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***
“You look fine,” Lucas says for what feels like the thousandth time in the last hour.
Rachel paces back and forth. Since checking in and arriving at our suite, her mood has grown more and more sour by the hour. First she cut herself while shaving, then her hair wouldn’t curl, and now she’s having a panic attack at having only one rose-gold dress for the whole weekend.
“You have a pink dress,” I say, watching her from my haven on the balcony, far away from her. “Just wear that. They didn’t tell you about the rose-gold rule. Besides, she can’t dictate what you wear the whole weekend.”
“Yeah,” Alex says reassuringly. He’s currently not in the safest place in the suite, as he is standing right next to Rachel—or rather, following Rachel while she paces. “So long as you stay away from white, you’re in the clear.”
“Why does she have to stay away from white again?” Hunter asks.
That’s what I was just about to ask.
Rachel sighs. Her pacing stops, but her hands are fisted. “Because the bride is supposed to wear white. And I have to wear rose gold because it’s my mother and she will notice and she will be pissed if I don’t do everything the way she wants.”
“But she didn’t tell you about the rose-gold rule,” Lucas says, “so that’s on her.”
Rachel turns to me, her brows pinched together in worry, her bottom lip sticking out pitifully. “Seth, what do you think?”
I shrug. “I wear the same thing every day. So why not wear this dress tonight and tomorrow.”
“I also have to wear it to the brunch on Sunday,” Rachel says meekly.
“What?” I shout, stomping back into the room. “There’s a brunch on Sunday? We have three fucking events to go to?”
“Unfortunately,” Lucas says while straightening his tie.
“Ugh, kill me now.”
Rachel digs her pink dress out of her suitcase and holds it up. “What do you think?”
I purse my lips while looking the dress over. Honestly, I don’t give a fuck. I’m not into fashion. My attire is usually shorts and a t-shirt. If I want to be fancy, I will wear clean shorts and a t-shirt. But the dress is nice. It looks like it will land about mid-calf. There’s a slit in the side and the sleeve will expose her shoulders.
I shrug. “Looks nice.”
Rachel groans.
“Wear the pink dress,” Alex says sweetly. “It looks nice, and pink is in the rose-gold family. It will definitely work with your mother’s theme.”
“Okay,” Rachel says shakily before disappearing into the bathroom.
After another hour of discussing the rose-gold versus pink dress dilemma, followed by an almost breakdown of Rachel’s, we all finally leave, including little Maria, who looks freaking adorable in her flower crown. We take the elevator to the restaurant on the twentieth floor.
It opens up directly to the hostess, who smiles annoyingly at us while saying, “Good evening. Do you have a reservation?”
“Yes. It should be under Sarah Miller.”
The hostess looks through her book, frowning. “I don’t see a Sarah Miller in here.”
Rachel blinks, her face flushes, and I can tell she’s about to burst into another fit of tears. “Crap,” she whispers. “I think it’s under Bryan’s name.”
“Bryan?” The hostess asks cheerfully. “Do you have a last name with that?”
Rachel groans and turns to me. “I don’t remember it.”
“It’ll be fine,” I say while drawing her close. “Just give your mom a call and I’m sure she’ll clear all this up.”
Rachel nods and digs into her clutch. “I don’t have it,” she says shakily. “I must have left it back in the room.” She groans, and I can tell she’s on the verge of tears. Her face is flushed. There’s a glisten in her gaze. “We’ll have to go back,” she says shakily.
