singer with a voice like velvet. Why don’t you let me buy you a drink?”
Said with a hint of reprimand, Matthew grumbled, “I’ll buy the drinks.”
“Well, all right then.” She pressed a kiss to his cheek, rubbing against him ever so subtly, promising she’d make it worth his while.
Chapter 11
Martha lounged, hip atop a satin covered chaise. Hot tea at her lips, she looked at the fifth dress to grace her little protégé. “Now that is beautiful.”
Charlie did not agree. The country girls would think her a floozy to dress so lewdly at her own wedding. “I could never wear a dress this elegant in Monroe.”
“Well, good thing you’re getting married in Chicago.”
Not rising to the bait, Charlie ignored Martha and explained, again, to the dressing assistant, “Please bring something demure.”
“Oui, Mademoiselle.”
It was corny, that fake accent, and Charlie couldn’t help but shoot Martha a smirk before ushering in the greater issue, “Don’t wheedle Matthew tomorrow. Neither of us wants a big wedding. After all, I have no family but you.”
“You are my niece, darling,” Martha pronounced the endearment with her own phony French twist. “It is who I would invite.”
Unmoved by the attempted emotional manipulation, Charlie stepped out of her dress, tossing it atop the growing pile of white fluff in the corner. “Small ceremony. Dinner after.” Blue eyes met brown. “In Monroe.”
Cool as a cucumber, Martha said nothing.
The attendant returned, Charlie too busy staring down a woman just as stubborn as she was, to pay any attention to the new garment buttoned up her spine. I
t was not until the attendant cleared her throat for the third time that Charlie glanced towards the mirror.
One look and Martha’s machinations were forgotten. Every bit of white lace was perfect, turned Charlie into something pretty, transfiguring the spitfire into a bride. Smiling at her reflection, Charlie breathed four happy words. “I like this dress.”
Purring, Martha agreed with her stupefied ingénue. “I would say so… And the veil? Do you want something long or just a cap?”