Mercedes Jones spends romantic days in the city of love with her boyfriend, sure that he will propose to her any moment. But during a candlelight dinner underneath the Eiffel Tower, he does something else- he breaks up with her!

But Mercedes has no time to mourn for her loss, her sister wants her to take her wedding dress from a star designer in Paris and bring it to Venice where she will marry a European celebrity in less than two days.

With two annoying companions in tow, the stuck-up designer's assistant and an attractive stranger (why did Sam join them again?), Mercedes makes it her mission to arrive at her sister's wedding in time, but of course, things go horribly wrong…

This is my first Samcedes story, so please, bear with me xD

This story is based on "All Dressed Up" by Lucy Hepburn, another awesome novel.
Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

"You look beautiful, Mercedes."

"So you noticed", Mercedes smiled, feeling how she started blushing.

The restaurant was elegant and luxurious …and must also be quite expensive, just like all the elegant restaurants in Paris. A young man in tails was playing the piano, the melody sounded quite…French.

"That restaurant is beautiful as well", she said.

Anthony nodded in agreement. "Not bad, right?"

"Thanks that you brought me to that place", Mercedes said quietly. "I have to admit, today, you really made my dreams come true."

Anthony just waved it off and hid his face behind the menu. Again, Mercedes needed to smile and bit her lower lip. She wondered where exactly he hid the ring.

The dishes good looking waiters were serving on giant plates were a sight to see and also smelled delicious. Anthony told her not to look at the prices, but it just wasn't possible. But he also had whispered to her he would appreciate it if she didn't order the Norway lobster, one of the most expensive dishes on the menu.

"Would you like to order some wine, Mademoiselle? Monsieur?" The head waiter, or maître d' -like the French people liked to call him – wearing a tuxedo and a moustache, asked them, speaking English with a strong French accent.

Mercedes looked at Anthony. "What do you want?"

"Ermm, maybe a bottle of …red wine?", Anthony stuttered, shrugging helplessly.

The head waiter nodded. "How about a Bordeaux, then?"

At least, its price was not making Mercedes sweat, and Anthony seemed to think the same. "Fine. We will take it."

The waiter bowed before he left. Mercedes chuckled and touched Anthony's hand. "Nice."

Anthony didn't smile back, and she knew why he was so nervous. Just like her. Mercedes' stomach was prickling with excitement, but it must have been worse with Anthony's. After all, it was him who must pose that particular question.

Outside, the Seine was flowing underneath the shining moon, some boats full of tourists with cameras or phones were passing by every now and then.

How picturesque.

Mercedes looked down her dress. It was a bright blue sheath dress with no sleeves that perfectly fitted to her white high heels – her favorite color.

"How did you even find that restaurant?", she asked so that Anthony looked up from the menu again.

"Google", he answered shortly, shrugging.

"And what did you type in so that you found it?", Mercedes wanted to know, still smiling.

Romantic places for a proposal? Say it!

Finally, he put down the menu and grabbed her hands. "I wanted to do it the right way, Mercy."

"I see."

Her heart was beating faster. She wished Anthony would have done it sooner, after they had sat down. He would have asked her, she would have said Yes, and that would be it.

Of course, it would be it. After being a couple for three years, without grave fights, and now, their trip to one of the most romantic cities in the world?
Mercedes would say: "Yes, Anthony, I want to marry you."

She didn't need to think twice about it.

In order to distract herself, Mercedes looked at the menu in front of her, trying to translate the cheaper dishes so that she knew what to order. But food was the last thing she wanted to think about.

"Good evening, Mademoiselle, Monsieur. Do you want to try the wine?" A younger waiter was standing in front of them now, looking kind of nervous when he showed them the bottle of expensive wine.

"Of course", Anthony answered, grimacing.

Anthony had no idea whether the wine was okay or not, he was just pretending. For Mercedes, it was like the would pretend that they were all grown up, and she gave him a thumbs up. Some day, the both of them would laugh about what happened that eveni…

"Oh!"

Mercedes yelped quietly. While the waiter tried pouring some wine into Anthony's glass, some drops landed on his suit jacket.

"Pardon, Monsieur, I am so sorry!", the young waiter exclaimed, upset.

"My best jacket!"

Frankly speaking, it was Anthony's only jacket. Mercedes leaned over, trying to dry it with her table napkin. "That was an accident, Anthony."

