7. Andrea
“There’s no way I can wear this.” I couldn’t believe the slinky dress fit, but evidently I’d shed a few pounds over the last couple weeks.
Ollie glanced up from his phone and smiled as I walked out of the bedroom that had been converted into a dressing room for me in Deacon’s spacious Los Angeles home.
Ollie was already at Deacon’s place, along with Portia for wardrobe and a man named Miguel for makeup and hair. The goal was to pick out two dresses from the rack that had been provided. One was for the wedding and one was for the party tomorrow night. I’d started working on the outfit for tomorrow since Portia thought it might be the harder one to choose. She wasn’t wrong. I’d been through four choices already. Revenge was complicated.
She pulled at the straps holding up the black silk dress. With its plunging back and slit up the side, the garment left nothing to the imagination except for the question of what kind of underwear I could possibly wear with it.
“It’s the perfect fuck-you dress for your cheating bastard of an ex-husband,” she remarked in a thick accent, taking pins from her mouth and tagging up the hem as well as the waistline. “I can do alterations tonight and drop it off tomorrow morning.”
“It’s not something I’d normally wear.”
Portia, my new confidence booster in blunt form, paused with the pins between her teeth. “Exactly the point.”
“It’s a statement dress,” Ollie offered, picking out some black shoes with red bottoms and straps that wrapped around the ankles. The outfit was ridiculously sexy even if I wasn’t.
Could I do it? Could I pull it off? Jeff had always been adamant I dress conservatively, like it was part of my brand as a married woman not to be overly sexy. It was laughable considering he’d left me for a woman who constantly had her body on display in barely there clothes. “All right. Let’s do the black dress for tomorrow night.”
Now that I had my revenge outfit, the next order of business was to pick out a classy outfit for the wedding tonight. I shimmied into a beautiful A-line chiffon lace cocktail dress of slate blue with sparkle along the bodice and stepped out of the bedroom. That’s when I discovered Ollie and Portia were no longer my only audience.
Looking as though he’d come directly from the gym, Deacon dragged his gaze over me from head to toe, causing my cheeks to heat at the scrutiny. Since the weddings I’d previously attended had been much more casual, I asked, “Is this okay for tonight?”
His eyes met mine. “It’s perfect.”
He moved to greet Portia with a kiss on the cheek. She quickly walked into the bedroom and came out holding two garment bags. “I have the gray suit for tonight and the black slacks with the dark blue collared shirt for tomorrow, Deacon.”
He took both in hand. “Great. I’ll get showered and changed.”
I had just finished with makeup and had my hair in an updo with soft tendrils left loose to frame my face when Deacon walked into the room in his gray suit.
Although it appeared perfectly tailored to fit his body, Portia went over and immediately started tugging on the sleeves and running her hands over the lines of the shoulders. Although she’d done the same to me, I couldn’t help the kernel of jealousy over the way she was touching him with such familiarity.
Stupid for more reasons than I could count.
Miguel stepped back, allowing me to take in my reflection in the mirror he’d set up on the dining table. That’s when I discovered the man was an absolute artist.
He’d made the dark circles under my eyes disappear and managed to make me look sophisticated and, dare I say, pretty. It was such a great boost to my confidence even if the whole wedding date was pretend.
“Thank you,” I whispered, giving him a small smile and choking back my emotion.
Miguel, who turned out to be a fan of the show, grinned. “Tonight you are beautiful butterfly; tomorrow you will be ferocious tiger.”
Ollie chuckled. “Yes, indeed. Now, then, we’re going to get packed up and leave you two some time to get acquainted.”
Within minutes, my mobile Cinderella squad and PR agent had left us completely alone in the house.
“You hungry?” Deacon walked into the bedroom where I was sitting and waiting for my nails to dry.
“Won’t there be food at the wedding?”
He chuckled. “That’s hours away, and I’m a growing boy.”
“And you plan to cook something now?”
He smirked. “The closest version to cooking that I can manage without complaint. Come on, I’ll show you the kitchen.”
I’d seen it briefly when arriving but now took in all the details: the top-of-the-line chrome appliances, the beautiful white marble countertops. It showed like a model kitchen, probably because he didn’t live here long enough to accumulate clutter.
“When I moved in, I had the kitchen and the bathrooms redone.”
“They’re beautiful. Do you spend much time here?” Modern and clean lines seemed to be his style.
“I’m in LA a few times a year to see my mom or when I have to meet with my record label.” He went to the refrigerator and pulled out deli meat and cheese.
I watched as he methodically assembled two sandwiches. It was strange to see one of the world’s biggest rock icons do something mundane.
“You prefer ham or turkey?”
“I should probably pass.” I was hungry, but it could wait.
“Are you a vegetarian? Because I can make you a veggie version.”
I fanned out my dark red—never would’ve picked this color before—nails. “No, but I don’t want to smudge these.”
A grin slowly slid across his face. “Easily solved.”
He sliced the sandwich in half and held one of the halves up for me.
“I’ll hold it, and you take as many bites as you like.”