Chapter 28
Twenty-Eight
River
The dining room table has disappeared beneath wedding cake samples.
This is our third sampling.
“You’re terrible,” I murmur to Briar.
“We’re ordering cakes from all of them,” she whispers back, her eyes sparkling with humor. “I just really like cake tasting.”
I smother a giggle.
I’d say so.
This is our third bakery, and we’ve sampled at least twelve flavors here alone.
Which means I’ve consumed an alarming—but delicious—amount of frosting.
“I hate all of these,” Briar announces through a mouthful of cake.
Marie takes another bite of her own, rolls her eyes. “You can’t just keep saying that so you can have more cake.”
“Why not?”
“Exactly,” Rory says, polishing off a chocolate raspberry slice. “Why not?”
“Because we’re all going to go into a sugar coma.”
Chrissy leans back in her seat with a contented sigh, a decimated slice of lemon in front of her. “Give me sugar coma any day of the week so long as there’s cake.”
Across the table, Rory immediately starts in on another slice and promptly moans. “This peaches and cream may be the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”
“Let me try,” Chrissy says, lifting her fork.
Rory clutches the plate to her chest and hisses like a rabid animal. “Haven’t you learned to never take food from a pregnant woman?”
I grin, my eyes locking with Briar’s. Then reach for a slice of carrot cake.
Yum.
“I should’ve had a big wedding,” Rory laments.
“I had one,” Tiff says. “It was a lot. I think Briar has the right idea.”
“And anyway, you tried that once, remember?” Chrissy says. “It didn’t go well.”
“Why?” I ask.
“Rory decided to play runaway bride.”
“Hey!” She glares, the plate clutched close. “I was a runaway bride for a legitimate reason.”
Chrissy’s face softens, and she squeezes her friend’s shoulder. “Yeah, you were.” Then she proceeds to execute an excellent sneak attack and scoop up a bite of the peaches and cream cake.
“Hey!” Rory says again.
“You’re right. That’s delicious.” She looks over at us, eyes dancing. “You should definitely pick this one, Briar.”
Briar just smiles. “I already have.”
I nearly choke on my bite of carrot cake.
Then we’re laughing.
Then we’re decimating cake.
Then Brooks is coming in and murmuring something in Briar’s ear that makes her cheeks flush pink before he sweeps out of the room.
And just like that, I’m thinking about Thorn again.
About whispered words and fingers on my skin and…
A conversation that keeps replaying inside my head.
The ultimatum I gave him.
And the roughness in his voice when he said, I miss you.
I hate that he sounded so lost.
Hate that I miss him.
Hate that he won’t let me in.
But, for better or worse, I can’t hate that I love him.
I blink down at my cake, suddenly not tasting the delicious combination of spices and cream cheese frosting.
Stubborn freaking man.
“All right,” Briar says, clapping her hands together. “I never thought I’d say it, but enough cake.”
The entire table freezes, looks up.
But she just disappears from the room without another word.
“Um.” Marie points her fork. “That’s not a good sign.”
“Definitely not,” Rory adds.
“I’m sure it’ll be great,” Chrissy says. “Because Briar’s great.”
“Definitely,” Tiff agrees.
“Thanks, Chrissy,” she says, popping her head back into the room, her smile bright. “I think you’re great too. I think all of you are. Hence…drumroll please!” She rolls a garment rack into the room.
Marie bounces with excitement. “Is that what I think it is?”
“Yes!” She grins widely. “I got us all dresses for the fantasy ball!”
Chrissy and I look at each other and then we’re all moving, rushing over, excitement growing.
Within ten minutes, the dining room has been completely taken over.
Tiff and I bring the dirty plates into the kitchen, Chrissy and Rory start unzipping garment bags. Briar and Marie bust out the champagne…and boxes and boxes of shoes and costume jewelry.
Before long, the dresses hang from rolling racks.
Shoes are lined up along the wall.
