Page 25 of Cold Mercy

I school my face into something neutral and dampen her enthusiasm.

“No. Elizabeth, no. I still think he’s a pretty boy who thinks the world owes him something.”

She frowns.

“You're judging him very harshly. He hasn't even had anyone for the two years we’ve known him. And he's an amazing guy, really. He clicked with James immediately, like they'd known each other for years. Thomas is the only one who can drag James out of the office for a beer. You might want to give him a chance, trust me.”

Yeah, right. I don’t buy it. A man who looks like that, acts like that, and has no one? Either he’s lying, or none of them can stand him. But if Thomas was the one who stepped out, who helped them both when I couldn't…then maybe, but just maybe, he isn't what I think he is.

“Elizabeth, I don’t date. And you have enough to stress about with your wedding, so stop matchmaking. Go pick out your dress.”

She laughs and heads off with the consultant. I sit back on the couch, watching her pull dresses one by one. She tries on three that don’t even make it past the curtain. The fourth finally does. She steps out in a V-neck gown with a fitted waist and soft, lifted skirt. She’s glowing. Completely herself, completely happy.

“You look beautiful,” I say honestly. “If James were here, he’d phrase it in a way that would make this entire salon uncomfortable, but… yes. Beautiful.”

She wipes a tear, so I stand, hug her, and offer to take a picture. While she turns for the photo, a single tear stings my eye too. It’s not grief, not entirely.It’s a softer feeling, one that makes the sting survivable.

Let the feeling go. Not for you, not your turn. You were only made to burn.

Elizabeth spins back toward the mirror.

“We’re taking this one! Someone pin me in before I change my mind!”

Just as a smile breaks across my face against my will, she points at me.

“And now you. Pick a bridesmaid dress.”

“No, I have dresses. I’ll bring something.”

“Sophia, pick one.”

She’s relentless, so I give in.

Twenty minutes later I’m standing in front of the mirror wearing a long, light-blue halter gown with a slit up the leg and no straps.

“Elizabeth, please be serious. You want me to wear this to your wedding?”

“Yes! Absolutely yes.”

“They also carry inserts for the groomsmen’s suits. James asked Thomas to wait until he knew what color your dress was. So we’re getting the matching one today, and you’re delivering it,” she adds, far too casually.

I stare at her, taking in the look of pure, unapologetic satisfaction on her face.

“Elizabeth… I swear you and James are running some kind of experiment on me.”

She zips her lips with a finger.

“No arguing. You’re wearing that, and he’s getting the matching piece. End of discussion.”

I can’t see him again. Not after seeing the state I was in.

But… it’s her wedding. And after everything she’s done for me… I'll put my pride in my pocket for once.

“Fine,” I murmur. “But I’m not promising I’ll make it easy for him.”

She beams, victorious, kissing me on the cheek with a sound that's practically a squeal.

“And you have to text me how it went! Don't just brush me away with ‘fine.’ Remember that I can be a pain in the ass too.”