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I walk onto a carpeted platform surrounded by tall mirrors. She takes my measurements, narrowing her eyes as she looks me over. “Long dress, for sure, with those legs,” she whispers more to herself than to me. I glance down at my legs, instantly regretting wearing these tiny shorts.
“Oh, that’s not what I meant,” she says with an apologetic smile. “You’re tall! With a great figure, no less, so your body will look exquisite in a long mermaid or sheath dress. But if you want something grand with full skirts, we can definitely do that too.”
“No, not grand,” I say quickly. “I want something simple.”
“That’s what I thought,” she says with a wink before disappearing behind a partition. My outfit probably gave me away. You can’t do simpler than denim shorts and a black tank top.
I trudge back to the couch and grab my champagne glass.
“So, are we doing a bachelorette party and a bridal shower?” Marcie asks.
“Oh, no no. The wedding is in three weeks, and there’s a lot of details to hammer out before then. No need for any of that.”
“You’re robbing me of all the fun of being a maid of honor, you know that?” she jokes.
“I’m sure you’ll have other opportunities,” I tease back.
She snorts. “Right. Amber chose Dean as her man of honor because she didn’t want to choose between us two,” she says, pointing between Jules and herself. “Dean will choose her in return, and we’ll probably end up doing the same thing Amber did,” she laments, and Jules just laughs.
“That’s if we ever get married,” she adds, to which Marcie nods.
Marcie shakes her head and breathes a long sigh, turning to me. “Really, you’re my only hope.”
“Then channel all your maid-of-honor energy on that kickass speech,” I say with a wink.
“Oh, believe me, it’ll be amazing,” she says with a bright smile. I try to smile back, but my stomach sinks when I remember none of this is real. Marcie isn’t my best friend since high school, and I’m not marrying the man of my dreams in front of my friends and family. This is all a sham, and it makes me sick to lie to Marcie and Jules about it. Yes, I agreed to this, but it’s not just about me anymore.
Carol struts back in with a rack of shimmering white dresses, and my eyes pool with tears as I look at them. Even the dress doesn’t deserve to be caught up in this charade. It should be worn at a real wedding, where the bride and groom are deeply in love. It should be taken off at the end of the night, then laid gently on the ground as they consummate their marriage.
Instead, the dress will be stuffed in a garment bag as I sleep in the bed next to it, alone. Maybe if I’m careful enough, I’ll be able to return the gown so it can have its shot at a real wedding.
Arms wrap around my shoulders, and I find myself caught in a Rosemont sister sandwich. “You’re going to look fabulous,” Marcie says, drying my tears with her finger.
Colton
My mind wanders out of the strategy meeting I’m currently suffering through, and Jane appears in front of me. She’s in a long white dress strewn with glittering sequins, but the gown doesn’t compare with her face. She’s radiant. Her smile and her eyes sparkle a thousand times brighter than the dress as she strides down the aisle. My heart leaps in my chest, because I’m about to marry this amazing woman who I—
“Colton?” Max says, shooting me a curious look. “Is this good? We need to finalize the details before your trip.”
I snap back to the meeting. This is bad. I haven’t been myself all day, forgetting things and making mistakes. My mind is fully occupied by Jane and the burning desire to kiss her. There’s no room for anything else.
“Yes. Fine,” I say, glancing at my team. “Good work, everyone.”
With a curt nod, I stand up and walk to my office. The timing of this reverie couldn’t be worse. I’m leaving tomorrow for a long weekend trip to my hometown with my fiancée, and I’m pretty sure it won’t help with these conflicting feelings that are tearing me apart inside.
Half an hour later, I’m home, and I’m glad to see she’s not back from her day out yet. After grabbing a drink, I sit down on the couch and close my eyes, trying to relax after an exhausting day coupled with the prospect of being in a small plane with Jane tomorrow. I need to get it together.
A loud meow startles me, and my eyes flutter open. Truffles is sitting at my feet, gazing at me with curious eyes.
“What are you doing here?” I say. “Shoo.”
But she doesn’t budge. Instead, she rubs against my leg and starts purring. I reach down and pet her. She rubs her face on my hand, showing me where she wants me to scratch her, and I oblige. Just like her owner, Truffles is impossible to resist. She takes this as an invitation to jump on the couch and roll onto her back. I continue to scratch her and start to feel appeased by her purring. Until I sneeze. Once, twice, and another four times. My skin itches, and I leap up from the couch.
“Monsieur Green,” Agnes says, setting down the laundry basket she’s carrying. “I’m so sorry. I’m always very careful. She must have escaped.”
“It’s fine,” I say, hustling to the kitchen to get some medicine. “Bring her back to her wing, please.”
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