Jewelry sparkles from velvet trays.
Hair accessories sit arranged on the dining room table.
A folding screen stands in the corner so we have privacy to change.
And one of Pascal’s men carries in a large mirror so we can see ourselves in all our gloriousness.
“This is amazing,” I whisper, slowly turning in a circle as I try to take it all in.
“It is, isn’t it?” Briar says, sounding—rightfully—proud of herself.
“Did you rob a dress store?” Rory teases.
Her lips twitch. “Just the fairy princess section.”
We laugh.
“In actuality, I had Brooks call in some favors.” A shrug. “Plus, it’s easier for Pascal’s crew for us to do this here.”
“And more fun,” Marie says, fingering a light blue dress that will go beautifully with her skin. “All the time and none of the pressure from the sales people.”
Tiff turns a burgundy ballgown from side-to-side. “Positively magical.”
“Try it on,” Chrissy encourages.
A shake of her head. “This is River’s ball. She should go first.”
“Nonsense,” I tell her. “Try it. I want to peruse my options,” I prompt when it seems as though she’ll still argue.
That does the trick and she snags the dress, moves behind the screen.
I touch the beautiful gowns.
Silk. Velvet. Tulle.
Embroidery. Beading. Sparkles.
It’s like everything has been pulled directly from one of my books…or maybe from my imagination.
My heart pulses. “Briar,” I whisper, blinking back tears.
She takes my hand, nudges an emerald-green gown toward me. “Try this one.”
“I—” I hug her tightly. “Thank you.”
She hugs me back. “You’re welcome. Now go on,” she commands. “Let’s play dress up.”
We all take that gentle order to heart, and an hour later the room has descended into complete chaos.
Shoes are everywhere.
Jewelry is tangled across the sideboard.
Half-empty champagne glasses rest on every available flat surface.
Rory emerges from behind a folding screen wearing deep sapphire velvet that perfectly cups her baby bump.
Everyone gasps.
She bows dramatically. “That’s the correct reaction, my subjects.”
We laugh and then get to enjoy Marie twirling in a silver gown and Chrissy curtseying in a soft pink number.
And Briar looking ethereal in an ivory slip dress, her headpiece transforming her into an elven queen.
And me?
I’m standing in front of the mirror wearing the deep emerald silk gown I first tried on, knowing it’s perfect.
It hugs my body like it was made for me.
Not because it makes me look different.
But because I look…like me.
The realization catches me off guard.
Briar appears beside me in the mirror, twists my hair up into a jeweled clip. “That’s the one.”
I smooth nervous fingers across the skirt. “You think so?”
“It’s definitely the one,” Marie says.
“Absolutely,” Chrissy adds.
“You look stunning,” Tiff murmurs.
“And hot as fuck,” Rory chimes in.
Smiling, I turn in the mirror to look at the back then spin forward again, and…I know they’re right. This dress feels like something a fantasy heroine would wear before her dashing prince comes in and—
I slam the door on those dangerous thoughts.
“What is it?” Briar asks softly.
I stare at my reflection.
At the emerald dress.
At the woman looking back.
Then quietly admit, “I always thought fantasy was safer than real life.”
“Considering what’s happening with the Lyons,” Rory quips, “I don’t think you’re wrong to think exactly that.”
Tiff swats at her. “Hush.”
“I just…” I clear my throat. “Now I know that was about me hiding from my life. I…” I sigh. “Thank you guys for showing me that I can have the fantasy outside of fiction.”
The room goes quiet.
Then Rory sniffs. “Dammit! You’re going to make me cry.”
Chrissy wipes her eyes.
Marie’s throat works.
Tiff grabs the tissues.
And Briar hugs me tight.
Then we’re all hugging and sniffing and I know that whether or not Thorn comes around, I deserve to be with someone who trusts me, who chooses me.
Who loves every part of me.
And gives me every part of them in return.
Because I won’t settle for anything less.