Her assignment is to get her mother's wedding dress to
Hawaii in time for her wedding. It's her mother's third
wedding but as her she said, "the third time is the lucky
time." Dragging the emblazoned Bichonnie Bridal CoutureI
garment bag through Security at LaGuardia Airport in NY,
Laney Hudson heads to Terminal C Departures. Only one
seat
left in the lounge.. Laney drapes the garment bag over it,
sinking down onto the floor for the only plug remaining
for
a power source. The handsome guy in the matchy-matchy
suit
is hogging all the outlets on the two connected chairs
What
a hog He's harnessing all the airport energy charging his
fancy phone, recharging his tablet while tapping away on
his computer in his lap.. Tech Boy, real Tech Boy.
Bored,Laney, a comic book artist, pulls her sketchpad and
pencils out of her bag and begins sketching him. Smiling
she thinks to herself, "Those cheek bones could cut glass
and I have lush eyelashes like him, but mine come out of a
mascara tube." Receiving a cold, stony stare from him,
she
repacks her sketchpad, and heads to board the plane..
The
flight attendant notices the bridal garment bag, thinks
Laney is the bride, and upgrades her to first class. No
sense correcting her error, it's just a little white lie.
Time to enjoy first class service, but her seat mate is
Tech
Boy.
Noah Ridgewood, a software designer, apps specifically,
is
en route to Las Vegas to his Bachelor Party. Engaged to
marry Sloane Bidwell daughter of the Bidwell conglomerate,
Noah is
having cold feet and second thoughts about their big event
coming soon. Sloane has been firm and unyielding in every
decision pertaining to their wedding day. The changing of
the wedding date to the anniversary of his father's death
without telling Noah was the last straw. Is Sloane really
the one for him?
THE DICTATORSHIP OF THE DRESS is a sweet,often funny,
mostly romantic story about
self-discovery, reflection on what was, is and will be.
Grounded in Chicago because of a snow storm, Laney and
Noah
spend the night together in the last available room, the
honeymoon suite of the Regency Hotel. They talk and laugh
non-stop, raid the mini-bar, and get drunk together
playing a sexy question and answer game. Passions are
ignited and future decisions are questioned.. Jessica
Topper writes a beautiful, heartrending story about
second
chances. I thoroughly enjoyed THE DICTATORSHIP OF THE
DRESS and fell in love with
Laney and Noah. As her preface to her mother says, "No
cape
necessary. You are my ultimate superhero." Laney, I
think
Noah is yours.
As the dress-bearer for her mother’s wedding, Laney
Hudson
has a lot more baggage than the bulky garment bag she’s
lugging from New York to Hawaii. Laney is determined to
prove she’s capable of doing something right, but running
chores for her mom’s fairytale nuptials is proving to be
a
painfully constant reminder of her own lost love.
So when she’s mistaken for the bride and bumped up to
first
class, Laney figures some stress-free luxury is worth a
harmless white lie. Until the flight crew thinks that the
man sitting next to her is Laney’s groom, and her little
fib
turns into a hot mess.
The last thing Noah Ridgewood needs is some dress-
obsessed
diva landing in his first-class row. En route to his
Vegas
bachelor party, the straight-laced software designer
knows
his cold feet have nothing to do with the winter weather.
When a severe storm leaves them grounded in Chicago and
they
find themselves booked into the last available honeymoon
suite, Laney and her in-flight neighbor have little
choice
but to get better acquainted. Now, as her bridal mission
hangs in the balance, perhaps the thing Laney gets right
is
a second chance at love.
Excerpt
Noah pushed past me. “You take the bed. I’ll take the
tub.”
I watched as he spread a large down comforter in the
oversized heart-shaped Jacuzzi that sat regally (well, as
regally as a gaudy heart-shaped tub could) upon a tiled
platform near the windows. He added the decorative
pillows from the bed for cushioning before laying a
blanket over the top. It looked like a large fluffy nest
by the time he was through.
“You look like you’ve done this before.”
“Done what, slept in a bathtub?” Noah gave a grim smile.
“My roommate in college snored. I guess this will be good
practice for Vegas when I see him.”
While he knelt by the Jacuzzi, preening and poking at his
nest, I took in the rest of our hotel accommodations.
Besides the gargantuan king-sized platform bed, there
really was no other sleeping alternative. Two wingback
chairs flanked the decorative fireplace, but they would
be more uncomfortable to sleep on than the seats at the
airport.
Sleep.
As in, actual resting. Was I really expected to get any
sleep with this—this stranger—this “I know I’m handsome
so I’m allowed to be incredibly obnoxious” stranger—three
feet away from me? I didn’t even have my requisite can of
Mace in my pocketbook. Stupid TSA, with their prohibited
items lists and three-ounce rules.
There was one thing I had in my bag that could possibly
prevent any sticky situations. I sprinted over to the bed
and pulled it out of my bag in an “I’ve got the conch!”
Lord of the Flies move.
Duck Tape. I gave the end of the roll a fierce tug, and
it emitted a loud pfffffffft as I stretched a length of
it.
Noah sat up rod-straight. “What was that?”
“Duck Tape.” I thrust my hands up in the air to show him.
“You mean duct tape. For sealing ducts. Not duck. Ducks
quack. They don’t go pfffffft.”
What a smart-ass. I held up the label, which clearly said
my brand of duct tape was Duck Tape. It was also fuchsia
and black zebra print, and fabulous.
“All right. So the names are interchangeable,” he
allowed. “Still. What are you planning to do with it?”
Gee, I don’t know. Gag you?
I bent and, beginning at the wall next to the bedside
table, stretched it all the way to the opposite wall,
pushing it down to the Berber carpet as I went. I tried
not to think that he might be checking out my butt as I
waddled along.
“Come nighttime,” I dictated, “we don’t cross this line
to each other’s side.” I had seen it on an old episode of
The Brady Bunch.
“You may want to rethink your boundaries. My side has the
bathroom.”
Huh. It hadn’t ended so well for the Brady boys, either,
come to think of it.
Noah tossed his suit jacket onto one of the wingbacks,
kicked off his shoes, and hopped in to test the nest. He
looked so cozy and insulated.
“Well, that’s hardly fair. I say we flip for it.”
He cracked an eye. “I loaned you my sneakers, gave you
the bed, and you’re still giving me a hard time?” I
crossed my arms. Noah sighed and dug into his trouser
pockets for a coin. “Heads or tails?”
“Heads,” I called as he flipped the coin from his
reclining position. It bounced off my Bozo shoe, rolled
over near the bed, and landed in his favor. “Phooey.” I
picked up the coin with a frown.
“What’s your problem, Laney?”
“I . . . I really wanted to try the nest,” I admitted.
Noah slowly pushed himself up and out. “It’s all yours,”
he said slowly. “Go nuts.”
I was sure he thought I was nuts, but I didn’t care.
Smiling, I untied his Chuck Taylors, pulled them off, and
plopped myself in. “Nice.” I looked up at him. “Well
built.”
“Eight hours of nice?”
“Maybe.” I curled on my side. “Maybe not.”
“I’ll take it, Miss Bichonné,” he mocked. “You can have
the big white fluffy bed. I’ll bet it matches your
dress.”
I stuck my tongue out at him as he began to set up his
base station at the desk, firing up his laptop and
unwinding his power cord. I knew he couldn’t see me but
it felt good to do it. For spite, I stayed in the nest.
Had I been alone, I could have stripped and soaked all
the snow and cold away with a bubbly Jacuzzi and a
minibar drink. And maybe called down to room service and
ordered up a tattooed Lance from the bar.
Having a fake fiancé was really cramping my style.
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