Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 94279 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94279 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
I scowled. “Stop taking my picture. It’s bad enough Bridezilla talked me into wearing this thing. I don’t want evidence of it anywhere.”
“Evidence? Sweetheart, the whole world is going to see you in that once the photos are published in the magazine.”
My eyes widened. “Absolutely not. We are not going to be publishing a full bridal-party picture.”
“How can we not?”
“We’ve done it before. Not intentionally, but the Waddington wedding we covered—the one in East Hampton at the winery with the big metal sculpture out front? We published photos of the bridal party and groomsmen separately.”
“Yes, but wouldn’t you still be in the bridal-party photos?”
“Not when you’re in control of the photos. Make sure you get some without me.”
I looked at my reflection in the mirror. How the hell had this happened? One minute the bride was bitching because one of her bridesmaids couldn’t make it—the audacity of the woman whose mother had a massive heart attack this morning and was now on life support. “Doesn’t she know I can’t have an uneven number of bridesmaids and groomsmen?” the bride had shrieked. “It will ruin the wedding!”
I had never met a more self-absorbed person in my life. This was supposed to be one of her closest friends, and she’d had a family crisis, but it didn’t even register. I know brides get caught up in things. Heck, I had when I was planning my wedding. I’d lost sleep over my future mother-in-law buying a dress that didn’t coordinate with my colors. But really, who the hell cared what the woman wore, as long as she was happy with it? Still, something about putting on a white dress built for a fantasy makes us want the whole fantasy—down to every last stupid detail.
God … I stepped closer to the mirror and examined the thing on my head. I’d always loved fascinators, thought they were so elegant and classy. But this deep-purple sculpture sticking up from my hair? Maybe, maybe a runway model who was nine feet tall could pull it off if she had on a super-plain dress and the hat was the focal point of the outfit. But that was not the case here. I looked down at the dress and shook my head. So, so bad. And I couldn’t even think about how this shade of purple clashed with my auburn hair.
My eyes shifted from my reflection to the man standing behind me. Elijah was still grinning like a loon.
“She’s not even fucking British!” I lamented.
He chuckled. “That’s the least of your problems, babe.”
I really, really didn’t want to leave the bridal suite like this. But the next thing I knew, the door whooshed open. Bridezilla didn’t even have the courtesy to knock after she’d sent me in here to change.
“Oh thank God!” she said again. “Caroline is a little more petite than you, so it fit nicer, but it’s better than nothing. Could you possibly try to stuff your boobs in a little more? They look like they want to spill out.”
My eyes bulged. Bridezilla didn’t even notice. Then again, I was so consumed with this hideous farce of an outfit that I didn’t immediately realize that she herself had finally gotten dressed. You know the saying, every bride is beautiful? Well, whoever said that was just being kind. It’s not true—not when they’re five-foot-nothing and wearing eight layers of tulle. It looked like Piper was trying to smuggle a full class of five-year-old ballerinas through airport security. Though at least she didn’t have to wear this awful fascinator.
Bridezilla grabbed my arm. “What is that stuck to the back of your arm? A nicotine patch?” She held up both hands, shaking them. “That needs to come off.”
“It’s an insulin pump. I’m diabetic.”
“Oh. I guess it has to stay, then?”
“Why yes, it does. I’m funny about keeping upright and not passing out.” This woman was unbelievable. I stared at her in shock. How could someone have such terrible manners? She noticed and mistook my flabbergasted expression for one of awe.
Piper did a twirl. “Gorgeous, right?” she said. “It’s one of a kind.”
“I’ll say,” Elijah mumbled behind me.
“It’s … special.” I smiled.
Claire, the bridal attendant, knocked on the open door. Her eyes widened when she saw me.
“I was somehow persuaded into filling in for one of the bridesmaids,” I offered.
“Yes,” Piper said. “It wasn’t a hard sell after I mentioned my daddy is best friends with the owner of the magazine she works for.”
I was not a violent person, but I felt like punching this woman. Claire looked at me sympathetically before turning to the bride. “All of the ladies are done with their spray tans. We have about thirty minutes until the ceremony starts, if you want to begin with pictures. The photographer is waiting.”
I’d almost forgotten about the spray tans—thankfully my brothers and I had inherited a bar from my Irish father but gotten our ability to tan easily from my Italian mother, so I’d been excused from the mandatory skin painting.