"An accident that shouldn't happen at a fancy place like this one, right?", he whispered to her. "Give it to me, I will pour it in myself." He waved off the still apologizing waiter. "That's safer."

Mercedes stayed silent while Anthony filled her glass.

"I thought waiters in France needed to attend waiter's school for five years so that they don't spill wine on the costumers."

"It's not that bad. Things like that happen from time to time", she answered, sighing when she looked at Anthony's jacket closer. It was his favorite piece, dark blue and white. They had bought it together at a festival in New York.

Poor Anthony.

Usually, he wasn't that huffy, but this evening was supposed to be special. Mercedes took a deep breath, trying to relax. This evening needed to be perfect. But when she saw how annoyed Anthony looked right now, she needed to shudder against her will.

The head waiter appeared again, apologizing one hundred times and offering to pay the cleaning of the jacket. The young waiter also didn't stop apologizing, looking down his dress shoes while he did so, and fleeing to the kitchen after a while.

When the head waiter wanted to hit his protégé, Mercedes and Anthony flinched.

"It's okay", Anthony said quickly. "I will take care of it myself." He jumped up and his chair tipped over behind him. With a forced smile, he said to his girlfriend: "I'll be right back, Mercy. Don't drink all the wine, okay?"

"I will try", Mercedes said dryly, rolling her eyes.

Anthony rushed to the toilet, and Mercedes looked after him, aware that he needed time to think. He always acted like that in stressful situations: Getting away from the scene to clear his head. That's what Anthony made a passionate photojournalist. At the beginning of their relationship, Mercedes found it thrilling to be with a dynamic man like him, always looking for exciting pictures that would change his life and make him famous and/or rich.

Mercedes took another sip of her glass. It must probably be delicious, but she was too nervous to really taste it. Again, she looked around in the room, slowly starting to feel out of place.

It was just so frustrating. Anthony acted aloof and irritable, and she hated it if he acted like that. Especially not at the evening where he wanted to ask her to become his wife.

Wife! What a grown-up word. Her little girl dreams where Mercedes started crying out of happiness and hugging her future husband – were just dreams. Childish fantasies. In reality, she couldn't even remember having hugged Anthony passionately for the last time.

But she was a twenty-five year old woman now, for god's sake!
This was real life, it was no kitschy Disney-movie.
People got used to each other.
Relationships changed.
Only because Anthony and she got into a certain rhythm, only because they didn't have so many dates lately, or didn't laugh together as much as they used to, it didn't mean that they weren't the right ones for each other.

Right?

But nevertheless, Mercedes was scared. If she looked at the other guests in the room, she knew immediately that she was in Paris. Couples that radiated noblesse and finesse, that talked to each other in an elegant language, with so many gestures, typically European gestures.

The clothes of the women were just stunning. Mercedes loved fashion, that's why she was ecstatic when Anthony wanted to stopover at Paris while they were on their way to Mercedes' older sister's wedding in Venice, Italy.

That's why Mercedes was staring at their dresses right now. A middle-aged woman sitting at the table next to her wore a costume by Chanel that just looked gorgeous. That cut, the hem – everything considered, it was so…wholesome.

While Mercedes glanced to the other costumers of the restaurant, she counted the names of the famous fashion-designers people were wearing clothes of. An Alexander McQueen scarf over there, a costume of Yves Laurent and some pumps of Prada at the table next to the exit. She even spotted a brand-new dress, designed by Antoine Décoste, a remarkable fashion designer and her idol. He was one of the top desi…

"The stains are gone." Anthony's voice brought Mercedes back to reality…or however those golden surroundings could be called. "I will send them the bills of the jacket's cleaning anyway", he huffed.

The lump in her stomach was back again, and it just got bigger.

"Please, Anthony, let it be. They have been so nice to us. As soon as we are at home, we will bring the jacket to the best cleaner of New York, I promise."

"Okay." Anthony grabbed his glass and downed its content all at once, not looking at her.

Mercedes shook her head, trying to suppress her anger. He wasn't the only one who was dying of nervousness right now!

The head waiter returned, refilling their glasses as careful as if he held a newborn in his hands. "I'm so sorry again, Monsieur. Of course, that bottle is on the house."

Anthony nodded nonchalantly, but Mercedes noticed how he bumped his hand to a fist under the table as a sign of victory. Her cheeks felt burning hot.

"Do you want to order now?"

"Later", Anthony said, and the waiter left obediently.

