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“You’re the matchmaker from hell.”
“It’s obvious you have feelings for her, and yes, there’s a lot to come back and hurt you. But it's a risk you have to accept. Is she worth it?”
He stares at us, fear shining in his brown and speckled gold and green eyes, but there’s also more.
“Yes, she’s worth it.”
“Then go work for it,” she says, pointing her chin in Chloe’s direction.
“Soph, are you on drugs?”
“If I were, you would ask which ones and get yourself some too,” she shoots back while I suppress a smile listening to them banter back and forth. But now there’s something else on the agenda—my wedding dress—and I’m ready to find it.
My eyes search Damien, and when our gazes meet, my heart skips a beat. We rush to the other and meet in the middle. He catches and spins me around.
“Bria, baby . . .”
Even at the last moment, he tries to get under my skin and convince me to take him. “Still a no on going with me. Remember, good things come to those who wait.”
“So I heard. See you later, baby.”
“I’ll keep you in mind when I try dresses on.”
“Better if you imagine me taking it off.”
He winks at me as he grazes my bottom with his hand. I step back while he stares at me, promising me things I can’t wait to experience.
Chapter Twenty-One
BRIA
I get a little emotional when we arrive at the bridal salon. I’d stopped hoping this day would come. My mother approaches, her golden-brown eyes gleaming with so many feelings, I hardly suppress my tears. We step inside where the receptionist makes a quick call. One minute later, a consultant appears. I guess her to be around my age, long dark hair and flawless skin, and takes in the group, all eleven of us. She smiles and says, “Hi, everyone, my name is Beatrice Collier. Who’s my bride?”
I raise my hand, and we smile at each other.
“That’s me, Bria du Mont,” I say then introduce my family to her.
“Big family, I see. Nice to meet you. Now, let’s find you the perfect dress.”
We enter a room with light beaming through the windows, warming the space. It’s a bridal consultation room with a seating area to discuss dress styles and other wedding details and a changing room. We take a seat on the plush cream oval couch, and the questions start.
“Bria, when is the big day?”
“In less than a month.”
Her mouth gapes in shock. I wave my hand, trying to lessen the pressure.
“I’m confident I’ll find the perfect dress with your help.”
My assurance lessens her nerves as her expression relaxes, but her eyes are full of incredulity. It must be rare for a future bride to be as calm as me with so little time left until her big day. Combine that with the fact I entrusted the wedding planning to my mother and future mother-in-law, I’m in a class of my own.
“Do you have something specific in mind?”
“I do. I have always imagined it to be mermaid style but with an open back.”
“I have the perfect dress. Head into the dressing room, I’ll be right back.”
Beatrice reappears, a dress dangling on her arm. She reveals it as she hangs it, and I’m awe-struck. I caress the soft white material and undress, eager to try it on.
