Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
WHITNEY
“This might be the ugliest thing I’ve ever put on my body.”
Vivienne, Blake, Brinley, and Ana are with me at Dusty Layne Boutique.
Harper couldn’t make it because of a shift at the bar.
I messaged the girls and asked if anyone wanted to come with me to look for something simple.
They had all replied within seconds–insisting we turn it into a girls day full of pampering the bride-to-be.
I don’t mind. Not really. I got my hair blown out, and my make up professionally done since Blake also insisted I need to be all dolled up for dress shopping.
My nails are painted, toes and fingers done in the classic French-tip style.
Brinley even got her toes painted in the cutest shade of pink.
I’m still shocked that she sat still long enough to get them done.
It’s been a fun day, but now? Now, I’m confident I will never go shopping again.
I hated everything I tried on. All of the dresses were either too flashy, hugged too tightly in places I didn’t want them to, or just didn’t look right.
I’m currently in a dull, heavy dress that billows awkwardly at the hips. It might look flattering on a supermodel, but it sure as hell does nothing for my postpartum body.
“How about this one?” Blake steps into view of the overly large mirror, cutting off the glare that judges and perfects my body.
It makes me sad that I treated my pre-baby body so poorly.
That I didn’t appreciate the slim stomach, or perky boobs, and always found something to tear myself down about.
I barely glance at it, but agree to try the piece on.
I really, really just want to get out of here and stuff my face with a carton of cookie dough ice cream.
The boutique always carries a small bridal collection, and I was thankful for it, but I was at my wits end.
I take the dress from Blake, head to the dressing room and quickly change into the new one. When I step back onto the pedestal, I have to blink at what I see before me. I think I hear Ana gasp behind me, and Blake or Vivienne murmur.
This. This is what I wanted. Simple, elegant.
No lace or glitter. It hugs me everywhere.
Every curve is on full display, but not in an unflattering sort of way.
More like a second skin, with just the right amount of shape to smooth everything out.
It flares out slightly at the bottom. Not too wide, but just enough to give the dress the volume that it needs.
The strapless neckline sits straight across my chest, hugging my breasts perfectly.
My collarbones and shoulders are left exposed, and I don’t realize how low the back is until I feel a wisp of air brush my skin.
I turn, the tattoo on my back that I got after Brinley was born peeks out just over the top.
It’s a bouquet of daisies and sweet pea flowers to represent the month she was born.
And I realize, as I glance over the dress, that I’m thinking of Wyatt.
Of how he’ll react when he sees it. How he’s never seen my tattoo, and if he’ll like it as much as I do.
It’s not a wedding gown, more so something a bride might wear during a reception or rehearsal dinner. I don’t want something outlandish. This isn’t… well, it isn’t a real wedding day. I’m not betting on photos being perfect or spending thousands of dollars for a one-day experience.
But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to look at least a little pretty. “It’s perfect.” I mutter, running a hand along my ribcage, the feel of soft satin digging into my fingertips.
“It is. See? Little B, agrees.” Blake’s smile is contagious as I turn and find Brinley between her and Vivienne, clapping her hands and doing one little jump at the sight of me.
“Well if she says yes, I say yes too.” I bend down to give her a quick kiss on the cheek. When I return to full height, Megan, the older woman who owns the boutique, waddles over with a few scraps of fabric thrown over her arm.
“I thought that maybe you’d want something for after the wedding, too?”
I still, eyes widening as I glance from the lacey numbers to all the women surrounding me.
I’m sure if I turned back around and looked in the mirror I’d be as red as I feel.
Blake responds before I do, snatching a piece from Megan and holding it up in the light.
“Ooooo, she’ll definitely take this one. ”
“Blake!” I groan, throwing my hands over my face.
“What? You can’t not get wedding lingerie.” Blake argues.
“I’m inclined to agree with her, Sis.” Vivienne’s smirk is shit-eating, but her eyes are genuine as she takes in my dress. We haven’t had the chance to talk, and I know she’s still feeling a little hurt over the fact I didn’t tell her I’m seeing Wyatt.
“You two are the worst,” I say, pinching the bridge of my nose. I fail to not look at Ana, and she’s just sitting in the guest chair with a beaming smile on her face. When she sees my blush, she waves her hands in dismissal.
“Oh, dear. If you think a little lingerie would bug me, you don’t wanna see my book collection.”
Yeah. I could’ve lived without that image in my head.
