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“Laying it on a little thick, are we?”
Syrah helps me lower myself down. Then she steps back and gives me her best scowl. “Someone’s not in the mood for compliments today, huh?”
“Sorry,” I mumble. “I just… I can’t believe I let him talk me into this.”
Syrah fixes me with a glare and clears her throat pointedly. “Ah-hem. You’re supposed to be peeing, young lady. I don’t hear the sound of pee exiting your body.”
I cringe. “I’m just a little?—”
“Tightly wound today. I can tell. Will you just relax and pee? It’s not good to hold it in.”
I get my Zen on and block out all the little anxieties that have been piling up this morning. I concentrate and do my best to relax. A few seconds later…
“Ah-ha, jackpot!” Syrah cheers. “Like Niagara Falls. Love that for you.”
“You’re so weird.”
She grins cheekily. “You really do look beautiful, you know. This is great lighting for your cheekbones. If you hold on a sec, I’ll go get the photographer…”
I stick my middle finger in her face before I finish up, suppressing a moan of discomfort, and get to my feet. I’m walking past the mirror when Syrah grabs hold of me and forces me to turn to it. “Quick pause. This is important. Go on, look at yourself. Tell me what you see.”
I stare at my reflection. The girl staring back at me is recognizable, sure. But there are parts of her that are alien. Like the massive stomach, the extra weight around her hips.
“Syrah—”
“No arguing,” she scolds. “Tell me what you see.”
“I see a tired pregnant woman who would chop off a pinky toe to not be pregnant anymore.”
“Okay, fair enough. Now, what else do you see?”
Frowning, I squint past my own discomfort. The dress I’m wearing was chosen this morning from a silver rack of Madison Montgomery’s finest. My plan was to go traditional white, but I ended up falling head over heels when I saw this romantic, shimmery, pearl silver dress in a mix of chiffon and organza. It was understated, but there was a playful depth to it. I also didn’t exactly hate that it would match Dmitri’s eyes.
“I see a pretty dress.”
Syrah pats my arm. “Good. You’re getting warmer. What else?”
She spent a good hour getting my hair and makeup done, because, and I quote, “If you hire someone else to do it for you, I’ll hate you forever and also burn your house down.” She did good, though, all violent threats aside. The makeup is subtle and understated, just like the dress, and my hair is an intricate series of tiny French braids zigzagging across one another at the back of my head. Twisted strands of hair fall on the side of my temples, framing my face.
“I see a brilliant updo and amazing makeup.”
“Fuck yeah, you do!” Syrah agrees. “And what does all that add up to?”
Sighing, I nod and give into the point I know she’s been driving toward. “I look pretty damn good.”
“‘Pretty damn good’?” Syrah sucks in an offended breath on my behalf. “You look stunning, Wren. And considering you’re a trillion months pregnant, that’s saying something.”
I can’t help but smile. “You always know how to make me feel better.”
“I take my role as maid of honor very seriously,” she says. “And honestly, I’m really happy that you decided to include me in your secret, clandestine elopement. Although, again, I would have burned your house down if you’d done anything else.”
I don’t bother telling her that I had to put my foot down on that one. Dmitri was adamantly against it.
“She’s my best friend!” I argued with him last night while we were putting together our impromptu ceremony. “I can’t get married without her.”
“The whole point of this wedding is that we do it quickly and quietly.”
“It’s hard enough getting married without Rose and Bee here. Don’t make me do it without Syrah, too.”
