The New Beginnings Bridal Boutique

by Kellie Hailes

Genres: General Fiction

Synopsis

'You know for an owner of a bridal shop you're awfully cynical about marriage.'

As the owner of a second-hand bridal boutique in the little village of Alfriston, Paige Alby has seen too many tear-stained owners bring in wedding dresses that signal collapsed dreams to believe in happily ever after. So being the maid of honour at her mother's fourth wedding isn't exactly something she's looking forward to... Nor is the prospect of working with Cy, her mother's admittedly handsome but far too forward wedding planner.

Cy Thorpe has spent the last few years building a wedding empire in London catering to the rich and famous. On a trip home to see his family, he takes on a small private wedding on a whim. The last thing he expected to find was love, but the more time he spends with Paige, the more he sees past her defences to the woman who has dedicated her life to saving the things others have neglected. The hopeless romantic to Paige's sworn cynic, can Cy get Paige to give him and happily ever after a chance?

A warm and uplifting romance, The New Beginnings Bridal Boutique is perfect for fans of Jessica Redland, Tilly Tennant and Donna Ashcroft.

Release date: June 10, 2021

Publisher: Orion Publishing Group

Print pages: 336

Sample

Diane AlbyandSimon ShorterRequest the honour of your presence at their marriage.

Paige tossed the invitation to the side and fell face first into a cushion of white silk and tulle with a groan.

It was happening. Again.

Which, of course it was. She should have seen it coming. Her mother’s latest divorce had gone through, which meant it was time to get hitched again, and any hope of this latest wedding not happening was not an option. Every one of her mother’s marriages had gone ahead. Even when her fiancés were clearly wrong for her, even when wedding preparation descended into arguments and bouts of sulking followed by a tearful reunion. Whatever the trials and tribulations, her mother had always managed to trip up the aisle.

An event that was quickly followed by an end-of-marriage face plant.

At least this time, if the venue – a boutique hotel on Eastbourne’s seafront – was any indication, her mother was being sensible and keeping the wedding relatively small, which hopefully meant fewer people to gossip or cast knowing looks when it all ended.

A further glimmer of hope that her mother wasn’t going overboard had come when she’d said, while dropping off the invitation, that she’d be wearing a wedding dress from Paige’s second-hand bridal boutique, Second Chances. Which, as far as Paige was concerned, was far preferable to spending thousands on a frothy number that her mother would wear for all of a few hours, then hang up in her wardrobe, next to the four other dresses she’d worn at her four previous weddings, never to see the light of day again.

Why her mother insisted on keeping the evidence of her failed marriages, Paige had no idea. She’d not once taken Paige up on her suggestion that she sell them in her shop, instead telling her that they each held special memories, and parting with them was not an option.

Special memories? Paige pressed her head further into the metres of scratchy fabric. Memories of her mother’s second husband being caught in flagrante with the maid during their Caribbean honeymoon, then with his co-worker seven months later? Of husband number three selling her mother’s jewellery in order to fund a booze habit he’d managed to keep hidden for three years? Of husband four, who at twenty years her mother’s junior, and only five years older than Paige, had one day up and left her for someone his own age?

The only wedding dress Paige could understand her mother keeping was the one she’d married Paige’s father in. A simple cream satin sheath that flowed to the ground and featured the slightest of trains. Simple, chic, and all they could afford at the time. Her mother’s blonde hair had been kept simple, half-up half-down, with sprigs of gypsophila attached to the combs that held her hair back. She’d carried a bunch of daisies as she walked up her sandy aisle to the edge of the water, where a handful of friends and only the closest of family watched the two get married, before a beach picnic was held that lasted long into the night, until – according to her mother – the last bottle of cheap wine had been drunk and the batteries in the boom box they’d brought along to play music ran out.

Paige lifted her head and smiled at the photo of her mother and father on their wedding day that she kept on her desk. Their bodies angled towards each other. Their hands holding each other tight. Their heads thrown back in laughter at some secret joke. They were the perfect couple. Complimented each other in every way. Diane’s exuberant – and, at times, fiery – nature tempered by her father’s cool, calm, measured patience.

They truly had been made for each other. Right up until her dad’s last breath.

