Chapter Eight
Yes, I know there's a lot of people. I hope you read the rest of the EverStorm Universe before reading this. Otherwise.... yikes. Good luck, soldier.
Elodie
Bridal store jail sucks. It’s small, it’s cramped, and it smells like a rose bush came in here to die.
Squished next to Ruby in a seat meant for one person, I lean forward toward Enchanted Bridal’s manager, Shelly, who sits across her desk from us and looking down her stupid, obnoxious nose at me.
“I just don’t understand how you’re going to try to hold us liable for an accident ,” I say, doing my best impression of someone level-headed.
“It’s not our fault your gown racks weren’t secure enough.
Probably if you don’t want a mass incident, you should take care of that problem before you take an appointment from a blind woman to come in and look at dresses.
How was she supposed to know the racks were rickety?
I mean, was that even ADA compliant? Because it doesn’t seem super ADA compliant to me, all things considered. ”
To my left, Ruby grinds her teeth so hard I can hear the grating in my ears, and to my right, Amber and Amelia—likewise squished together in a second chair—nod their agreement, Amelia’s head bouncing up and down while Amber gives a single, stiff lift of her chin.
Amber, I’ve learned, is the dark fairy wife of katrillionaire William Warrick, giver of a quarter of a million dollars to the wedding fund, and Amelia, a sweet, if shy, brunette girlie, is with Brian. Lucky girls, the both of them.
“Like I said before,” Miss Manager says, “in a setting such as this, one would think that one would be careful. Dresses are heavy. And now, all of those very heavy dresses are on the floor. Until we can assess the damage, you’ll need to stay here, then we can work out what sort of reparations will need to be made. ”
“And like I said,” I grit through clenched teeth, “it is not our fault your equipment was of such a quality that, first, a single tap from a small woman could topple a rack which, second, would then topple the rest of the racks. That has nothing to do with us. We’re as much collateral damage to your bad racks as the dresses are! ”
She takes a long, irate breath, pasting a toothy this-costumer-is-an-idiot smile on her face. “Miss Sage,” she begins, then stops, head cocking.
My head cocks too as I hear it—a loud, livid, cursing William Ivan Delimar Vann.
Ooo, I have got to see this.
Ruby and I rise at the same time, causing a moment of pain as the arm of the chair digs into my hip.
I grab her elbow, wasting no time getting us out of this stuffy office and onto the sales floor where Will, surrounded by mountains of tulle and lace, stands, one hand on his hip and the other pointing at an equally angry saleswoman.
“ Where is my wife ?” he asks, an angry red swatch across his cheeks.
“I’m here,” Ruby calls, tapping her cane on the ground in front of us.
I let go of her elbow as Will approaches, scooting around them to make room for Amber and Amelia to exit the office.
We join the rest of the bridal party where they’re gathered near the doors.
Liam, eyes narrowed, assesses Amber’s physical state, then scoops her into his arms, backing them up against a wall to murmur lowly to her as he glares at the shop’s employees.
Brian sweeps Amelia likewise into his arms, lifting her over torn strips of satin she might slip on and setting her steady beside an ethereal goddess I can only assume is Frank, based on her proximity to the group.
Roman, who took over cussing at service workers in Will’s absence, glances at me, snaps , and holds his arm out for me.
Snaps .
If I weren’t already ticked, I’d be ticked .
Choosing my battles—namely, the one in which this stupid store thinks Ruby is a problem—I do what he wants, stepping carefully through the mess of white fabric until I’m close enough to reach.
His hand folds around mine, engulfing it completely as he pulls, not stopping until I’m tucked neatly into his side, where he lets go of my hand in order to put his on my back, sliding it around until his arm can tuck me in closer. All the while, he never stops growling at Shelly’s coworker.
“And actually, is any of this even ADA compliant? Do you have any clue? Because you took an appointment with a blind woman, which you knew at the time of the appointment, because Elodie told you Ruby was blind and would need basic safety measures to be in place—a subject that shouldn’t even need to be broached, mind you, because they should already be in place , but so many retailers think you’re above basic compliance with the law.
It’s disgusting, frankly, and this treatment is disgusting, too.
You can’t detain people. You’re not the cops! ”
He, of course, added a whole lot more curse words in there, but I’ve gone ahead and censored that. Genre expectations and all. Can’t have you guys putting the book down because of his potty mouth, can we? Who would pay my author’s bills?
