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It was surprising, but only at first. I had sunk into the rhythm, feeling everything—the fight with Vicki, the night, this weekend—roll off me and away. My body was already loosened from the—let’s face it—absolute wallbanger of an orgasm that I’d had. Finn had let me lower my guard and lose the automatic defenses every lone woman has at a nightclub. He’d stayed by me all night, losing himself the same as I did but never letting me out of his sight.
He was an incredible dancer, in full mastery of his body, his rhythm innate. When he put his arm around my waist and pulled me to him, our hips moved together without thought, his hand on my lower back, my hip. In the Uber back to the hotel, he’d admitted that he’d started dance lessons at age nine. You don’t get to be a pop star without dancing, singing, and music training, and to be a teen star, you put in those hours as a kid.
Even though we’d ground on each other for hours, and even though we’d done much more than that in my room, Finn didn’t try anything last night. He walked me to the door of my hotel room at the end of the night, then took the elevator to his penthouse suite. He didn’t even kiss me.
I had to do yet another set of calculations in my head. When a man takes you dancing, when he has his hands on you for hours on the dance floor, it’s because he expects to fuck you. That’s the deal. If he’d pressed me, I probably would have done it.
And then what? I knew what. This morning, I’d be putting it behind me, chalking it up as just another experience. Fun, probably fulfilling, but that was all. I’d be twisting it in my head, finding new ways to tell myself that Finn didn’t care about me really, that he couldn’t hurt me. That he hadn’t hurt me. That I was fine.
But he hadn’t even tried. After giving me an orgasm. What was going on? I didn’t know Finn’s language, couldn’t translate it.
I turned in the three-way mirror, looking at myself from a side angle with the shoes on. They looked nice. They were agony, but they looked nice.
“Lovely,” Mom said. “It just needs the bodice fixed.”
“Maybe I should stuff toilet paper in my bra instead,” I said.
Hayley snorted a laugh. The corner of Vicki’s mouth moved in a smile.
“Those 1950s bras,” Melanie said, cupping her hands to illustrate. “The ones shaped like cones.”
“Anyone have Madonna’s number handy?” I asked. “I think she owns a few.”
Melanie laughed. Petra gave me a grin in the mirror.
“Girl, you’re lucky,” Hayley said. “You don’t even need Spanx under that. I’ve had two kids. Spanx are what get me through life.”
“Same,” Vicki said from her chair. “Spanx should be sponsoring this wedding.”
“Do you know what boobs do after you have kids?” Hayley asked. She pointed down, lowering her hand dramatically. I snorted a laugh.
The seamstress ignored us, wrapping her measuring tape around my chest. The tape went right over my nipples. She peered at the numbers, frowning.
“I get it,” I said drily. “You don’t have to rub it in.”
Even Mom laughed at that one.
Finally, I was done. I stepped out of the shoes and changed out of the dress, putting on my sweatpants and tank top again. I popped two aspirin from my purse and washed them down with one of the mimosas, which I downed in a gulp.
I sank onto a sofa, my muscles weeping in gratitude. It was Hayley’s turn to stand in front of the mirrors in her dress. She had a mother’s body, with a soft belly, generous boobs, and thick upper arms. She had tied her brown hair in a messy knot on top of her head.
She let out a gusty sigh as she looked in the mirror. “I’ve been trying to diet, I swear.”
Petra blew out a raspberry.
“Don’t diet,” I told Hayley. “You look hot.”
She looked at me in surprise. I winked.
“Well, well.” Hayley struck a sassy pose that exasperated the seamstress. “At least someone thinks I’m sexy.”
“You know it, baby,” I said.
She straightened again, smiling, and I knew that though it was a joke, she felt a little bit better about how she looked in the mirror as she changed the subject. “Petra, Finn Wiley is still single. This is your chance,” she said.
Vicki groaned. “Hayley, stop.”
“What? I’m married, not blind. You know my position on this, Vicks. Your brother-in-law is hot, and I’m allowed to say it when it’s just us girls.” She looked at Petra. “You’re single, Pet. This wedding is your shot to land a hot new boyfriend. Get on it.”