The shop’s bells alerted her to a customer. With a sigh she pushed her maudlin moment away and made her way to the front. A smile easily finding its way to her lips, as it always did when she was greeted by the elegant cream walls she’d painted herself, the fawn and cream flower-patterned rug that she’d found in a skip, pulled out, steam-cleaned and then had re-hemmed. And then there was what she considered her pièce de résistance – the sparkling chandelier.

She’d rescued it from the tip shop where it had been tossed in the corner, its bronze arms bent out of shape with just half its crystal drops attached. She’d spent hours scouring the internet looking for matching replacements, and after months of searching had collected enough drops to resurrect it.

Now it hung proudly from the centre of her store… And was currently being admired by a rather dapper man.

His head was tipped back just enough that she couldn’t get a sense of his face, but his dress sense was impeccable.

An electric blue blazer was accented with a canary yellow pocket square. The same shade of shoelace was threaded through his chocolate brown suede business shoes. A touch of colour that hinted at personality, without shoving it in your face. The look was further toned down with well-tailored beige pants and a crisp white shirt, open at the neck.

Possibly a touch over-the-top for the small village of Alfriston, and a little more clothing than was necessary on such a warm summer’s day, but the look suited him and, from the lack of sweat patches under his arm, the heat didn’t appear to bother him.

He was one cool customer. Paige smiled to herself at her small joke.

Paige waited for Mr Dapper to turn his attention to her. Waited a little more. Watched, and waited even longer, as he angled his head this way. Then that. His hand moving to his chin, caressing his smooth, stubble-free jawline.

‘She’s a beauty, isn’t she?’ Paige offered up, tiring of the prolonged inspection of her arts and craft project. Impatient to know what he was doing in a second-hand wedding dress store.

It wouldn’t be the first time a man walked up the aisle in one of her dresses, or bought one to wear to a sports game with his mates as a lark, but something about this gentleman told her he wasn’t the dress-wearing type.

Her hands gripped the counter as the upturned face met hers, his lips lifting ever so slightly into a relaxed smile.

‘She is indeed. Very beautiful.’

If Paige had ever wondered if it were possible to be jealous of a chandelier, she’d just discovered that it was, in fact, incredibly possible to be jealous of a chandelier.

‘She’s a work of art.’

His voice was low, melodious. Like he could lull you to sleep on your most wakeful of nights, or whisper sweet nothings that would make you want to stay awake forever.

Act professional. Pretend that the man standing in front of you is not cardiac-arrest-on-the-spot drop-dead gorgeous.

She raised one eyebrow. A move she’d spent hours as a teen perfecting in the mirror, believing it gave her a cool, chic edge. One that had come in handy many times over during her life – most often put to use when she met her mother’s latest beau and wanted him to know that while he may have swept her mother off her feet, he had a long way to go before he’d have the same effect on her daughter.

‘Paige, right?’

A hand was offered and Paige found herself taking it, shaking it, then releasing it, all the while trying not to think about what a smooth but strong hand it was. One she could imagine holding longer than was good for her. Or than was appropriate.

She forced her arms behind her back and interlocked her hands, not trusting them not to reach out and attempt a second handshake.

‘And you are?’

‘I’m Cy. Your mother sent me.’

Horror curled, cold and jittery, through Paige. Si? As in Simon? This was her mother’s latest husband-in-the-making? She’d thought the last husband had been young, but this one was younger again. He had to be her age, maybe only a tad older. Which would make him around thirty. Give or take a year.

Nausea stirred in her stomach. Had she just been admiring her future stepfather? More than admiring. Straight out perving. Would she be forced to sit across from him at birthdays and Christmases and pretend she didn’t see his brilliant green eyes that sparkled with amusement and intelligence? His lips that were so pigmented it looked like he’d been sucking on a strawberry ice lolly? His lush head of black hair with a hint of a wave, which showed no signs of receding? Also known as perfection in a tailored suit?

She squeezed her eyes shut. Damn it. She was perving again.

Get a grip, woman.

She forced her eyes open and removed her customer-ready smile. Now that she knew who he was, she had to find out why he was here, and what it was that he wanted with her mother.

‘Mum didn’t say anything about you paying me a visit.’

Her latest nemesis’s right hand found its way into his pocket as he began sauntering round the shop, his left hand pulling out wedding dresses from their place on the racks. Giving them the once-over, then tucking them back in their space.

‘Didn’t she? No matter. She wanted me to look at your dresses and come back to her with some firm ideas on what I think will suit her.’

