5. Alana
For somethingthat was so life-changing, getting married was suspiciously easy. All you had to do was fill out a bunch of paperwork, make an appointment for the courthouse, and show up.
That was all Alana had planned to do. Her friends had other plans.
“You’re getting married,” Matilda protested when Alana told her that she wasn’t going to be buying a wedding dress.
“For fake.”
“So? Think of it as an elaborate Halloween situation.” Matilda looked at her, concerned. “This isn’t like you to take this seriously.”
“It’s not that I’m taking it seriously,” Alana protested. “I just don’t want to scare off Hudson.”
Shannon laughed. “Hudson’s known you for what, three years? If you haven’t scared him off yet, you’re not going to. Anyway, it’s not like he’s getting nothing out of the situation.”
“Okay but an actual wedding was not part of the deal.”
Shannon and Matilda exchanged glances.
“I don’t know what you guys are planning,” Alana began. “But whatever it is, no.”
“All I’m saying is that I wasn’t the one who suggested a combo bachelor-bachelorette party in Vegas,” Shannon said.
“It was JP, wasn’t it.”
“Obviously.”
“When does he even think we’d have time for it?” Alana asked. “I’m not out here drowning in PTO. Hence the whole getting married thing.”
“Hudson talked him down,” Matilda said. “Don’t worry.”
Alana groaned. He was going to regret agreeing to marry her, he really was.
“Can’t we at least go to a David’s Bridal or something just to try to find you a dress?” Shannon asked. “You want to look cute when you get fake married, don’t you?”
Alana thought of her bulging closets. “I’m sure I can find something to wear.”
“Pleeeease.”
Alana eyed her suspiciously. “Shannon.”
“Okay, fine, I haven’t ever been to a say yes to the dress kind of thing and haven’t spent time in bridal shops and because I make poor life choices, I’ve set the beginning of this book in a wedding dress boutique.”
“Not to be a buzzkill or anything, Shann, but it’s post-apocalyptic. How much of a wedding dress boutique is left?”
“Most of it, because it’s post-apocalyptic. What use is there for wedding dresses when shit’s hit the fan? And anyway, I think it’s going to be used as an alternative entrance to the compound, but I’m not sure yet.” She grinned. “And I feel like there’s something to be said about the possibility of getting fucked by a monster in a crumbling wedding dress boutique.”
“You could have just started with that; I would have said yes.”
“Great. Tomorrow?”
Alana laughed. “Fine. Tomorrow.”
Tomorrow came and Shannon met Alana at her office so they could head to the bridal boutique together. Matilda and Jamie were going to meet them there, Matilda for the company and to judge the dresses and Jamie for the free champagne. Ophelia couldn’t get off work, and had requested (demanded) frequent updates.
And, Alana realized when they got to the boutique, Shannon had somehow coerced JP, Cal, Deacon, and Hudson to join them, too.
“What are they doing here?” Alana hissed.
“...I may have accidentally mentioned it to JP,” Shannon said. “He’s decided that you and Hudson are the unconventional type so he’s here to give you his wedding dress opinions.”
“Shann, this isn’t real.”
“Okay, but you know what is real? You and Hudson having to pretend to be madly in love for your doctor, and we don’t actually believe that you can.”
“Is this an intervention?” Alana asked as Hudson walked over.
“Yes,” JP said, following close behind. “It is. We all want you to get your surgery, but you have to be believable. And no offense, you’re not.”
Alana looked at Hudson. “Were you aware of this?”
“I was just going to ask you.”
“Guys, come on,” Jamie called. “The appointment starts in three minutes.”
“Give us a minute, will you?” Alana asked.
Shannon waited.
“Alone.”
“Don’t flake out on me.”
“I won’t. I just want to talk to Hudson for a minute.”
Alana waited until the rest of their group had headed into the boutique. “I am so sorry.”
“He’s not wrong,” Hudson said, his hands stuffed in his pockets. “We’ve never pretended to be a couple before, and we probably should practice before the doctor’s appointment.”
If ‘practice being married’ was a euphemism for fucking in the changing room, Alana was very much on board.
Except no, that was a terrible idea for every single reason in the book and a few they’d forgotten to write down.
It sounded great, though.
