Chapter 3 #2
“Surprised to see you here.”
He winces. “They needed a stand-in.”
I raise an eyebrow.
His mouth twists. “Apparently you can’t choose the dress without knowing how it will look next to the groom. I’m the stand-in.”
I smother a laugh under a cough. “They don’t have a date, venue or theme but she’ll have a dress?”
He sighs, dropping his head back and reaching up with two fingers to pinch the bridge of his nose. “They discussed it ad nauseam last night, and the night before, and the night before that. They’ve settled on September, at the Trinity Bay Winery.”
I wince, mentally totaling how much this wedding might cost me. “So it’s a destination wedding, then?”
“Deep breath,” Josh encourages. “I’m trying to talk them out of it. Not the least because there’s no way the town could cope with their guest list.”
Trinity Bay sat on the island of Kink, at the northern most point of Astipia. A tiny blink and you’d miss it island, where Josh’s family had vacationed for generations—ever since the first Greenfeld had moved to the mainland.
A gorgeous location though it was, there was no way in hell it would be able to cater for the inevitable cast of thousands that Bess’s wedding would bring.
I sigh as the sales assistant pops champagne, handing out tall flutes to the gathering.
“What did Pete say?”
“He’s agreed with her for the moment. But I expect she’ll change her mind when they start working on the guestlist tonight.”
“What do you think, Molly?” Bess interrupts. She holds an ivory gown against her body. Her red hair, worn down and softly curled, falls against the sleeve. “Will Pete like it?”
I study the dress, then nod. “I think he’ll love anything you wear. But the ivory looks wonderful against your skin tone.”
She makes a noise in the back of her throat, her lips pinching together. “Not the color. The cut!”
“Oh.” I frown. “I thought you wanted a big dress.”
She sighs, turning back to the mirror. “It’s a country wedding. I want lace and silk, something sleek.” Bess hands the dress off to the hovering sales assistant. “I’ll try this one and the other two in this style.”
The assistant nods and moves to hang the gown in a dressing room.
If Bess wants a country wedding, then that’s what she’ll get. But that doesn’t mean she has to compromise. I know her deepest desires—and figure-hugging lace isn’t on the cards.
I rise from the couch, determined to put my maid of honor and best friend foot down. “I think you should try the ball gown. At least be sure you don’t want it.” I pull the one I admired earlier from the rack and move to her side, holding it in front of her. “I like this one.”
Her lips ease from their pucker, and her eyes trace the sweetheart neckline down the intricately embroidered bodice to the yards of tiered ruffles decorated with glittering diamantes. She jerks her head toward the dressing room. “Oh, go on then.”
I hide a smile, moving to hang it in the room. Bess and the assistant disappear, the door shutting behind them.
I make my way around the room, engaging in small talk with the chatty bridesmaids. I know most from school, college, or various charity events. The majority are married socialites living off their trust funds or partners. Only Candy Jenkins and I work.
Dr. Candy Jenkins is a bombshell of a woman—smart and gorgeous. She’s related to Bess through a second cousin, or so I’ve been told. Either way, we know each other somewhat, and I find her a fascinating contradiction.
She owns her own veterinary practice in Hudley Valley, just outside of Chars, and treats everything from cows to goldfish. She has a playful name but a no-nonsense attitude. She’s direct, blunt to the point of almost rudeness, and yet compassionate and kind.
I’m simultaneously crushing on her and overtly intimidated.
“Dr. Jenkins,” I greet, tipping my glass toward her. “Nice to see you again.”
“Is it?” she asks, seeming surprised by my comment. She shuffles, looking uncomfortable in the swarm of women. “I have an afternoon appointment.” She reaches for my champagne, divesting me of the glass and immediately chugging it down.
I grin. “But not one you have to be sober for?”
She shudders, her nose wrinkling at the taste. “I despise bubbles. And no. Not this appointment. Drunk or at least tipsy would be preferable, actually.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask further questions, but she ploughs forward, changing the subject to ask me about my latest charity effort.
We chat about her work and my charity efforts as we wait for Bess. She promises to speak to her father about a donation, and we both agree that the latest effort to revamp The X-Files meets our viewing expectations. Our conversation is regularly interrupted with Bess’s catwalk stylings.
“No,” we call in unison, squeezed onto the lounge beside Josh.
“You look like a sausage,” Candy states in what I assume is her version of helpful advice.
“But a very pretty sausage!” I yell, shooting Bess two enthusiastic thumbs-up.
As the afternoon drags on, Josh entertains Candy and me with stories of the sordid underbelly of Hollywood.