Fully in agreement with Roman, for once, I provide an incredibly helpful, “Yeah!" which Frank echoes.
Behind the worker in front of us, several more shop girls move around the space, attempting—and mostly failing—to right the racks and salvage what they can of the dresses. They exchange looks, mouths pressed tightly shut.
“Sir, you can’t use that sort of language in here,” the woman—Kylie, her name tag says—tells him.
His arm contracts around me, his fingers digging into my hip.
“Do you have any idea who you’re talking to here?
” Frank interjects, coming up behind us.
“That,” she points to Liam and Amber. Liam, bless him, is scowling something fierce at the manager before us.
“Is William Warrick. He has, like, a trillion dollars. Which he’s investing in this wedding.
The budget for the dress alone is three hundred thousand dollars,” she lies, tsking at a gobsmacked Kylie. “You guys done messed up big .”
Kylie sputters, and Shelly, who’s come up behind her, joins.
“Yeah,” Frank says. “Embarrassing. For shame. That’s one heck of a commission you all lost, and for what?
The cost of a few floor samples?” She tuts.
“Now, not only aren’t you getting a commission, but Mr. Warrick over there doesn’t like it too much when things aren’t ADA compliant.
Makes him cranky. So. You know. Your shop?
” She folds her arms, unashamed as she tsks.
“Probably not going to be open for much longer.”
The girls in the back drop the dresses they’d picked up, eyes wide.
Liam watches them for a moment as the managers scramble to apologize—to him, not Ruby, it should be noted—then he pulls out his wallet, produces two thick black business cards, and walks across the shop floor to hand them to the girls, trampling dresses in his wake.
“Ask for Michael. Tell him Liam gave you his number.”
He ignores the managers completely, treading his way back through the fallen gowns to his wife and pulling her out the door. The rest of us follow him, huddling on the sidewalk down a little from the shop to debrief.
“Are you okay?” Roman asks, and I turn to Ruby awaiting her answer.
Ruby, however, does not answer. Because Roman isn’t looking at her to push his voice in her direction, indicating he’s speaking to her. Almost thirty years with a blind sister, and he can’t remember the basic steps of speaking to her?
Nose scrunched, I turn to sass him for his idiocy, only to find that he’s not looking at Ruby because he isn’t talking to Ruby. He’s talking to me.
“Sweet, are you okay?” he repeats. His arm—which is still around me—gives me a squish. “Did you get hurt?”
Um.
What’s happening?
“I’m okay,” I answer, blinking furiously, then I turn to Ruby, the person we should be worried about. “Rubes, are you okay?”
She curses as an answer, letting me know that she is physically well but mentally? Not so much.
Will winces, then guides her away from the group with a gentle, “It’ll be okay, Rubble. I’m here.”
I watch, helpless, and he comforts her, pushing crimson hair away from her face and kissing her forehead as he wraps her in his embrace.
“That place sucks,” Frank announces to the group. “I mean, what was that?”
Amber and Amelia concur while Liam taps at his phone, and Brian frowns down the street in the direction of Enchanted Bridal, the Cupid wings on his back shimmering under the sun.
“That was not very live, laugh, wed of them,” he mutters, wings twitching in the breeze. “I hope those girls call Michael.”
“They will,” Amber replies. “They’d be stupid not to, and they didn’t look stupid to me. They looked like they thought their bosses were idiots.”
“Their bosses were idiots,” Roman sniffs. “Illegal idiots, even. Did you see that place? It didn’t even have a ramp. The only way in was a four-step staircase.”
I cringe. “I saw that in the pictures, but when I called, they swore they had appropriate accommodations for disabilities.” I groan.
“I shouldn’t have believed them. I should have trusted whatever gut feeling made me even ask.
” The words are sour coming out of my mouth, matching the churning in my gut in the face of my stupidity. I should have done better.
Roman shocks me by saying nothing, not rubbing my stupidity in my face or reminding me that scouting places for proper safety precautions is always the smartest move when it comes to keeping Ruby safe and comfortable.
He doesn’t have to, though, because I’m managing to berate myself enough about it without his help.
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Brian says. “You made an appointment at a bridal shop for your best friend—the same as a million best friends before you have done. This is on them , not you.”