“I guess this is as good a place as any,” Alana responded. “How’d JP manage to get you here?”
Hudson sighed. “Fabrics.” He smiled sheepishly. “I should have questioned why all of a sudden he was so willing to go look at fabric, but…” he shrugged. “I’m grasping at straws here.”
“Art’s not going well?”
“Kinda hard to make art when I have to worry about where I’m going to be living next month.”
And it was then, with startling clarity, that Alana realized that she was an idiot, because she had known about JP and Hudson’s apartment situation. Although, in her defense, she had been a little drunk when she found out about it (the whole being scared to propose to Hudson and all), and so she wasn’t sure if finding out about everything was real or not.
“JP is moving upstairs from me, right?”
“Yup.”
“Would it be weird if you moved into my apartment?” Alana asked. Of course it would be weird. Well, not weird. But it would test every limit she had. Sharing an apartment with Hudson? It was enough she was going to marry him. But she could pretend everything was fine and platonic and there were no previous feelings in the comfort of her own immaculately decorated apartment. But not if he was sleeping in the other bedroom. “Shannon has to go back to Montana, and she’s not sure how long she’s going to be gone. You can sublet from her for now–we just resigned our lease three months ago.”
“If it won’t be weird for you, I don’t think it would be weird for me,” Hudson replied.
“Guys! Can we not turn and run in the face of tulle?” Shannon had stuck her head out the door.
“We’ll talk about this later?” Alana asked. Hudson nodded.
The boutique owner of Cascada Bridal Boutique had the same vibe and energy of every single popular lifestyle YouTube girl in 2014.
“So you’re the bride! Oh my godddd, Shannon’s told me so much about you,” she chirped. “And this must be the lucky man. You know, most people think it’s bad luck to see the bride in her wedding gown before the big moment, but all traditions and superstitions were made to be broken, right?”
“Sure,” Alana agreed.
“Come on in, all your friends are getting settled in.” Brittani led them to one end of the boutique where a cluster of couches were facing a pedestal and multiple mirrors. There was another cluster on the other side of the boutique, which was already taken up by another bridal party, who looked like they were having a little too much fun already. “Don’t worry, you’ll be able to see every angle,” Brittani assured Alana.
Which Alana was sure that she meant as a selling point, but that was a few too many views for her to feel comfy with.
Cal leaned over and elbowed Alana. “You’re doing a terrible job of pretending to be in love,” he hissed.
Hudson overheard and wrapped an arm around Alana, pulling her toward him. It took every fiber of her being not to plaster up against him. “Sometimes traditions have ugly beginnings and don’t need to carry forward,” he said. “And some started as a way for British monarchs to brag about how rich they are.”
Alana beamed up at him. “Was that a not subtle hint that you wouldn’t care if my dress wasn’t white?”
“I’ll marry you no matter what you wear,” Hudson said. “And whatever color you pick, you’re going to look beautiful.”
Alana practically melted into Hudson, before remembering that this was all a scam.
“Thanks,” she managed, resting her forehead on his chest, and trying to use the facade of a sweet intimate moment to yell at herself that this was not real and if she started taking it seriously it was only going to end in heartbreak.
“How about some of everything?” Brittani asked. “And don’t worry about the other bridal party, Francie’s is helping them, so you’ll have my full, unlimited concentration. Now. Let me get some champagne for you and make sure the dressing room is set up.”
“Sarah’s only gonna have one dick for the rest of her life!” one of the women from the other bridal party declared loudly. “And three of her exes are going to be at the wedding. What do you mean, she doesn’t have to look hotter than she’s ever looked in her whole life?”
Alana tried to keep from snickering.
“I bet you they pregamed before coming here,” JP said. “Shann, we should have done that.”
“I don’t know if blackout drunk is the correct vibe for trying on wedding dresses,” Shannon replied, her lips twitching. “But also, I have so many questions about Sarah’s wedding and why three of her exes are going to be there.”
“Same,” Alana agreed.
JP’s eyes lit up, which could only spell disaster. “Two for the price of one,” he said. “You make friends with Sarah, bond over the whole buying a wedding dress thing, and then ask her about the exes.”
“Why am I in charge of doing that?” Alana protested. “You go make friends with Sarah!”
