Mix 'N Match (No Match for Love) (17 page)

Zoey’s eyes widened, and she frantically shook her head. “Oh no, I could never. Brooke hasn’t even tried it on yet.”

The woman pursed her lips, giving Zoey an exasperated glare. “You try,” she said again, this time more forcefully.

Even Mitch knew that wearing a bride’s dress was a serious breach of social etiquette. “You can’t wear that.”

“I know
.
” Zoey held up her phone. “Can I take some pictures? Brooke wants to see.” Without waiting for a response, Zoey snapped a photo.

“Maybe we should’ve had Juliette come with us to act as translator,” Mitch said. He wasn’t sure if the woman was confused and thought Zoey was Brooke, or if she just thought Zoey might enjoy trying on the dress.

“I’m calling Brooke,” Zoey said. A moment later, Brooke filled the screen of the video chat. “Hey, Brooke. We’re at the dress shop.”

“How is it?” Brooke asked, her voice thick with apprehension.

A crazy woman is trying to make someone else try on your wedding dress,
Mitch thought. Brooke and Luke should be here, not him and Zoey. How had they gotten into this mess?

Oh yeah. Zoey had flirted with the wrong guy.

He immediately pushed the thought away. That wasn’t fair. Alan had used her.

“Breathtaking. Brooke, you’ve really outdone yourself this time. The design is amazing. See for yourself.” Zoey turned the phone around, facing the dress.

Mitch heard an intake of breath. “It’s perfect,” Brooke said.

Zoey turned the phone back around. “Right? The color is amazing
.
Very vintage. And the lace is unbelievable. There’s no way a picture can do it justice. Communication is kind of an issue, but I think it’s done.”

Madame Rousseau motioned to Zoey again. “You try.”

Zoey pursed her lips. “She keeps saying that. I think she wants me to try it on. Maybe because we’re about the same size? I’m not really sure.”

“Try it on and take a picture, then text it to me,” Brooke said. “It’s so hard to tell how it looks on a mannequin. There won’t be much time for alterations when I get there. I should’ve bought a dress here in L.A. like a sane person, but the paparazzi’s been trailing me so closely, and I just fell in love with Madame Rousseau’s designs.”

So maybe Brooke wouldn’t be a bridezilla. Mitch had to admit, she was being pretty cool about this whole thing.

“Are you sure?” Zoey asked. “I feel like I’m stepping on your toes if I try it on. This is your
dress.”

“Don’t even go there. It’s fine! Really, Zo. I want you to try it on. I’ve gotta go. Send me the pictures, okay? I’ll call you back when I’ve got a few seconds.”

“Okay,” Zoey said and clicked off the phone.

Madame Rousseau smiled. “You try?” she said again.

Zoey nodded. “I’ll try it on.”

Mitch stifled a sigh. He wondered how the Wi-Fi was in this place and how many emails he could answer while Zoey played dress-up. How had this ended up as part of his job description?

Madame Rousseau motioned for them to follow her. Another hallway opened up into a small alcove. A raised platform stood between two doors, with three full-length mirrors angled around it. She opened one of the doors and motioned Zoey inside, handing her the dress.

Mitch sank into one of the chairs in front of the platform, pulling out his tablet and opening the email app. He searched for Wi-Fi networks, but there were none open within range, and one glance at Madame Rousseau convinced him that asking her for the password would be pointless. He opened his email anyway and refreshed, but the hot spot was slow and sluggish.

“I can’t button this myself,” Zoey called from inside the dressing room. The door opened, and she stepped out.

Mitch glanced up from his tablet. His mouth fell open, and the tablet slid to the floor. Zoey stepped onto the platform, the unbuttoned dress revealing the smooth, tanned skin of her back.

Madame Rousseau plucked a small wire hook from her pocket and began buttoning the dress with quick, nimble motions. Zoey turned around, facing Mitch. The fabric hugged her like a glove, the lace molding to her figure and showcasing her curves. The dress dipped low in the front, but not so low as to be distasteful for a wedding. The light bronze color, barely noticeable—champagne, Zoey had called it—made her skin glow.

“Well, how do I look?” Zoey asked.

Mitch swallowed, unable to look away. “Absolutely beautiful.”

The heat in Mitch’s gaze had Zoey’s cheeks flaming. She looked away, unable to take the intensity any longer.

She smoothed the front of the gown, admiring herself in the mirror. The dress was a modified mermaid, fitted through the hips and upper thighs before flowing into a subtle flair. The train was understated, just long enough to be elegant without interfering with movement. Small lace straps complimented the sweetheart neckline. Not something she’d ever choose for herself, but it was perfect for Brooke. Brooke, who should be here trying on the dress herself. Brooke, who was stuck in L.A. because of Zoey’s poor judgment.

“She has excellent taste. Very classic.” Zoey tried to make her voice sound normal, but she could hear the slight tremble in it.

“
Vous êtes magnifique
,” Madame Rousseau said, beaming.

Zoey couldn’t help but smile. She’d seen Mitch’s jaw drop, his tablet slide to the ground. She still had the ability to stop him in his tracks, even if he wasn’t interested in her that way anymore. Even if he wanted her to become some subdued version of herself.

“Brooke will love it,” Zoey said.

“You try your dress?” Madame Rousseau asked.

Zoey raised an eyebrow. She hadn’t even thought about the bridesmaid dresses. “You have it?”

“Wait.” Madame Rousseau hurried out of the room.

Zoey caught Mitch’s eyes in the mirror. She fidgeted, running a hand through her hair. Mitch’s gaze was so intense.

“I feel awkward wearing Brooke’s dress,” she said, just to break the silence. Why was he still watching her?

