The Wedding Crush

Chapter Eight

Avery

We make it to Bridal Bliss with ten minutes to spare, and thankfully, everyone else is already here.

Corralling our group to the right of the entrance, I clear my throat to grab everyone’s attention.

“Before Shanice calls us in for the dress appointment, let’s take a moment to go over some ground rules,” I say, fishing out dual-purpose judging/paddle fans from my tote, instructing the ladies to, “Take one then pass the stack to the next person.”

Morgan giggles as she reads, “Love it! I say yes to this dress,” then turns it over, scanning the “Hmm…it’s a no from me” on the flip side.

Functional, fabulous, and a fan, in case things get heated.

Logistically speaking, I’ve come prepared.

By no stretch of the imagination do I believe eight strong-willed women won’t have as many opinions about Morgan’s wedding attire. Including the bride, we’ve got four Sister Circle members, Chiara (honorary Sister Circle status), Victoria Fortemani, and Morgan’s mom, Georgia. Ace is here too, but wedding gowns aren’t exactly his thing. Order and structure are nonnegotiables.

“Now, I know we’re all super excited to be a part of this beautiful tradition. I’m sure no one has been creating Pinterest boards and leafing through bridal magazines…” Everyone laughs, guiltily. “However, in the interest of saving time, and to keep Morgan’s decision at the forefront, once we’re seated, you’ll each have twenty minutes to browse through exclusive designer collections for a dress—that’s singular—for our bride to try on.”

“Ooh, I love this idea.” Valerie smiles warmly.

Chiara squees excitedly with her.

I don’t miss Victoria and Georgia sharing an impressed glance either.

Even though I’m a smidge salty that Victoria callously, thoughtlessly wants to invite Stefano’s ex-wife to his brother’s wedding, even though she’s clearly basking in “greener pastures,” I’m so glad they’re here supporting Morgan.

“Think of this as a front-row seat at an extremely condensed fashion show. Two hours. Eight dresses. Three bottles of champagne!”

Monica and Seneca quietly hoot and holler.

This is still a business establishment.

When Shanice finally ushers us into the viewing area, everyone—except for Morgan—claims their seats around the raised platform. After I settle Ace on the floor next to my chair with his iPad, earbuds, and cars, the ladies are raring to go. Then, just like that, we drop off our belongings, and it’s a veritable tulle and lace free-for-all.

Monica runs roughshod toward an A-line number with a cinched waist and diamond-encrusted bodice. Seneca, Chiara, and Valerie get lost in tea-length. Georgia is drowning in ball gowns. Both of which are distinctly not Morgan’s taste nor her vibe. But Victoria and I rightly find our way to modern mermaid and trumpet cuts.

By the time we’ve selected our dresses, hung them in Morgan’s dressing room, and we settle in our seats again, it feels like curtain-up.

“Dress number one…”

Morgan sashays out of the dressing room. She’s wearing a cream-colored, boatneck tea-length dress. Valerie’s choice, which makes her look like she’s ready to time-travel back to the 1950s rather than down the aisle.

It’s classically beautiful, but so mismatched with her vision.

Seven “Hmm… It’s a no from me” fans fly into the air.

A negatory consensus.

Brutal.

“Look, I thought it was really cute.” Valerie defends her selection, but she’s no match for Monica.

“What woman do you know who wants to be cute on her wedding day? Beautiful, stunning, glowing, drop-dead gorgeous, yes,” she reasons. “We need Dante teary-eyed that he gets to spend his life with her.”

At her left, Seneca rests a calming hand on Monica’s forearm. Since I’m on her right, I flap my fan at her, sending a cool breeze in her direction.

Yeah, only seven more to go.

In a twist of instant Karma, Monica’s diamond-encrusted A-line doesn’t even make it to the platform before the fans go up, shutting it down.

After two no’s, I excuse myself to the dressing room to check on Morgan. After a double knock, I enter and find her struggling with the ball gown tulle snagged on her ring.

“Here, let me,” I say, gently unravelling the fabric.

When I meet Morgan’s wandering stare in the mirror, she deflates into a sigh. Mostly, because it’s her mother’s selection.

Saying no to a scalloped-neckline Cinderella monstrosity is one thing when it’s a friend’s dress choice. But how do you tell your mother that she’s picked the one gown that makes your face turn with disgust?

“It’s hideous.” Morgan’s shoulders shake with defeated laughter.

“Girl, the second I saw Georgia pick that one, I was like, Oh, no. This is going to end badly. That’s why I’m here.”

I squeeze her shoulders and flash her a megawatt smile.

But then she twists in my arms to face me with her brows drawn together.

“Um, do you really expect me to believe that’s why you’re hiding in here with me?” She blinks a good dozen times. “I know your busy brain has settled long enough, and you’re thinking about Stefano…”

Wow.

There’s no point denying it.