“But you’re the one who has to learn to lie about being in love.”
“I don’t even have an engagement ring.”
“So say it’s because you’re getting it resized or something,” Shannon said.
“Don’t love that you’re on board with this one,” Alana said.
Shannon shrugged. “I want to know about the exes. I think this is great.”
“Wooooo!!!” one of the women yelled.
Brittani rushed back over, champagne flutes in hand. “Everything’s ready!!” she chirped. “The bubbly will be out shortly, we just have to pull some more from the back.”
“Five bucks says Sarah’s friends drank our champagne also,” Jamie whispered.
“No bet,” Cal whispered back. “Of course they did.”
“I have your first dresses ready for you in the fitting room,” Brittani said to Alana. “Are you ready??”
“Sure,” Alana said, ready and willing to play dress-up, having absolutely no intention of actually purchasing a single dress.
“Talk to Sarah,” Shannon hissed as Alana followed Brittani to the dressing rooms in the back.
Sarah was in the other dressing room when Alana got to the back, about to leave to show her friends the next option. “I’m not sure how I feel about this one,” she said, her voice drifting through the door.
“Come out and let me help you lace it up,” Francie, a middle aged woman with a cloud-like bob, a bright red lip, and a thick North Jersey accent, said. “Brittani’s here too, she’ll give you her honest opinion.”
A petite blonde fairy princess walked out of the dressing room, wearing a dress that would have fit in perfectly at a Renaissance Faire wedding. “I don’t know,” she said, “it feels like it’s a lot.”
“Oh, no, you look stunning!!” Brittani chirped.
Francie raised an overly plucked eyebrow. “Babes, the dress is wearing you, and you are not wearing the dress.”
Sarah looked at Alana. “What do you think?” she said.
Alana winced. “Francie’s right. But also, you don’t look like you want to be in the dress.”
Sarah leaned over to Alana and lowered her voice. “Between the two of us, my man is like, really into this kind of shit in the bedroom. All I have to do is put on a weird British accent and call him ‘my liege’ and he suddenly has the bedroom ability of a good porn star. So I was like, maybe I should wear something like this for the dress.”
Some days Alana cursed the fact that she had a face that people loved to talk to. And sometimes, shit like this would happen. “Well, if it’s really that much of a turn-on for him, do you want him to be distracted and horny the whole wedding?”
“Maybe?” Sarah pursed her lips. “His exes are also coming, and they’re so much hotter than I am.”
“But he’s not marrying them.”
“I know.” Sarah rolled her eyes. “But my anxiety doesn’t care.”
“Why don’t you get some sort of wedding night lingerie like this, instead of doing a full dress?” Alana suggested. “Or maybe just pick the features of the dress that you and he like and have them incorporated into something a little more wedding and a little less…”
“Cosplay?”
“Something like that.”
Sarah beamed up at her. “You’re like, really good at this.” She reached over and hugged Alana, a cloud of perfume and alcohol. “Thanks, Fairy GodBride.”
With that, she waltzed back into her dressing room.
“Well,” Brittani said, clapping. “Time for you to transform into a beautiful bride!”
The problem with champagne and outside enthusiasm was it clouded your senses a little and made you forget that going shopping for any article of clothing was a treacherous journey, usually fraught with emotional turmoil and the sinking feeling that every clothing designer actually hated women. Especially fat women.
By dress number four, Alana was fully remembering, and no amount of friend support was going to be enough to balance that out.
Alana stared at herself in the mirror, eyebrows drawn. “You know what this looks like?” she said, gesturing to the monstrosity she had barely been zipped into. “And no offense,” she said to Brittani.
Brittani nodded gamely.
“It feels very much like an intern at Party City headquarters got drunk and thought that for Halloween, we should all be leaning into Little House On The Prairie Wedding Chic but then, last minute, remembered they were supposed to be designing football jerseys.”
Brittani blinked. “I can’t say I’ve ever had this dress described like that,” she said.
Alana gazed down at the dress mournfully. “I mean, it had potential.”
JP snorted. “Did it?”
Shannon giggled. “No.”
Hudson, who had been sitting quietly for most of the dresses so far, spoke up. “Your nails deserve better.”