Paige stifled a groan. Really? Was this how her mother was going to try and keep a man this time? By letting him make all her decisions for her? By giving him control of everything?

‘Is she also going to take your advice on the wedding cake? The caterer? Photographer?’

She left her spot behind the counter and began to follow him from rack to rack, her hands clamped to her hips.

‘What about the honeymoon? Are you in charge of that, too?’

He paused, and turned to look at her like she was mad. ‘No. Not the honeymoon. That’s up to her.’

‘Well it’s nice that you’re leaving her to make at least one of the decisions. What next? Will you be deciding on where she’ll live? What clothing she’ll wear on a daily basis? Give her the odd titbit of control here and there so that when you decide it’s time to bail you’ll be able to pull out the “no, I’m not controlling; here are examples of all the times I let you choose” route? Is that how this is going to pan out? Then you’ll leave her for a younger model, or another older model who can keep you in the manner you’re clearly accustomed to, based on that fancy suit you’re wearing? Because if that’s your plan you can leave this place right now. I won’t have a bar of it. And don’t expect to see me at your wedding.’ Paige’s puffed-up chest collapsed with her last declaration.

Don’t expect to see her at the wedding? Who was she kidding? Her mother would demand she go, and Paige would capitulate, as she always had in the face of her mother’s determination.

A crease had appeared between his brows. Not of anger. Not of ‘oh no, you’ve got me all wrong’. If anything it looked like… confusion.

‘Cy. Si. Oh I see.’ The ‘see’ was drawn out. The furrowed brow replaced with an amused, almost indulgent grin.

‘You see what?’ Paige folded her arms as a heaviness grew in her gut.

This wasn’t the grin of a con man about to get his way by bamboozling her with words. This was the grin of a man who’d had a bunch of words thrown at him and had only just now come to understand what it was she was going on about.

‘You think I’m Si.’

‘That’s what you said. It’s who you introduced yourself as.’ Paige cringed at the churlish note in her voice.

‘Well I am Cy. As in C-Y. You think I’m Si as in Simon.’

His lips pressed together for a second, and Paige got the distinct feeling he was holding back a laugh. At her expense.

She gathered her emotions close, refused to let him see her embarrassment, while mentally berating herself for lashing out. For jumping to conclusions.

‘So if you’re not Si as in Simon, then who are you, Cy as in C-Y?’ Better. She sounded calmer. Less of a crazed harridan.

Cy’s hand went to the inner pocket of his blazer, pulled out a card and handed it to her.

Matte. White. With the words embossed in a deep silver. Surprisingly classic considering his stylish with a hint of quirk take on fashion.

Cy ThorpeWedding Planner

‘No? Really?’ She turned the card round. The back featured his mobile number and nothing else. ‘You’re a wedding planner? Aren’t you a bit…’

Cy held up his hand, fingers splayed, palm facing her. ‘You’ve already accused me of being a young man after your mother’s money; let’s not make things worse by coming across as sexist.’

Heat hit Paige’s cheeks. So much for hiding her embarrassment.

An awkward silence filled the room. The awkwardness coming directly from her. Cy looked unbothered as he went back to pulling out dresses.

Paige trailed after him, not sure what to do next. One thing was for sure: an apology was in order.

‘So should I be saying sorry for one thing or two things? I mean, I definitely need to apologise for thinking you’re my mother’s fiancé. Although if you’d seen her last husband you wouldn’t have blamed me for thinking that. But what about the apology-worthy statement that you halted before I could further put my foot in my mouth? Should I say sorry for that too?’ Paige half-walked half-jogged to catch up with Cy as he moved to the next rack.

‘No apology needed, on either count. Let’s just call them innocent mistakes. We all make them.’

Why did Paige have a feeling that Cy was just being polite. That he wasn’t the kind of person to make mistakes?

‘Well, I’m going to apologise anyway. I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions. Or been on the verge of making such a sexist comment. I imagine men would make excellent wedding planners. I’ve just never met one.’ She pulled out a dress her mother would like and held it up for Cy.

‘Really? You’ve never met a male wedding planner? There’s a few of us. Although, not many of us would have a need to enter a second-hand wedding dress shop in Alfriston, I suppose. Cities are usually more our speed. I’m based in London, usually.’ Cy shook his head and waved his hand at Paige’s offering. ‘Not that one. It’s nice and all, but she said she was looking for something simpler.’