Mitch rose, coming to her side. She watched him through the mirror, could feel the heat of his body mere centimeters from touching her back. “Give me your phone,” he whispered.

Zoey bit her lip, trying to still the pounding in her heart. “What?”

“Your phone. Brooke wanted you to text a picture, right? I’ll take a few for her.”

“Brooke! Right.” Zoey shook her head, trying to bring herself back to the present. “It’s in my purse. Can you get it from the dressing room?”

“Sure.”

She watched him walk away, his slacks hugging all the right places. Why couldn’t she be indifferent to him?

Mitch was back moments later, her purse in hand. Zoey rummaged inside, impressed he hadn’t gone through it himself, then handed the phone and purse to Mitch.

“Smile,” he said.

Like she could do anything else when he had a purse slung over his shoulder. He looked adorably ridiculous.

Mitch snapped a few photos, then dropped her phone back in the purse. “You really do look beautiful,” he said, his voice low and soft. “If Brooke is half as gorgeous as you in that dress, she’ll make a stunning bride.”

Zoey sucked in a breath. She had never wished so much that she hadn’t freaked out after their kiss. What would’ve happened if he’d called her the next morning, as promised? What would’ve happened if she hadn’t kissed that random guy, and what would’ve happened if Mitch hadn’t caught them?

“Mitch,” Zoey said, her voice quiet. “I—”

“I found.” Madame Rousseau bustled into the room, and Mitch quickly took a step back. She held up a knee-length dress in a vintage lilac. “You try.”

Zoey nodded, swallowing hard. She turned around so Madame Rousseau could unfasten her buttons, then took the bridesmaid dress and escaped into the room, not looking at Mitch.

If they had dated, Mitch would’ve tried to change her. Heck, they weren’t anywhere close to dating, and he’d flat-out told her she needed to act differently. He’d try to stop her from quitting Toujour if she told him about her plans for the makeup business. He was attracted to her body, but he didn’t want
her
.

A few minutes later, Zoey stepped out of the dressing room in the bridesmaid dress. Madame Rousseau clasped her hands together and motioned for Zoey to turn toward the mirrors. Zoey did, and her eyes locked with Mitch’s.
You’re beautiful,
he’d said. And she’d been able to tell, by the look in his eyes, that he meant it.

She blinked, forcing herself to focus on the dress. Yes, she was beautiful. And yes, Mitch was attracted to her on a physical level. But that didn’t change the fact that he viewed her as irresponsible, chaotic, and unstable. She could never fit in to his perfect type-A life.

Madame Rousseau smoothed the front of the skirt. The fabric was featherlight and airy, just brushing Zoey’s knees. White lace crept over the shoulders and down the bodice. The dress would complement Brooke’s nicely, and Zoey had no doubt Brooke would be happy with the end result. The photos would be stunning. Zoey fingered the teal highlights in her hair. She’d have to dye it to match the lilac in the dress before the ceremony.

Madame Rousseau fussed with the dress, pulling it here and tugging at it there. She stood back and eyed Zoey critically before tugging at something else. Finally, she gave Zoey a wide smile and said, “
Absolument parfait
.”

Perfect. Then why did everything suddenly feel so wrong? Zoey blinked, forcing back the tears stinging her eyes. Brooke should be here. Zoey shouldn’t have feelings for Mitch. Things should be different.

“Let me take a few pictures of this one, too,” Mitch said.

Zoey nodded, plastering on a smile while the phone’s shutter clicked away.

“If you aren’t careful, you’ll outshine the bride,” Mitch said. His smile was warm, his tone friendly and sincere. Flirtatious, even.

What was happening?

Zoey took the phone and her purse, feeling suddenly vulnerable, like Mitch had seen into her soul. She wasn’t ready for that.

Zoey changed, and they left the shop, promising to return in a few days.

“We should probably head over to the caterer’s now,” Zoey said. “We’ll be a little early, but there isn’t really time to do anything else before our appointment.”

Mitch nodded. He held open the door and helped her into the car, his touch sending tingles up and down her arm.

Stop it,
Zoey commanded as Phillipe weaved in and out of traffic. There were plenty of guys out there—ones that wouldn’t drive her insane. She should have a crush on one of them.

Mitch’s gaze burned her the entire drive, but Zoey steadfastly avoided it, staring out the window. When Phillipe pulled the car to the curb, she bolted out the door and onto the sidewalk.

Mitch gently grasped Zoey’s arm, pulling her to a stop. Slowly she looked up, her eyes meeting his. His forehead was creased with worry lines, and his eyes searched hers.

“What happened with us, Zo?” he asked, his voice soft. “Did I misread things?”

Zoey thought back to that kiss. She’d felt it in every part of her body, but more than that, she’d experienced an emotional connection unlike anything she’d felt before.

And it had totally, completely freaked her out.

Zoey shook her head. She choked, trying to swallow back the tears. “Mitch, I—”

Mitch stiffened. “He’s here.”

“What?” Zoey whipped around.

Alan. He leaned against the stone front of the building, looking triumphant in jeans and a leather jacket.

Be Brooke,
Zoey reminded herself. She tried to take one of Mitch’s cleansing breaths. She could be calm.

Alan smirked. And Zoey snapped.

She’d leave calm to Mitch.

Zoey strode over to Alan, wishing she’d worn heels instead of the gladiator sandals so that she could look him in the eye.

“Zoey,” Mitch said, his tone heavy with warning and worry.

But she was done playing nice.

Alan’s smirk faded to worry. Worry melted into straight-up fear when Zoey grabbed him by his lapels and pushed him against the wall. She felt his surprise in the lack of resistance. If he wanted to, he could push her off him in a second. But shock apparently held him paralyzed.