"Please don't be like that", Mercedes couldn't suppress that comment. She grabbed his hand that relaxed after she had touched it.

"Sorry", he said, bowing his head a bit. "You are right." He straightened up, looking nervous again.

Maybe now?, Mercedes thought. But Anthony didn't move.

What if he didn't have time to find the right ring while he went on a shopping tour this afternoon? Mercedes was sure that he wanted to buy one because he never went shopping, he only ordered things he needed on the internet. Mercedes suspicion needed to be right because he had withdrawn a larger sum of money, she had found his account statement.

What else would he need 1 500 euros for? Certainly for a proposal ring with a big diamond on it. On the other side, Mercedes would have loved to choose the ring, but…

"I wanted to take you to a special place…"

"And that's so nice of you", Mercedes cut him off, suddenly keen on buying time. Her heart was beating way too fast. "Everyone is only talking about Coralee's wedding. That's why is so cute of you to do that for me."

Somehow, Anthony's forehead looked sweaty, and he looked around nervously before he took a big sip of his wine. "Yes, well, I need to…"

"The perfect timing! I mean, it's great that we have time for such a romantic evening, right? Because after our arrival at Venice, the wedding will be in full swing, and knowing my sister…"

"Mercedes…"

"Three days!" Anthony looked at her with a frown, but Mercedes just didn't stop talking. "Coralee wants everyone to come to a wedding that will be three entire days long! But I bet she will need three days to greet all the guests Sergio invited." She laughed exaggeratedly. What had gotten into her? "597 of his closest friends! And all of them have billions on their accounts, even…"

"Mercedes?"

"Celebs, bankers, some European royals and stars – what is Sergio even? Less than a prince? Or someone like those royals of Monaco or Belgium?"

Anthony shook his head. Mercedes was aware that he didn't listen anymore, but she continued talking. "Whatever. We will find out on Monday. Corr really wants to play Meghan Markle, she even told me that the paparazzi is following her around – can you imagine?"

"No." He still didn't look at her.

"You know, Anthony, I witnessed every single detail of the wedding's preparation. I talked about everything with Corr, but not about the dress."

"The dress…", he said, sighing.

"Oh, I'm over it", she explained, trying to look like she was okay. "Of course I'm over the issue with the dress. But to me, it feels like the wedding already took place. It's such a big part of our life now. All those details! Who would have thought that the selection of chocolate covered strawberries was that important?"

Mercedes just couldn't help it. All these words came out of her and she couldn't stop them. She already told him all those things about the event which they both sarcastically called the 'Celebrity Wedding of this century'. But she just needed to keep on talking.

Anthony cleared his throat loudly, and Mercedes forced herself to calm down. "So…Paris…is great, right? It's great, Anthony. Thank you."

That was it. She was stuck.

"I need to tell you something, Mercy."

"Really? This evening?"

"Yes", he answered, biting his lip. "This evening."

"Okay. Tell me." She looked into his dark brown, almost black eyes, as if she was searching for answers.

"You are a great girl, Mercedes." He looked down. "And…"

"And you are a great boy, Anthony."

"And…" He paused, avoiding looking into her eyes.

"Yes?" Mercedes held her breath.

"And that's a wonderful dress. A really nice…color." He shrugged helplessly.

Mercedes' heartbeat quickened. He had no idea about fashion, but at least, he was trying. She touched his hand. "I love the color too."

She knew how hard this was going to be for him, so she smiled softly. "It's a classic."

"What?" Anthony looked at her, confused.

"The dress. Jimmy Choo. I bought it on Amazon."

Why was she talking about the dress? But most importantly: Why did he?

"Good job, it…suits you."

He is stalling the proposal, Mercedes thought.

When he looked at her again, he took a deep breath. "Paris is holy ground to you, right?"

"What do you mean?"

"This is the place of all famous, living fashion designers."

"And of the dead ones as well", she corrected him.

"Yeah, right."

Mercedes' laugh was forced, Anthony didn't join her laughter. Of course, her comment was not funny, but still.

"That's for you, Mercy", he whispered.

She inhaled audibly and looked at his hands. But there was no ring. Now, she was more confused than ever. "How do you mean it?"

He leaned forward. "Paris. Paris is for you."

"Oh. Right."

That was a complicated proposal…

"One day, you will be here. Even more famous than the best designers. I just know that."

"Well…that's how my plans look like, but whether they will become reality? I don't know.", she mumbled.