‘Simpler?’ Paige looked at the dress with its heart-shaped neckline, heavily beaded bustier and meringue-like tulle, which could be further boosted with a hooped underskirt. ‘This is simple. By my mother’s standards. And how did you, a London wedding planner, end up in this part of the world?’

‘A simple case of serendipity. The couple, whose wedding I was working on in London, broke up, so with a gaping hole in my schedule and my family, who live in Eastbourne, harassing me to come visit, I decided to come down. I just happened to meet your mum and Simon in a café. Overheard them discussing how they were going to pull a wedding together so quickly with next to no help…’

Cy raised his brows in a way that smacked of ‘I can’t believe you won’t help your mother organise a wedding’ disapproval.

Paige tried not to squirm with guilt. Reminded herself that her lack of help was self-protection. That she didn’t want to have anything to do with her mother’s false belief in happily ever after. That every man her mother paraded in and then out of her life only cemented Paige’s belief that while love might exist, while she liked to believe the people who bought her wedding dresses would go on to have their own happily ever after, it wasn’t something she wanted to consider, to indulge. Her mother’s experiences had taught her that it was safer to stay away from love than to indulge the idea.

‘So I offered them my services, and now I’m doing what I do best. Working. Not holidaying.’ Cy tugged at his suit jacket’s cuff. ‘Lucky I had a couple of “in case of emergency” suits stowed away in my car. As for your mother and her taste in dresses…’ he pulled out an off-white tea dress, gave a small shake of his head, then placed it back ‘…maybe she’s changed. For starters she’s marrying a man her own age. Something, I gather from your information download just now, hasn’t been the case previously? And why haven’t you met Simon? He’s a decent chap.’

Why hadn’t she met Simon? Probably because her mother knew better than to introduce Paige to a potential husband after she’d told the last one outright that she didn’t trust him one iota and, in the same breath, had told her mother she was making a big mistake. She’d hated being proven right, but she’d hoped the fiasco with the last husband might have taught her mother a lesson about jumping in without getting to know a man properly first. Apparently not.

‘Mum’s men all start out that way. Lovely chaps. Well, with the exception of the last one. The young one. I knew he’d be trouble. Sooner or later though they all reveal their true colours. The marriage ends. And Mum’s off looking for another man to hook. Honestly, I don’t know why she bothers with it all. Her marriages never last. Hers and forty-odd per cent of the rest.’

Cy fished out another outfit. ‘Here, put this one aside for me, will you?’

Paige glanced down at the two-piece suit. A cream pencil skirt with a matching peplum jacket. ‘She’ll hate this.’

‘Or maybe she won’t.’ Cy continued browsing the racks. ‘You know for an owner of a bridal store you’re awfully cynical about marriage.’

He would be too if he’d seen his mother and her exes traipse in and out of marriages like they were disposable. Like a piece of fast fashion. An absolute must one second, tossed aside the next.

Sure, her mother had good reasons to end her marriages, or to have them end on her, but she’d never fought for them once things had started going wrong. Just dumped and moved on.

‘Not cynical. Practical.’ Scrunching up her nose, being sure to make her disdain apparent, she took the two-piece suit from Cy. ‘It’s why I opened this store. How much do people spend on a frock for one day? Only for it to end up in the back of a wardrobe mouldering away, being eaten by moths, or tossed in the bin when things go wrong? At least this way someone’s hard work and creativity gets a second chance.’

Cy handed another dress to Paige. A simple knee-length silk shift with capped sleeves.

‘Do you know my mother at all?’ Paige shook her head. Diane was all glitz and glamour. The more sparkle the better. So much so that she’d tried to convince Paige that she ought to encrust the chandelier’s arms in chunky gold glitter to give it that extra ‘bling’. ‘She doesn’t do elegant and simple. She’ll call this “plain and boring” and fire you on the spot.’

Cy sent another frock her way. This one a white ankle-grazing number with a halter neck, and a cut that skimmed the curves and emphasised the waist. Paige folded it over her outstretched forearm with a small sigh of exasperation.

He may have been a stylish man, but Cy obviously had no sense of what suited others.

‘I heard that.’ Cy turned to face her, his eyes as sparkly as his smile was wide. ‘And I know you know you think you know what your mother wants, but I know better.’

Paige’s jaw dropped. She tried to force her mouth to close, but it appeared to be stuck. First impressions may have been promising, but Cy was quickly . . .