Page 151 of Beautiful Scars

She smiles at me. “It was my pleasure.” Then her smile fades a little. “Meisie, he’ll come around. He’s just a stubborn Hendry. When this is over—”

I cut her off with a finger on her lips and eyes that plead with her not to go there.

When she nods in response, I nod back at her.

“Can you grab my dress so I can get this over and done with?”

“Oh, you only need to be there in—”

“It’ll take me half an hour to get there in this thing,” I say, grabbing my skirts and hauling them a foot off the floor so I can actually walk. “Let’s try and get a head start, shall we?”

Sarah comes up behind me, tottering on her forest green high heels. I don’t know how she got her bridesmaid dress so clean after our pizza party last night—maybe Cole has a dry cleaner on call like Kill’s Italian chef or something.

We make our way down to one of the many dungeons that seem to be a quirky feature of our relationship. The doors are closed tight, but I can hear noisy chatter behind it.

Five hundred people.

My stomach does an impressive triple somersault and then belly flops onto concrete. Only when Sarah’s cool fingers gently peel my hands off my skirt do I realize I had a death’s grip on the shimmery fabric. And of course, that left a noticeable crease.

“I have to get this steamed out,” I tell her, tangling my legs in my skirt as I attempt a hasty about-turn. I refused point-blank to wear high heels—what would be the point with this inverted teacup of a skirt? But even my glittery pumps aren’t being helpful right now—they feel like they’re snagging on something important.

“Meisie, we can’t go all the way back up there.”

“They can wait,” I growl at her.

“No they fucking can’t,” a man announces behind me.

I spin, tangling myself even more, and almost trip over my own feet when Cole slips out the partially open door. Row upon row of wedding goers stare at me through the crack, all craning to see what the drama is.

Spoiler alert—it’s me.I’mthe fucking drama.

“Now get in there, and marry my fucking brother.”

I almost ask him if he’s going to walk me down the aisle at gunpoint just for a little show, but I decide not to tempt fate. She hasn’t been all that kind to me lately.

“Come on,” Sarah says, her bright voice cracking a little around the edges. “Big breath.”

“Yeah, Meisie,” Cole says through a leer, his eyes dropping to my chest. “Nice big breath.”

I scowl at him, hike up my skirts, and surge forward. He lets out a low chuckle and pushes the door open with the flat of his palm, the other hand going to his mouth.

Despite being almost deafened by his ear-piercing whistle, there’s no mistaking the sound of the Wedding March starting up inside. Sarah can barely open the door in time before I’m through, and then her high heels clack wildly behind me as she hurries to catch hold of my train.

She needn’t have bothered. There’s a broad red carpet laid out for me, and I guess all the other guests who came before me. I’ve never been to a wedding before, so I have no idea if I’m even doing this right. But from the soft whispers and half-scandalized gasps, I guess the Wedding March is supposed to be more of a stroll than a stalk.

Well fuck them all.

If they’d been in my shoes, they wouldn’t have been taking their time either.

Cillian waits at the altar, standing to one side of a priest wearing a severe expression and full clerical robes. It could just be the ambient lighting down here, but I swear a faint smile creeps onto Kill’s mouth when he catches sight of me charging down the aisle toward him.

“Meisie, slow down!” comes Sarah’s breathless plea behind me. But I ignore her and keep going.

Until Cole grabs me by the arm and forces me into a slow walk.

Step by step.

Inch by inch.