"I promised to myself that I will bring you here one day so that you can imagine how it will be.", he said quickly. "And that's the right moment."

That was it.

"My last chance."

Now, it came.

"The thing is that…"

"Anthony Rashad, will you tell me what is going on now?" Mercedes looked up, suddenly anxious. "What do you mean by 'last chance'? Are you sick or something?" She held her breath, feeling how she slowly panicked.

He looked her in the eyes, shaking his head. "No, I am not sick."

"And what else do you want to tell me?"

Did all proposals start like that?

"I will leave, Mercy." For a while, it was like everyone had went silent at the restaurant. No breathing, no talking, no nothing.

"What?"

"I will go to California, more exactly to Los Angeles", he croaked. "Hollywood."

"Oh." What the...?

"I just learned it myself."

Was he serious?

Mercedes' brain stopped working, she remembered how Anthony got working tasks all over the States, but never so far away.

"Why?", she said, a lump was molding in her throat.

Anthony started sweating even more. "You know that I'm waiting for my big breakthrough for so long."

"Of course, I know." Anthony was frustrated that his career didn't go as planned, Mercedes knew that exactly.

"Well", he said, looking her deep in the eyes. "Now, it happened."

"It what? " Her head started spinning.

"You still remember George?"

"Yes?"

"He needs me for a project."

"Does he?" Why was she speaking with sentences that were not longer than three words? But her brain was not able to produce more than that right now.

Anthony nodded. "Do you know Leonard Hayes, that Avantgarde artist?"

"No." She frowned, wishing that he would stop beating around the bush. "Sorry, Anthony, but you know, you don't know names like Gabbana as well."

He nodded. "To me, Leonard Hayes is what Gabbana is to you, okay?" Mercedes laughed shortly.

"Our interest in each other's jobs is not that big, hm?"

Anthony smiled and shrugged. "Nope." He leaned forward. "Well, Leonard will turn hundred soon and wants to make a photo-retrospective about his life and his work." He grinned widely. "And George wants to work with me on that!"

Mercedes frowned even more. "Anthony, since when do you know about it?", she asked, more than confused.

Now, Anthony started staring at his fork. "Not that long. I had no time to clear my head. I just thought I would fly to Paris and…"

"And?", Mercedes asked sharply. Something was wrong. Very wrong. "Anthony? Do you plan to leave soon?"

He leaned back on his chair and closed his eyes. "Tonight", he whispered almost inaudibly.

Mercedes felt a pain in her heart, and she wondered whether someone just stabbed her.

"I will take the next flight to LAX.", he croaked "George already booked me a room."

For a moment, Mercedes was convinced that her boyfriend just told her he would fly to L.A. tonight. He wouldn't propose to her or show up at Coralee's wedding. Coralee's wedding! The seating arrangement! Coralee would…

"Do you want to order now?", the waiter asked who just showed up out of nowhere.

"No!", they shouted in unison.

"Thanks", Mercedes added when the waiter turned on his heel and left, irritated.

"I am so sorry, Mercedes", Anthony said, taking her hands to squeeze them.

"What about the wedding?", she asked, still shocked and dragged her hands away.

"I can't go", he mumbled.

"What?!", Mercedes yelled. "Corr will flip out! She has seating cards with golden imprinting! Almost six hundred, and yours is on the table of the bridal couple!"

"It all just happened so fast", Anthony stuttered. "There was no good timing to tell you. I knew that I can't go to the wedding with you, but I thought I could at least…all that…" he looked around in the restaurant.

"For…how long?", Mercedes muttered. Slowly, she understood that Anthony would leave her for a job in California. And he left her back in Paris…

Anthony sighed and stretched before he leaned forward to take her hands again. "That's the problem, Mercy."

"There is another problem?"

He nodded, tortured. "I need to take the chance, it's final. I will search for an agent and get famous in Cali."

Mercedes just couldn't believe it.

"I am almost twenty-nine years old, and I won't get any younger."

That conversation was slowly turning into a nightmare.

"In Cali, I will socialize with other artists. I will…"

"How long, Anthony?", Mercedes repeated, her voice sounded distant.

"I don't know." Anthony shrugged. "As long as it will take."

She smiled at him and wondered why she stayed so calm. Maybe, she was still shocked. "Well, well, well. You are leaving me. You are breaking up with me."

"I'm so sorry, Mercy, but you and I, we need …space…"

"You are breaking up with me", she repeated tonelessly.