When Morgan, Ace, and I stepped foot into Bridal Bliss, I figured I’d leave all thoughts of Stefano on the doormat. Just throw myself into helping my best friend find the perfect wedding gown to exchange vows with the love of her life. In my mind, all eight of us would make joyful, teary-eyed toasts—if even I’m a lightweight drunk and champagne makes me horny. It wouldn’t matter though because we’d be celebrating Morgan and Dante’s eternal love.

Then my brain and touchy-feely heart promptly reminded me that I’m an empath.

The thing is, I know loss.

But after Morgan told me about Stefano’s situation, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about how harshly I judged him. And based on what? His suits? A family effort to rouse Dante from the same unimaginable grief that Stefano is likely still grappling with himself?

Imagine, in so many years losing your father, grandfather, at least two babies, plus the dream of having kids at all. Then the cherry on top is a finalized divorce.

And yet, he stood there talking to Ace with so much compassion. Laughing and really talking to him, man to man. Rather, man to incredibly adorable boy.

All I wanted to do was hug this broken man and help him put all the pieces back together.

“It’s so bad.” I shake my head. Disappointment sags through me. “Do you think I like being this way? Trust me, it’s one thing to be highly attuned to other’s emotions and energies. I listen; I understand on the deepest level. People get to feel seen and heard. But it’s mentally straining, to say the least. It’s like, hello burnout, come on in.”

Morgan laughs. “That’s all good and fine, but this isn’t just about emotional broadcasting, friend. I stood right there watching you feverishly fawn all over this man because he was talking about cartoon cars with your son.” She cocks her head, every atom of her calling my bluff.

At this I’ve got to laugh.

“My God… He’s so damn fine. I can’t even deny it.”

“And single.”

I wave her off because truly, the last thing I need in my chaotic life right now is romance. Sex, maybe. But certainly not a candy-coated man with a gooey center to sap my empathetic heart dry.

“I’m so serious when I tell you, I’m just window-shopping with no immediate intentions to purchase.”

Morgan is bent over cackling in that tulle tumbleweed draped around her body.

“Just so you know, you’re fooling no one.” She gasps for air, still breathlessly laughing at me.

But I’ve got to nip this in the butt right here and now.

“Honestly, that’s the whole truth.” THE LIES! “Absolutely, I’m looking forward to our ChatVideo meeting at two, and I fully expect you and Dante to be there.”

“Uh…

“It’s not why you’d think, though.” Positioning myself behind Morgan, I busy myself, fastening the two dozen buttons trailing along her spine. “I feel like utter shit, holding the vineyard hoax against him, judging him, thinking I know the first thing about him when he’s been through hell and back.”

“Child, that man has been through the wringer.”

“I know…” I heave a shameful sigh. “Morgan, I’ve got to smooth things over with him, let him see a different side of me.”

Morgan tosses me a suggestive stare over her shoulder.

I swat her arm.

“My Lord, relax. I’m not trying to hook up with Stefano Fortemani—”

“Yet,” she creatively supplies, as if I don’t know her mind has a second home in the gutter. Plus, fairy tales are my territory. Mine might’ve been cut short, but that doesn’t mean I can’t help other people find theirs.

“What I’m saying is, we’ve got this meeting coming up. I’m thinking…maybe I’ll ask him to show up early. Share my story about Justin, you know? Encourage him to share his, so it sinks in how much we’ve got in common.”

She inhales sharply.

“Wait a doggone minute.” Morgan hikes up the hem of her dress and twists around. Her expression is all open-mouthed fire and ice as she stares at me in disbelief. “Avery Ellis, are you, by chance, saying that Dante and I were right and you two should be friends?”

I let out a howl of a laugh straight from my gut.

Here I’m thinking I’ve said something wrong, and she’s just being dramatic to deliver that unspoken I told you so.

Except, the howl alerts the rest of our pack.

Next thing I know, Seneca, Valerie, and Monica are squishing themselves into this sardine-can dressing room with us and the fluffiest dress from hell.

“Why are y’all hiding in here and leaving us out?” Monica asks. “We want to know what all the whispering is about?”

“Is it Victoria?” Seneca asks.

“Girl, I was thinking the same thing. What if you want to wear a sexy, second-skin dress?” Valerie’s lip curls as she tilts her head examining the ball gown. “Not when Dante’s mother might think you’re some uncultured floozy… And who picked this hideous tissue wad?”

We all fall out into a fit of giggles, shushing and holding on to each other.

“Shh… that’s Georgia’s pick,” Seneca explains.

Valerie’s eyes go wide as saucers. “Ooh, mama, no.”

“I know. I don’t want to hurt her feelings though, so somebody is gonna have to say yes to this dress.” She dips her chin. “But only one or two.”

Let’s not get carried away.

It’s Monica who circles back to why we’re in here.

