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This time, it was his turn to narrow his eyes. "You're right. You should stay in your bridesmaid's gown for the whole ride. So silly of me to think otherwise."
Rolling her eyes, she stomped off to the bathroom to find a huge space, lavish with the same marble counters and floors as the kitchen. There was a box just beside the tub labeled "Bella."
She opened it, held up a dress, then frowned. It was more sensible than she'd expected—knee length and springy. Based on what she knew about Ian, she'd half expected it to be full of mini-skirts and giant hoop earrings—anything and everything for the party-loving lifestyle.
Zoe slipped from her bridesmaid’s gown and flung it over the shower rod before slithering into the floral sundress. Glancing at herself in the mirror, she ran her fingers through her hair quickly and took a deep breath.
Quinn was going to be there. She’d be waiting.
And the three-hour ride alone with Ian…
A little shiver of anticipation rolled over her, but she ignored it, desperate to move on. Okay, she just had to focus and get through tonight. Tomorrow, everything would be different.
Opening the bathroom door, she walked down the cool, wood planks until she met him in the foyer. “Ready to go?”
He turned then looked surprised. His gaze raked over her, and for an instant, she could have sworn a look of raw, masculine approval took over his usually-nonplussed expression.
“Yup,” he said. “All set. Figures you’d pick the tamest dress of the bunch.”
"We are stopping at the first shoe store we see."
Ian fought back a laugh as he glanced again at the platform wedding heels Quinn had foisted on her bridesmaids. If he didn't know better, he'd think she'd chosen them for the sole purpose of getting under Zoe's skin, like she wanted to know that in Zoe's ocean of comfortable, sensible wardrobe, there was the slightest hint of Quinn's sparkly, wild side, too.
"Whatever you say." He turned the key in the ignition and watched as Zoe buckled herself in.
He glanced at the radio, wondering whether he ought to put music on to drown out the awkward silence between them. But with his luck, Zoe would insist on listening to something dull and practical—like the early evening news or the local college's orchestral music station.
He reached for the dial, but Zoe slapped his hand away.
“Oh no. If I'm riding in your death trap of a truck for three hours, then I'm going to be the one controlling the radio, thank you very much."
"Since when was it a deathtrap?"
Zoe raised her eyebrows. "Not having this discussion. Just give over." She slapped his hand again then pressed the nob and fumbled through the stations.
Sucking in his breath, he braced himself for a few hours of droning newscasters, but then the air filled with electric guitar, and Zoe let out a little contented sigh and sat back in her seat.
"Classic rock?" he asked.
She pursed her lips. "Is that a problem?"
"No, no, I just thought... well, you don't seem like the kind of girl who goes for Springsteen and all."
"Oh? And what do I seem like to you?"
He knew this was bait. He stared ahead at the road, not allowing himself to answer her.
She let out another sigh. "Look, when you spend as much time in casinos as I have, you learn to appreciate the music they play. I can't tell you how many times I've danced to ‘Jesse's Girl.’"
He tried to picture that, Quinn and Zoe on the dance floor together, both mouthing along to the music as they bopped up and down. It was endearing, really, and a part of him wished he'd been there to see it.
"They let you into the shows?" he asked.
"They knew us pretty well. Saw us grow up. Plus, Quinn always had a way of weaseling her way into wherever she wanted to be."
"Yes, that sounds like her," Ian agreed.
"Anyway, that doesn't matter. What matters is that in three hours, we're going to find her and drag her back home to see what a huge mistake she's made, and we can all finally move on with our lives."
