Twenty-Eight
Rowan
I arrive at Dr. Mercer’s office on Friday morning, moving like a woman twice my age. She takes one look at me as I shuffle into the exam room and doesn’t even bother with small talk.
“You’ve overdone it.”
“Yep.”
“Sit.”
She runs through the usual checklist, makes a face at my range of motion, then makes an even worse one at my resting heart rate. To her credit, she doesn’t launch into the lecture I was fully braced for. I think she can tell I don’t have the bandwidth to survive it.
She just tells me to return when the show is over, not before, because apparently even she’s decided this ship has sailed.
I get out of there with fifteen minutes to spare before I’m due at the bridal shop, which is the closest thing to a miracle I’ve experienced all month.
∞∞∞
Madison holds up her hands like she’s bestowing a royal decree upon us.
“I have decided,” she announces, pausing for dramatic effect, “that I am delegating. I’m letting you pick your own bridesmaid dresses. Any style. Any color. I just want you to feel beautiful.”
Piper and I exchange a horrified look across the racks.
“Who are you and what have you done with our sister?” Piper asks.
“I’m being a chilled-out, modern bride,” Madison insists. “I’m practicing trust. Now go. Browse. Pick whatever you want.”
“She’s testing us,” I whisper to Piper the second Madison turns her back. “If we pick wrong, she’s going to murder us in our sleep.”
“Oh, absolutely,” Piper whispers back.
Still, I take the freedom and run with it before she changes her mind.
I wade through the pastel nightmare of pinks and lavenders until I find a deep forest green gown. It’s simple, structured through the top, and falls into a soft skirt with a generous side slit that lets my left hip move without fighting three layers of fabric.
Piper emerges from her rack holding an effortless, vintage-looking off-the-shoulder rust-colored dress.
When we head into the fitting rooms, I step into my dress and pull it up, but my left side is so stiff from the weekend’s painting marathon that I can’t reach the back zipper without sending blinding pain down my spine.
“Piper?” I call out, cracking my curtain open. “Can you zip me?”
“On it,” she says, popping into my stall.
I hold the top of the zipper together and turn around. I forget, for a split second, that my back looks like I lost a street fight with a crowbar.
Piper lets out a sharp gasp and drops the zipper.
“Rowan,” she breathes. “What the hell happened to you?”
“Nothing,” I lie immediately, trying to pull the fabric together. “It’s fine.”
“That is not fine!” She reaches out, her fingers hovering in shock over the severe, mottled purple and yellow-green bruises blooming across my ribs and spreading down into my left hip. “You look like you got run over. Did you fall again?”
“No. I was painting.”
“With what? A sledgehammer?” Tears spring to her eyes, her emotional setting immediately flipping to full-blown panic mode. “This is terrifying. You’re falling apart. That’s it. I’m getting Madison. We’re calling Dad, we’re calling a doctor—”
“Piper, no! Stop!” I grab her wrists and pull her back before she can burst out of the fitting room. “Do not tell Madison.”
“Are you insane? Look at your body!”
“I spent the weekend crawling around on a concrete floor making art for my show,” I tell her. “I bruise easily. It’s not as bad as it looks. If you tell Madison right now, she will lose her mind, cancel the dress appointment, and turn today into a full-blown family crisis about my health.”
“Because you need help,” Piper cries quietly, a tear spilling over her lash line.
“I’m seeing a specialist. I saw her this morning. Her name is Dr. Mercer. She’s amazing.” I hold her gaze and squeeze her hands tightly. “Please, Piper. Madison has been planning this wedding in her head since she was six. I’ll tell her after the wedding.”
“No.”
“Piper—”
“That’s four months away.”
I look toward the curtain and lower my voice. “Dad already thinks I try to take the attention away from everyone. I am not turning Madison’s wedding into another family crisis about me.”
Piper goes very still. “What did you just say?”
“Not now.”
“Dad said that to you?”
“Piper.”
Her eyes sharpen. “What the fuck did he say?”
“Not today.” My voice wavers despite my best efforts. “Please.”
I can almost see the argument forming behind her eyes. “After your show.”
I blink. “What?”
“You tell Madison and Noah after the show. Not after the wedding.”
“That wasn’t the deal I offered.”
“I don’t care. That’s my deal.”
I consider it.
The show is significantly sooner.
Piper folds her arms. “Take it, or I go get Madison right now.”
“When did you become terrifying?”
She ignores that.
“Fine.” I sigh. “After the show.”
“No more hiding it.”
“I said fine.”
She raises her finger. “Pinky promise.”
Shit.
“Secure the vault,” she says, “or I don’t believe you.”
I wrap my finger around hers and tug. “I promise.”
She finally exhales.
Then, quieter, she adds, “And for the record, needing help doesn’t steal anything from Madison.”
I look away. “Zip me up before she realizes we’ve been in here too long.”
Piper watches me for another second, but mercifully lets it go.
When we step out of the fitting room, we stand side by side in front of the giant three-way mirror for the verdict.