Staring into his sky-blue eyes, I almost believe him.
Almost.
“I’m hungry,” Frank declares into the ensuing silence, tearing my gaze away from Brian’s much—too-intense-for-comfort eye contact. “And exhausted. I’m calling my beloved Normie to pick me up, then going home to a delicious homecooked meal, free of drama and chaos.”
“I’ve made dinner reservations,” Liam says, looking up from his phone. “If he would like to join us instead, you’re both on the count I gave them.”
“Thanks, but no thanks,” she replies, already putting her phone to her ear. “I’ve sacrificed enough of my day off to this nonsense—no offense, Ruby—and now I’d just like to be with my husband.”
Ruby, several steps away, does not take offense, waving at Frank as she tilts her head toward Will, who kisses her forehead again before bringing her back to the group, a calmer woman.
I study her for any lingering ailments—physical or otherwise—that our first wedding dress shopping trip may have left her with, but find only her usual state of mild annoyance.
And to think, less than a year ago Will would have made her blood rise ever higher instead of being the one who was talking her off the ledge. I would have been the one talking her off the ledge. Or, just as likely, joining her on it.
“Ruby,” Liam addresses her, “on Tuesday, September 3rd, I’ve arranged for a private dress selection at my home, to avoid any further…” His eyes narrow as he searches for the word most fitting, before he settles on, “less-than-cute experiences.”
Geez, this katrillionaire is nice.
“Thank you!” Ruby squeaks— squeaks! —knuckles going white as she tightens her hand around Will’s. “You really didn’t have to do that!”
My eyes dart from Ruby to Liam, then back, then to Will, whose mouth tilts in amusement, then to Roman, whose face is closer than I expected it to be and just as confused as my own.
Is Ruby… scared of that guy?
Untangling myself from Roman, I take a good, long look at my best friend’s face.
Then, I laugh. She’s totally scared of him.
Gracious, that’s cute. Scowly, grumpy Ruby, afraid of a man who gives strangers jobs at the drop of a dime—and gifts her absurd amounts of money for her wedding—after taking on a significant role in the planning of said wedding, despite his high-power, high-demand job.
He, clearly, loves Ruby and Will very much.
And Ruby is shaking in her boots just because he spoke to her.
This is hilarious .
While I think of ways I can use this to tease my dear, silly friend, Frank’s husband shows up to whisk her away, and the rest of us begin the short trek to the parking garage nearest here, where Amelia’s car—she picked up the girlie portion of the bridal party for this fabulous outing—along with Liam’s and Roman’s await us.
Liam tells the drivers the address for the restaurant, and we all pick a vehicle.
Amelia and Brian take Amelia’s car; Liam and Amber take his; and Will, Ruby, Roman, and I pile into Roman’s.
Will and Ruby take the back seat, the better to kiss and cuddle, I’m sure, which puts me on passenger duty. AKA, music duty.
Or it would be music duty if Roman didn’t snatch my phone out of my hand and declare, “If you turn on a Barbie soundtrack right now, I’m going to drive us off a bridge.”
“Well, excuse me for trying to insert some joy back into this awful day. Your sister, by the way, likes the Barbie soundtracks.”
His eye twitches and his nostrils flare, but he concedes, reluctantly handing the phone over with a snooty, “Fine.”
I twist in my seat, stretching my seatbelt taut against my chest as I look at Ruby. “ Barbie in the Pink Shoes or Barbie as the Island Princess ?”
“Pink shoes,” she answers, not a moment of hesitation, and I grin.
Roman says nothing, merely flicking his eyes to his rearview mirror to check on his sister before putting them back on the road, a frown gracing his lips.
As the glory that is Barbie singing “Keep On Dancing” fills the car, Ruby’s shoulders lose some of their tension, and she tips her head onto Will’s shoulder, a miniscule smile emerging on her face in the mirror.
Roman’s frown abates, and his eyes soften.
Oh so casual, he reaches out to tick the volume up a few notches.
Begrudgingly, I acknowledge that, as annoying and rude as he is, he does have his moments—especially where it concerns Ruby. I send a thank-you into the sky for that, because it means that my bestie will always know the care of her big brother.
My heart warms even as a sliver of nasty jealousy eats through my stomach.
I turn the music up two more notches to drown it out.