Alana could feel herself standing straighter. “You know what, you’re not wrong.”
Hudson shrugged. “Great art deserves to be surrounded by other great art.”
“Was that a commentary on her nails or on her?” Matilda asked.
“Both,” Hudson replied.
Alana could feel herself blushing. “Well, now that we’ve all agreed that perhaps this isn’t the dress, I can try on a different one.” She looked over at Brittani. “How about something a little more traditional, maybe?”
Traditional. A word which here meant not a gown with some goddamn cold shoulders, which apparently was too much to ask.
“I have the perfect strapless gown,” Brittani gushed, and Alana was glad that she wasn’t actually going to be buying said strapless gown because she’d probably spend the whole time wearing it just worried that her tits would fall out.
“Can I look around?” Hudson asked Brittani.
“Sure,” she chirped.
A few minutes later, Alana was staring at herself in the dressing room. “This is not it,” she said out loud.
“Come on out so we can see!” Brittani called.
“Uh.” Alana twisted to the side. “I think I need some help with the zipper.” She didn’t think it was going to close, and she didn’t want to risk breaking a nail for a dress that made her look like a fat off-brand Barbie cake topper. And not even a cute one.
There was a quiet knock, and instead of Brittani, Hudson was standing there. “You need help with the zipper?” he asked.
“I don’t think it’ll zip,” Alana said, arms crossed in front of her chest in an attempt to keep from flashing him. “Can you tell?”
“I dunno, I’ll try.” Hudson reached down and grabbed the zipper, beginning to slowly tug it up the side of her body. The zipper was one of those shitty, finicky ones, and almost immediately, it caught on to the fabric. “Hold on,” he said, bending down to see better, his breath ghosting on her back. “It’s stuck.”
Alana tried not to breathe, and tried to keep her shit together while Hudson tried to untangle the zipper from the fabric without ripping anything.
“Don’t try to zip it all the way up,” she said hastily. “It’s not worth it. And I don’t want to have to buy it if we fuck it up.”
“Nobody’s going to fuck anything up,” Hudson replied, hooking a finger underneath the fabric so he could gently tug the zipper out. His fingers brushed her hip and all the thoughts of fucking in a dressing room were back and she was far too horny for him to be that close to her.
Nobody was going to fuck anything up? He was on his knees in front of her, she was definitely going to fuck something up.
“Everything okay in there?” Brittani called. “Remember, there are security cameras in there, so if you’re thinking about any sort of marital consummation maybe hold off!”
“Is she watching?” Hudson asked from his spot on the ground.
Was it possible to die from temptation? He was right there.
Right.
There.
All she’d have to do was let go of the dress, let it fall forward. Or he could shove the layers of petticoats up. She was already halfway leaning against the wall of the dressing room, having tried to wriggle into the dress alone.
Hudson was making achingly slow zipper progress and she was going to be a melted puddle of neglected pussy before he was finished.
For reasons unclear to Alana, the zipper on the dress started at mid-thigh, which meant that once Hudson managed to unstick the zipper at the top of her hip, there was still more zipper to go before she could safely step out of the dress.
And because the universe or fate or someone had decided that it was fun to sexually torment Alana, the easiest way for the zipper to move down its tracks was to stick a hand underneath the track and guide it that way.
Hudson had great hands. Strong, big, just slightly calloused. Neat nails, Ophelia would be impressed. Good art hands.
Fingers that had teased and tormented her pussy until she had bit down into his chest to keep from screaming. And now, there they were, back again, almost at the scene of the crime, and Alana couldn’t help but hating him all over again.
She had never felt chemistry like she had with Hudson.
But she was that kind of girl, wasn’t she? Good enough to fuck but not good enough to tell anyone about. Not good enough to seriously consider as a potential partner of any variety.
“You okay?” Hudson asked.
Alana startled. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just having a baby pity party.”
“Having second thoughts?”
“No, I just don’t like to feel like an unwanted sausage casing.”
Hudson got up off his knees, once again towering over her just enough for her to feel safe. “Well, I think you’re a very wanted sausage casing,” he replied. “Dress should be able to come off now.”
And with that, he backed out of the room, leaving Alana alone with that puzzling statement and about four hundred yards of tulle.