Chapter 25
Alex
We struggle to contain our giggles as we step into the changing rooms, the satin curtains swishing closed behind us.
The bridesmaid dresses hang there—that particular shade of bile-green that makes Kenzie’s nostrils flare whenever she sees it on anything.
Ever since Asher confessed to Ford that he still wants Harper, Kenzie has been stomping around town with her French-tipped claws out, ready to scratch anyone who mentions it.
This color swap will be like pouring gasoline on her already smoldering temper.
For someone with just two reluctant bridesmaids and no maid of honor, not even her cousin Bethany who she’s known since diapers, you’d think she’d tone down the attitude.
Yet, she still prances through town in those ridiculous discount heels, chin tilted skyward, expecting red carpets to materialize beneath her feet.
I catch Tracy’s eye in the mirror and see my own uncertainty reflected. I wish we had planned our reaction. Are we going to feign innocence when she sees the dresses? Or just stand back and watch as her perfect porcelain facade cracks right here on the boutique’s cream carpet?
“I didn’t know you changed the dress color,” Tracy calls out. Oh, this is perfect.
“I didn’t,” Kenzie snaps back.
We step out of the changing room together, and Kenzie’s face shifts through shades until it resembles our dresses. She’s about thirty seconds away from a full-blown meltdown.
“What is this?” Her voice comes out through clenched teeth, and I have to stifle a laugh.
Darla, the attendant and a classmate a few years ahead of us, regards Kenzie with a bored expression. Even she seems over Kenzie’s antics. “Your dresses.”
“These are NOT my dresses!” Kenzie screams.
“You changed the color right after they were picked, before we ordered them.”
Her mouth flaps open and shut like a fish before she sputters, “I did not!”
With a sigh, Darla leans against the wall, examining her nails. “Yes, you did. The password was used. We can’t proceed with any changes or orders without it.”
Kenzie stands there, trembling, her left eye twitching uncontrollably.
“If you’re about to vomit, I’ll need you to step out of the store. Otherwise, you’ll be charged for everything you contaminate,” Darla says.
I can’t help but love her at this moment.
The loudest scream I’ve ever heard erupts from Kenzie as she stomps her foot. “I did NOT change my bridesmaid dress color from merlot to… puke green!”
“Someone with the password did.”
“Who did you tell the password to?” I ask, feigning ignorance.
“No one!”
Darla tilts her head to one side, her glossy ponytail swinging like a pendulum counting down Kenzie’s remaining patience.
Her heavily-lined eyes narrow to slits, lips pressed into a thin line that somehow communicates both supreme boredom and simmering annoyance.
She examines her manicure for a moment before looking up with the dead-eyed stare of someone who’s worked retail for far too long.
“Then you changed it,” she says flatly. “The system won’t allow any changes without us entering the password. That’s literally how computers work.”
“My wedding is ruined now! These dresses don’t match my color scheme!”
Tracy glances down at the dress and shrugs. “It’s kind of Christmas-y. I mean, it’s… a green.”
I nod in agreement, almost feeling bad for Kenzie. Almost.
Kenzie shakes her head and turns to Darla. “I need new dresses in the correct color, right away!”
“They won’t arrive until the New Year. You chose to wait for fittings until now, so it’s these or something off the rack. Either way, these are paid for.”
“Then I want something off the rack!”
Trace snorts as I raise my eyebrows. “Are you paying for the new dresses? Because I’m not,” I say.
“Yeah, I’m not buying two dresses for your wedding,” Tracy agrees.
“You will do what needs to be done! This is my wedding!”
We both stare at her, shaking our heads.
“If you don’t, you’ll be kicked out of the wedding party!”
“Don’t tease us now,” I reply. “I’m not paying for another dress. You made the change, so—”
“I DID NOT CHANGE THE COLOR OF THE brIDESMAID DRESSES!” Kenzie’s voice rises, sharp and frantic.
I turn to Tracy and point at her dress. “Are you as color blind as I am if these aren’t a different color than merlot?”
“I guess so.”
“You will go and get a dress in the right color or—”
“Or what?” Tracy challenges. “You’ll kick us out? Cool. We didn’t want to be in the wedding party to begin with, so you’d be doing us a favor, not punishing us.”
Kenzie’s left eye spasms violently beneath her perfectly-arched brow, and she unleashes a scream that ricochets off the boutique’s mirrored walls like a banshee’s wail. Tracy and I both flinch, our hands instinctively flying to our ears.
Darla, however, doesn’t even blink—her mascara-heavy lashes remain perfectly still, her crimson lips set in the practiced neutrality of someone who’s witnessed the full spectrum of bridal meltdowns, from champagne-fueled tears to full-blown hurricane tantrums like this one.
“Are you trying on new dresses or taking these ones?” Darla asks flatly.
“I guess I don’t have much of a choice,” Kenzie snaps before storming out of the shop.
“Guess we’re taking the dresses,” Tracy says with a sigh. “We were so close to getting kicked out of the wedding.”
I shrug. “I’d be willing to eat the cost of the dress if it means we didn’t have to stand up there.”
As we turn to head back into the changing rooms, Darla stops us with a pointed comment. “I know it was you.”
We turn back slowly, our shoulders hunched like guilty children caught raiding the cookie jar. My mouth goes desert-dry, and I feel a cold sweat break out across my lower back.
Tracy’s eyes widen to perfect circles, her freckles standing out stark against suddenly pale skin. For a moment, we’re frozen in the boutique’s merciless fluorescent lighting, the hideous green dresses rustling accusingly against our legs as we wait for Darla to continue.
Darla waves her hand dismissively. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to tell anyone. I could also get the dresses ordered and here in time for the wedding, but I just don’t like her.”
A wave of relief washes over me, and I sag slightly. “Thank you.”
“Does anyone like her?” Tracy asks.
“Not that I know of. I’m also good friends with Gina, so I’m more than happy to ruin that witch’s big day.” Harper’s older sister. Of course.
We share a conspiratorial smile, the kind that forms a silent pact between co-conspirators, before Tracy and I retreat into the dressing room.
The scratchy polyester of these horrid dresses clings to our skin as we peel them off, the nauseating shade of green somehow even more offensive under the dressing room’s unforgiving fluorescent lights.
The fabric pools at our feet like toxic sludge, a small victory puddled on the carpet.
“That’s what she gets for taking Harper’s wedding colors, too,” Tracy calls out.
“She can have my brother, but she doesn’t get to have everything she wants. Not when she stole everything from Harper.”
This wedding will be a disaster if it’s the last thing we do—green dresses clashing with burgundy tablecloths, wilting centerpieces, and a wedding cake tilting dangerously to one side.
If Kenzie discovers our fingerprints on her cascade of calamities, she’ll probably hunt us down with the same manic precision she used to plan her wedding binder.
Her perfectly manicured nails might actually draw blood.
Totally worth it, though, to see her left eye twitching uncontrollably as everything falls apart.