Madison is sitting on the velvet pedestal, scrolling on her phone. She slowly lowers it, looks at Piper in her rust dress, looks at me in my forest green gown, and blinks. She doesn’t even look at the cut, the fabric, or how the colors look next to each other.
“I tried to be cool. I tried to be a chill bride. It felt wrong in my soul. Rowan, the green makes you look like poison ivy, and I don’t mean the character. Piper, rust is for patio furniture. We’re doing blush pink. Matching A-lines. High necks.”
She marches off toward the sales associate.
Piper turns her head to look at me in the mirror. I look back at her.
“Blush pink,” I murmur. “High neck?”
“At least it covers your ribs,” Piper whispers back.
I let out a breathless laugh and turn back toward the fitting room. “God bless Madison’s control issues.”
∞∞∞
Madison ultimately lands on a muted blush pink with a flowing A-line skirt and a flattering neckline. To everyone’s shock—including our own—Piper and I don’t hate it.
To celebrate not murdering each other in the bridal salon, we head two doors down to a cozy, sunlit bistro for lunch.
“I think we deserve champagne,” Madison announces, sliding into the leather booth and immediately taking charge of the table. “I survived delegating, and you two survived my vision.”
“You didn’t delegate, you took hostage,” Piper mutters. “But the dress is gorgeous, so you get a pass.”
We order our food and three glasses of prosecco.
It feels blissfully normal.
“So, what’s Beckett doing today?” I ask, mostly to make conversation.
“Suit fitting,” Madison says. “He’s there with Noah and Hudson right now.”
The second Hudson’s name leaves her mouth, my treacherous body betrays me. A hot wave of blood surges straight up my neck, flooding my cheeks with an undeniable blush.
Piper catches it instantly. Her eyes go wide as saucers. “Oh. My. God.”
Madison gasps, leaning across the small table so fast she nearly knocks over her prosecco. “Rowan Callahan, you just turned the color of my bridesmaid dresses. Why did you blush when I said Hudson’s name?”
“I didn’t blush.”
“You’re smiling,” Piper says, horrified.
“I’m not smiling. It’s a resting expression.”
“Your resting expression is bitch face, not whatever the hell is happening right now.”
I reach for the bread like that might save me, but Piper’s imagination has run wild.
“You are having mind-blowing sex.”
“What the fuck, Piper?”
“I said it out loud. I’m sorry. It just came out—”
Madison’s body turns toward me like a satellite dish locking onto a signal. “You’re having mind-blowing sex?”
At least four people at nearby tables turn around to stare at us. The woman two booths over actually drops her soup spoon.
“Hush!” I hiss, my face burning so hot I’m pretty sure I’m about to spontaneously combust.
“No,” Piper backtracks, panicked. “No, I thought—she had a head wound, and I assumed—”
“Piper. Shut. Up.”
“Hudson gave you a head wound from sex?” Madison has both hands flat on the table like she’s bracing for liftoff. “Oh my God.”
I knew that lie would come back to bite me one day. I didn’t expect it to happen over salad.
“Nobody gave anybody a head wound from sex. I fell. Hudson happened to be there. That’s it.”
Madison narrows her eyes, already circling. “How was he there?”
“I don’t know. The man appears out of nowhere. It’s unsettling.”
Piper, who has decided her earlier outburst wasn’t damaging enough, sets down her fork with sudden, horrified realization. “But he’s so huge. And you’re so tiny.” Her eyes go wide. “Does it even fit?”
Would it fit?
My brain supplies an immediate yes.
I have to physically shake my head to dislodge the thought before it takes root.
“Both of you,” I warn, pointing a finger between them, cheeks on fire. “Stop. We’re friends. He helped me. That’s it.”
That, somehow, lands harder than the sex accusation.
Madison’s laughter cuts off. “You’re friends with Hudson?”
“I—yes?”
“You hated him.”
“I didn’t hate him.” I stab another piece of lettuce. “I hate head doctors.”
Before they can launch into round two of the interrogation, my phone buzzes on the table.
Hudson: Your future brother-in-law just cried during a suit fitting because he “finally understands love.” I need you to know this happened, and I need you to suffer with me.
A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth before I can catch myself. I bite my lower lip and type a quick reply.
Me: He’s an emotional groom. Leave him alone. At least you don’t have sisters putting you on trial.
Hudson: Tell them I’m a consummate professional and a delight to be around.
Me: How do you know it’s about you?
Hudson: Isn’t it?
“Look at her!” Madison squeals, grabbing Piper’s arm and shaking it. “Look at that stupid smile. She’s texting him right now. Look at her thumbing away like a teenager.”
I flip my phone face-down on the table. “I refuse to discuss this further. Nothing fits anywhere because nothing needs to. We’re friends. He helped me. End. Of. Story.”
They both nod, and for one blessed second I think it’s over.
Then Madison lifts her glass, takes a satisfied sip, and says, “Jesus, it’s no wonder you’re limping.”
I cover my face with both hands, unable to hold it in anymore.