“So, dress number three is a bust, too, but again, what’s all the hush-hush whispering about?”

I shoot Morgan a pleading stare.

But it’s too late.

“We caught Ace and Stefano talking at the vineyard, and now Miss Wedding Planner of the Year is crushing on Stefano.”

“No, that is absolutely ridiculous,” I say emphatically.

I’m met with four deadpan stares, daring me to lie in a room full of mirrors.

The Sister Circle are my mirrors, constantly reflecting.

An exasperated sigh huffs out of me.

“Lord, have mercy, I just thought he seemed sweet.” I shrug. “Plus, why would I even bother when he’s fresh out of a marriage, and his mother is inviting his ex-wife to the wedding, hmm?”

“If you like him and want to pursue it, I can go to Dante and see about him uninviting Carina,” Morgan adds.

“It’s not about liking him; I’m empathizing with him.”

Even if he’s got archaic ideas about maturity and age. Well, about most things. He’d rather go with a full orchestra instead of a deejay. He wants them to jump the broom AND cut a log in half with a double-headed saw. Like, who brings a weapon to a wedding?

I let my shoulders sag at my sides.

“Here we go with the empath stuff.” Seneca flicks her gaze skyward and laughs.

Valerie, the queen of online dating zeroes in on me, though. “Ma’am, he’s divorced, and she’s got a new boo, so I’d say that’s over. And sweet is how it starts. Why do you think I get my steps in at the park twice daily? All the single dads, The zaddies…mmm.”

My face twists.

Surprisingly, no one else seems grossed out.

“She’s not wrong,” Seneca says. “Women of child-bearing age are hard-wired for men who seem responsible enough to take care of their family. I thought it was a myth but stick Will with his baby cousin or his sister’s puppy in front of me, and my ovaries practically weep with joy.”

“Will needs to shit or get off the pot.” Valerie says what we’ve all thought at least a dozen times about Seneca’s complacent, live-in boyfriend, even if I’d have gone with a less vulgar saying. “Why should he marry you when you already treat him like a husband?”

“Anyway…” Seneca ignores her. “Like I was saying, a man being sweet to your kid is like sexual catnip.”

Monica flashes her a side-eye.

“Look, I don’t know about all that, but Stefano is fine as hell, single, and the silver-fox thing is sexy as all get-out. He can call me a good girl and spank me anytime.”

“Mon?!” I stumble back, laughing and letting the wall hold me up just as a knock sounds at the door.

“Is everything okay with the dress?”

Shanice.

It’s pin-drop silent.

We’re locked in a group stare like it’s not super suspicious and rude that we’ve been in here for Lord knows how long.

Plus, there’s a foot-long gap under the dressing room door, so I know she sees five pairs of feet. Well, four since Morgan’s are resting in peace under Georgia’s Bridgerton ball gown.

“Uh… The dress was giving Morgan a hard time, so we were helping her, but we finally got it now. We’ll be out in two shakes,” I say.

Three minutes later, the Sister Circle is seated again. Ace is sitting on Chiara’s lap with his iPad. The champagne glasses are topped off, and resting on a silver platter, and Monica and I with our fans in hand, are poised and ready to say yes.

As planned, sadly, dress three is a no-go. Which, as it turns out, so are dresses four through six. Chiara and Seneca don’t seem surprised, considering tea-length has already been established as not the best fit for this occasion. But dress five was Morgan’s ace in the hole. The regal, high-neck lacy dress, a la Beyoncé and baby Blue Ivy for Vogue? It was supposed to be her failsafe worth seven other nos.

THEdress.

Except it’s giving tissue caught in a net.

Morgan’s lips quiver as she turns on the platform.

I catch her glassy stare.

“We’ve still got two more,” I say, encouragingly. “I don’t want to toot our horns or anything, but Victoria and I are known for our style.”

Chiara giggles.

“Darling, you’d be beautiful in anything,” Victoria says. “However, Avery has made a great point. There are two beautiful gowns left. All you need is one.”

Morgan nods obligingly.

As Shanice helps with the train, back to the dressing room, I fish out my phone.

Shoot, twelve forty-five, already.

At the rate this two-hour appointment is going, even if somehow, the next dress is “the one,” it’ll be one o’clock. What am I going to do, say, “Hooray, you found a wedding gown, now wrap it up because I’ve got to get Ace some lunch, and get you home for a ChatVideo with Stefano at two?” What if she doesn’t find one? Tough luck. Let’s go. Time’s a-ticking.

I’ve got to push back the meeting with him.

Hi Stefano, I’m still at the dress-shopping appointment, and I’ve got to grab lunch for Ace and get Morgan back. I’m worried I’ll be late for our 2:00 meeting. Are you available later this afternoon or tonight? I could do 4:00 or 6:30. Let me know. Thanks.