He stayed silent, but his face expression spoke volumes.

That evening sucked.

"I know that I should have told you sooner", Anthony mumbled.

At that, Mercedes laughed bitterly. "You think so?", she asked sarcastically.

"But lately, our relationship wasn't that great, right? It's not how it was at the beginning. I mean, you are a great girl and everything…"

"So you noticed it as well", Mercedes hissed. To be honest, she had no idea whether to be angry or desperate.

"Of course I noticed!", he answered. "But we want different things in life…at different places."

He had a point, oscillating between L.A. and New York was not that easy. Suddenly, Mercedes wondered what Anthony would do with the ring. And realized that there was none. There had never been one.

"Where have you been this evening?", she wanted to know.

The sudden change of topic was surprising him. "Oh…erm…I bought a telephoto lens." Mercedes had no idea what a telephoto lens even was, but she was too upset to even ask.

"I will need a good one, and here in Europe, the quality is far better even though I needed to pay a fortune."

"Let me guess. 1 500 Euros?"

Anthony looked at her, confused.

"I saw the account statement."

"Oh."

Silence.
Anthony downed his glass all at once. He seemed to be devastated, and Mercedes even took pity on him.

"Tonight?", she whispered.

"Mercedes…"

Now, it was her turn to talk. "Listen, Anthony, I don't know how to react. I am shocked."

"I am so…"

"I wish you would have told me sooner … but you know what? Forget it. There is no right timing for moments like this one."

"Our time together was great." Anthony was down, even more than the young waiter that had spilled the wine.

Mercedes felt how her face expression softened. "Yes, that's true."

The head waiter appeared behind Anthony, looking quite impatient.

"Shall we eat now?"

"Eat?"

"You know, what people normally do at restaurants."

Mercedes shook her head, and Anthony nodded in agreement. "Sorry", he said to the head waiter "But we have to leave. I want the bill for the wine. No, wait. It's on the house, right?"

Suddenly, the waiter looked downright…outraged. "You, Monsieur, cause nothing but trouble! If you make a reservation at my restaurant, I expect from you that you pay for that!"

"Run!" Anthony took Mercedes by the arm and dragged her to the exit.

"Anthony!", Mercedes wheezed, took her purse and rushed to the exit, passing chic Parisians that knew how to act better than them.

They ran down the street, the waiter followed them down the stairs, and Mercedes was glad that she didn't know enough French curse words to know what he called after them. They stopped after they had turned around several corners, sure that nobody had followed them.

Breathless, Mercedes looked at Anthony and saw him smile. "You are one of a kind, Anthony Rashad." She looked him deep in the eyes. "I cannot believe that you do that to me."

"I am sorry."

"I know." She breathed out audibly and looked back to the restaurant. "But we should go farther away in case someone calls the police."

They went along the shore of the Seine, the scent of the metropolis was surrounding them, just like the warm August -breeze. For a while, they looked like all the other couples in love that took a walk in the most romantic city of the world. Mercedes linked arms with him, wanting to walk to their shared vacation apartment.

But Anthony looked at her, pulling away softly. "I will go this way", he said, pointing at the other direction. "The flight…"

Mercedes felt her heart ache. "Oh. Of course. But what about your clothes?"

"I sent them to the airport before we left.", he confessed, looking down his shoes. That small detail hurt so much more than everything he had said before. Mercedes blinked back her tears. "That's why the room was so clean", she commented harshly. "Obviously, you planned everything. You even dare saying that to my face right no…"

He took her face in his hands and kissed her, slowly and softly. Mercedes wanted to push him away at first, but then, she remembered that is was going to be their last kiss. So she reciprocated the kiss, relishing the last moments they had.

"Take care, Mercy", Anthony choked out. "Thanks for three wonderful years."

All she could do was nod.

"Oh, and concerning Coralee's wedding", he went on. "Tell her how sorry I am. And wish her, you know, the usual blessings." His eyes shimmered with unshed tears.

"Yeah", Mercedes nodded.

"Goodbye", he said, tears were running down his face. He turned away, going to the subway station, or metro station, as the Europeans liked to call it.

I thought that I would end this evening with a fiancé and a ring on my finger, Mercedes thought, feeling numb. Instead, I am single.

Trembling, she breathed out. And what now?

Am I the only one who keeps on thinking about "What Now" by Rihanna after reading the last sentence?
lol