“I don’t want to say who it was, but a very well-known actress then decided to do a nude run through—”
A sound that can only be described as a dying squirrel cuts Josh off mid-sentence.
All heads swing toward the dressing room door.
The door bumps, shaking on its hinges, quickly followed by a noise reminiscent of a vigorously rutting walrus.
Has a wild animal broken into the studio?
I exchange a glance with Candy.
“Should I—”
Before I can finish, the door flies open, bouncing against the wall with a loud smack. Bess strides out, her ball gown spilling across the floor as tears stream down her glowing face.
It’s obvious. She has found the dress.
“Molly,” she says, swiping at the tears on her face. “Molly.”
Standing in the dress I picked for her, she holds her hands out like a little girl showing off her new outfit.
A small part of me—the part that’s been feeling a little morose—loosens. This is my best friend. My closest friend.
“You were right,” she says, as the crowd waits with bated breath. “It’s perfect.”
I move to wrap my arms around her, but her hand shoots out, stopping me with a solid push to my chest.
“No!” she shouts. “Now I have to change everything because of you! You bitch!”
And then she bursts into tears.
Her mother scurries over, wrapping her in a hug and consoling her as the bridesmaids crowd around, making all the right noises.
I exchange another look with Candy. She sighs, heaving herself up off the couch.
“This doesn’t bode well for the rest of the wedding,” she mutters, awkwardly patting the distraught bride on the back.
“I. H-had. It. All p-p-planned. Out,” Bess hiccups, buried in her mother’s arms. “Now we have to s-s-start again.”
“I can help,” I promise, sending telepathic messages of threat to the bridesmaids around me. “We all will.”
The bridesmaids murmur their agreement, stroking whatever inch of Bess’s skin they can reach. It takes an extraordinarily long time to calm her down, but when she finally does, she morphs into Bridezilla.
“Josh, can you try on the dark blue? I think it will pair nicely with this,” Bess orders.
Josh sighs, pulling himself up off the sofa. He heads to the dressing room while the assistants flutter around Bess, pinning and fluffing the dress.
“How’s this?” Josh asks as he steps out of the dressing room.
I glance up and do a double take, my jaw practically hitting the floor. A little quiver runs through me—wait, is that… attraction?
No way. No freaking way! There’s no way I’m attracted to Joshua Greenfeld.
“Oh, Joshua!” Bess claps her hands together, pressing them to her heart. “It’s perfect! Turn around.”
He lets out a beleaguered sigh, spreading his arms and turning slowly.
While Bess focuses on the color and cut of the suit, I can’t help but notice the way the pants mould to his body, the sharp cut of his shoulders against the fabric, and the undeniable impressiveness of his bubble-butt ass.
When did he become a smoke show?
“I am going to ride that man like a pony,” one of the bridesmaids mutters behind me.
“Are we done?” Josh asks, looking ready to make his escape.
“Yes,” Bess decides, nodding at the assistants. “Get pictures. I’ll have my fiancé drop in on the weekend to try it on.” She shoots me a grin. “My fiancé! It never gets old.”
I grin back. “You are sickly sweet.”
She laughs. “But oh, so delicious.”
Josh rejoins us as Bess begins trying on veils.
I glance at my watch. “Crap. Sorry, babe. I have to go,” I say, pulling out my phone and opening the Uber app.
“But—” Bess turns from the mirror, where assistants are retouching her makeup, styling her hair, and adding accessories. She looks wedding-day ready. “—the bridesmaid dresses!”
I shrug, grabbing my tote as I stand. “You have more appointments tomorrow. If you find the perfect dress here, I’ll come back and try it on. Otherwise, we’ll see how we go at the other places.”
She presses her lips into a pout. “Boooo!” She blows out a breath, turning back to the mirror with a small smile playing on her lips as she twists from side to side. “Tomorrow we’re at Vera Wang at one.” Her eyes meet mine in the mirror. “Don’t plan anything for the afternoon.”
I salute her before spinning on my heel and heading out. Josh and Candy follow.
On the sidewalk, Candy stares down at her phone, her mouth pressed into a thin line.
“Everything okay?”
She blinks, looking from Josh to me and back to her phone. “Yes, of course. I have to go.” She tucks her phone into her pants pocket, offering a small smile. “See you at the next fitting.” She strides down the street, her long legs eating up the pavement.
“She’s a strange one,” Josh mutters, watching her disappear into the crowd. “Where to now?”
Around us, pedestrians swerve like water flowing around a rock. I ignore the muttered complaints of a fellow Charsian.