“Ana! You read smut?” Vivienne gapes, coming to sit beside Ana like she’s expecting her to spill all the tea.
“Of course, I read smut. Right now there’s this one about faeries-”
“Okay, that’s enough of that.” I plug my ears like a toddler and bolt for the changing room.
I’d just finished Maggie’s usual pampering when I decided to hook up her head collar.
I figured we could go for a walk today, maybe practice getting comfortable with the feel of a saddle on her back after she burns off some energy.
When I go to pull her lead, she nudges my head, nose dropping to the ring on my finger.
I huff a laugh, because this horse doesn’t miss a damn thing. “Yeah, girl. I know.”
She gives it a loving little nip though, and lets me lead her out of the stall. We don’t make it five steps before nausea hits me in waves–
Because Andrew fucking Millers is standing in front of me, hands stuffed in the pockets of his blue suit. “What are you doing here?” My question is quick, and I hope it doesn’t tremble as much as I think it does.
“You look good, Whitney.” Andrew drawls, ignoring my question.
“I know.” It’s the only reply I could come up with–still too shell-shocked to believe he’d actually show his face.
I would be lying if I said Andrew wasn’t handsome.
His personality is what makes him ugly, not his face.
My throat tightens when I look at it and see Brinley.
She’s always looked exactly like me, but there–in the line of his nose and the shape of his chin…
it’s Brinley. I am so thankful she’s with Ana right now.
“I was sad to hear about that little fire. Really unfortunate.” He tilts his head, his eyes roaming over me in a predatory way that makes my skin crawl. The way he says it grates. Like he knows something I don’t.
“What do you want, Andrew?” My words are harsher this time, any trembling or insecurity I felt seconds ago gone. He isn’t sincere, he just wanted to throw it in my face.
“Can’t I just come see you?” He asks like we’re long-lost lovers. Not exes because his shady ass cheated on me. Not once, not twice, but three different times.
“No, you can’t.” I shake my head, letting my face morph into one of disgust. How dare he? “Especially when you’re trying to take my kid from me.”
He hums, obviously unphased and still willing to push. “How is my kid, by the way?”
“Just because you had five minutes of fun doesn’t mean you’re her dad,” I snap. I know I shouldn’t react—this is what he wants. A reaction. A fight. Proof that he’s messing with my head and getting under my skin. I hate that I can’t help giving it to him.
“Is that how you remember it?” He clicks his tongue, not so subtly glancing at my chest. “Because it was definitely longer than five minutes. Much longer.”
Oh, now? Now, I’m fuming. “You want to know about Brinley? I’m sure your private investigator should be able to fill you in.
” Satisfaction crawls through me when the tip of his nose reddens.
It’s one of his usual tells when he’s been caught.
He must have not known I found out about that little bit of information.
Andrew rolls his shoulders, quickly brushing it off. But his nose is still pink, and I know his temper is flaring. “Come on.” he sighs, ripping his hands from his pockets and flaring his arms wide, “You don’t miss me? Not even a little?”
“Like a fucking rash.” I bite back. “Where the hell is your wife, Andrew? Can’t imagine she’d be very happy with you being here.”
He scoffs, stuffing his hands back into his pocket. “She’s hardly my wife.”
My eyebrows pull together. What the hell is that supposed to mean? Feeling defensive, I widen my stance and cross my arms over my chest. But when I move, the sun catches my ring just right. I suck in a breath as Andrew tracks it. His eyes flare, and then narrow on the diamond. “What’s that?”
I blanch. Because suddenly, I’m reminded that Wyatt isn’t even here right now.
Sure, there’s others working today, but nobody I can see within eyesight.
Would they hear me if I scream? When did Wyatt say he’d be back from his mom’s?
“You need to leave.” I don’t give him room to debate.
Maggie’s body suddenly shuffles, and for a second, I think she might lash out on him.
But she doesn’t—she does something even better.
She pisses right on his pristine leather-bound shoes.
Andrew jumps back, baring his teeth and muttering a cure word under his breath.
He doesn’t say another word, just spins on his feels and books it out of sight.
“You are so fucking cool, Maggie.” I let loose on a breath, adrenaline probably the only thing keeping me from crying right about now. “If I could fist bump you right now, I totally would.”
Maggie snickers, and we both watch as Andrew crawls into his fancy car and peels out of the ranch’s one-way road. That adrenaline begins to dim, and sudden dread at Andrew's appearance courses through my body.