Chapter 31
Thirty-One
Tabitha
The giant recreation room of Angie’s parents’ house has been turned into a makeshift salon. Willow White and her assistant, Ginger, are here to do our hair and makeup. Stephen is also here, offering chair massages to help us relax for the big day.
It would have been nice if he’d mentioned that to me last night. I figured I wouldn’t see him again until the wedding.
Maybe Sage brought him on at the last minute. She certainly seems to want to get under his care…and I’m not talking about a massage table.
I’m feeling better. Angie’s ibuprofen and water helped a lot, as did black coffee.
All the bridesmaids arrived at noon to a beautiful luncheon that Marjorie prepared—by herself!
—for us. The offerings are delicate but elegant.
Chilled poached salmon with a lemon-dill sauce accompanied by a baby arugula salad with shaved fennel, candied pecans, pears, and a champagne vinaigrette, and petite croissants with thinly sliced prosciutto and brie.
The whole thing is rounded out by a trio of finger sandwiches on brioche rounds—cucumber-mint, chicken salad with tarragon, and curried egg salad.
All of this we wash down with sparkling rosé garnished with fresh raspberries.
I’m feeling better now, so I allow myself one glass.
I’m polishing it off as Willow finishes my hair, and I’m next in line for makeup.
Stephen comes toward me. “Your turn for a massage, Tabitha.”
This isn’t awkward at all.
My date from last night who bored me to tears.
A nice guy, but…
He flashes me another smile. God, he’s handsome. And so not my type. “I can try some Reiki on you if you’d like. You seemed interested last night.”
A massage where no one’s touching me? No thanks.
Then again…
I don’t want to give Stephen the wrong idea about our date for the wedding. Having him not touch me might be a good thing.
“Sure,” I say. “Let’s try it.”
He leads me over to a plush leather reclining chair away from the chaos. It’s near the window overlooking the lush gardens. Stephen stands behind me, his hands hovering above my shoulders.
“Just close your eyes and relax,” he says.
I do as he says.
“Picture a golden light.” Stephen’s voice is soft and soothing. “Imagine it flowing from my hands and into you, melting away any stress or tension.”
I want to scoff at his words but decide against it.
Why not try it? Can’t hurt.
And he’s a nice guy. In his head, he’s actually doing something that might help me.
I imagine the sun shining down on me while I lie on a white sand beach, its warmth infusing my skin, and the salty scent of the ocean…
Relax…
Relax…
Relax…
Yeah, nothing.
Only giggles from across the room. I open one eye. Ginger holds up a garish red lipstick.
“Tabitha,” she calls across the room, holding the lipstick and grinning. “How about this for your makeup?”
“No way,” I protest, but Stephen’s gentle voice brings me back into focus.
“It’s okay, Tabitha. Just breathe and concentrate on the light.”
I try, but…
Nothing again.
Just as I thought. Reiki is crap.
“I think it’s my turn for makeup,” I tell him, opening my eyes.
“How do you feel?”
Should I lie? Tell him I was embraced by the light and am now so relaxed I can skate through anything life throws at me?
Sorry. As much as I’d like to spare his feelings, I’m not a liar.
“I guess I don’t get it,” I say. “The images you conjured were nice, but I don’t feel any different.”
“Reiki isn’t for everyone. It’s okay, Tabitha.” His warm smile is sincere.
I rise and walk back to the others. Ginger is waiting for me with an assortment of tools and colors laid out. I sink into another chair, this one less plush and more practical.
“Close your eyes,” Ginger says as she holds up a fluffy brush.
It tickles against my skin as she applies foundation. The scent of the makeup is comforting.
As she works, I lose myself in the conversation flowing around. The shared laughter is infectious, much more relaxing than Stephen’s Reiki.
Ten minutes later, Ginger steps back. “Done!”
I open my eyes and look into the mirror she hands me. She made me look natural yet sophisticated—a far cry from the red lipstick she joked about earlier.
“Okay, ladies,” Angie calls, radiant in her bridal robe, “it’s time to get dressed.” She leads us into the adjacent room where delicate dresses are lined up on a rack, each hanger labeled with our names.
The gowns are made of soft, flowing material in a flattering shade of periwinkle blue. Each is in a different style, as chosen by its respective bridesmaid.
I shed my robe and step into my dress.
It’s a spaghetti-strap number with a full skirt.
I’m a bit curvier than the other bridesmaids, and shorter as well, but this dress somehow manages to accentuate my curves in just the right way.
I turn slowly in front of the full-length mirror, the fabric swishing around my legs.
It’s elegant yet simple. I look good, but I won’t upstage the bride.
Perfect.
Willow steps up behind me and helps me with the zipper. The dress hugs my upper body snuggly. “You look stunning,” she says as she steps back to give me a once-over.
I warm a bit. “Thanks, Willow.”
We all help each other get ready, adjusting straps and smoothing out fabrics. Angie is the last to get dressed. Her gown is a masterpiece of lace and silk that makes her look angelic. Our collective gasp when she steps out from behind the dressing screen says it all.
She looks radiant, ethereal almost. Her dark hair has been styled into soft waves that cascade down her back, and her makeup enhances her natural beauty rather than overpowering it. She beams at us, her eyes glistening.
“All right, ladies,” she says, her voice rich with emotion, “let’s get me married.”
Just in time too, as I look at the antique gold watch—it belonged to my grandmother—I’m wearing. We walk with Angie to the foyer where we line up, each holding a bouquet of soft pink peonies, ready to walk out into the decorated front yard where the ceremony will take place.
“Ready?” Angie’s father asks as he offers his arm to his daughter.
She nods and smiles at him.
The string quartet plays an arrangement of Pachelbel’s Canon, and we begin our walk. I go first, slowly walking up the petal-strewn aisle toward a beautifully decorated altar.
As I walk, I can’t help but steal a glance at Henry, who’s standing next to Jason.
God. If only he weren’t so damned handsome in his dark suit and periwinkle tie. Jason stands next to him, same suit with a black tie, and as good-looking as he is, he’s barely noticeable next to Henry.
I reach my spot and glance Henry’s way once more.
He’s looking straight ahead.
I breathe in.
Get a grip.
This is Angie’s day.
I won’t ruin it by ruminating on my… What the hell is it? It’s certainly not a relationship.
I won’t ruin it by ruminating on Henry.
I won’t, damn it.