In my periphery, Morgan sashays toward the platform in the sweeping, strapless, white lace and organza trumpet dress that Victoria selected. It looks amazing on her, sculpting her curves, and against her rich brown skin… She’s a goddess.

If anything, Georgia’s teetering cry-face should be the dead giveaway.

“There’s the smile I’ve come to know and love.” Victoria beams.

Except, tears are contagious.

The fans raise in quick succession. As do the happy waterworks.

“Yasss!” Monica croons, teary-eyed. “We love it, and we say yes to that dress, queen! You know you better…”

Shanice helps Morgan onto the platform.

Beneath her big watery brown eyes, we’re graced with a full-tooth grin, her trademark red lips stretched from ear to ear.

Soon, Seneca has her phone out with Lil’ Mo’s song, “4Ever” blasting through the speaker. Champagne glasses in hand, Monica and Valerie start dancing. Then Chiara takes Ace by the hand and joins them, and it finally feels like a celebration.

Even Victoria and Georgia push to their feet, choked up but joyous.

“I love it!” Morgan yells, respectfully low. “Yes, to this dress!”

Again, a place of business with other customers.

“Our girl is making it official…” Seneca belts out, dropping her hips and swaying with her glass lifted in the air.

“I know you all better bring this much energy for your pairs entrance dances at the ceremony,” Morgan says.

I’m just about to join them when my phone pings somewhere at the bottom of my purse.

“Oh, you know, Marcello and I are coming with the fire.” Monica sips her champagne.

I laugh as I rummage around the bottom of my bag, weaving my hand past my computer, my fix-it kit, keys, and planner bible.

“Where is it?” I grumble.

Not to be one-upped by Monica, Seneca adds, “Hey, I don’t know what Dante’s friend Mike is working with, but best believe, I will be spinning circles around y’all, so…”

“Jameson and I have known each other since we were kids,” Chiara boasts. “We lived for every slide, two-step, and shuffle.”

I’m over here cackling when Valerie, who couldn’t care less about competitive pairs dances because all she wants to know is if Dante’s other groomsmen and college friend, Everett, is single.

Briefly, I wonder what kind of music Stefano likes.

What if he can’t dance? What if he can?

Every nerve ending on my body stirs and tingles.

Shaking my thoughts loose, I remember closing my phone inside the pages of my planner after I’d texted Stefano. Finally, spotting it, I slip it free.

On the screen, there’s a notification from Stefano, but before I get a glimpse, Chiara dances over to me.

“Come groove with us.” She pulls me to my feet, bumping her hip against mine. “Victoria made lunch reservations at one of their local restaurants, Bramoso. She said they’ve got these white truffles to die for.”

“I was just texting your brother to see about postponing our meeting for a few hours.”

“Oh, that’s right. Stef is your vineyard liaison.” She rolls her eyes and laugh. “The dream team can wait until we feast on fabulous Italian.”

I glance at my phone, lifting my chin to the screen to unlock it. It opens on Stefano’s last message.

Don’t worry about it. Enjoy yourself. We can meet tomorrow.

“See, no big deal.” Chiara’s shoulders lift and fall. “Now, come dance, be happy, drink champagne, and cry ugly tears with us.”

A hardness settles in my gut.

Why did I say anything? It would’ve been rushed, but I could’ve made the appointment.

I smile nervously at Chiara, before I focus on his text again, ignoring the disappointment sagging through me.

“Give me one sec to reschedule,” I say.

As Chiara shrugs and rejoins the group, I tap out a quick response.

It’s really no problem. Late meetings are a regular thing for me.

My fingers are on the keys when the three tiny ellipses pop up. He’s sending another message, so I erase my rambling apology, and wait.

Unfortunately, I’ve got other plans this evening, but let’s follow up tomorrow. Have a great time.

A heaviness weighs down my body as I tuck my phone away and try to perk up to join my friends.

Chiara tips her chin to me. “All good?”

I nod a bunch of times, forcing a smile.

“He’s got other plans tonight, so we’re going to meet up sometime tomorrow.”

She does a double take. “I’m sorry, my brother, Stefano Fortemani, has other plans tonight?” Disbelief twists the lines of her face. Then, if I wasn’t looking, I might’ve missed it but Chiara shoots Victoria a look of… What does that look mean?

I’m staring at them trying to break the secret code but Ace tugs on my dress.

“Why are you sad, Mommy?”

Before I can answer, he places his small red car in my hand “to make me feel better.” Which, had he given it to me before we got to the vineyard this morning, it might’ve.

But now, looking at its big cartoon eyes and bold racer number on its sides, I can’t stop thinking about Stefano. My mind zigzags from him talking to Ace, to Sally locked in his garage, and the babies he and Carina never got to love on, like I love Ace.

Worst, what are Stefano’s plans?

I take Chiara’s glass and down the rest of her champagne. Lightweight or not, bring on the hangover.