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“Th-thirty thousand dollars?” I look down at the sleek dress I chose from the pile. “This thing cost thirty…” I bring the bag up and breathe. “Jesus Christ in a Halloween costume. I can’t deal with this.”
“I’m here!” Aubree bounds into the room, slinging the door around until it hits the wall and bounces back again. Then her eyes, wild with, well,something, lock on to mine. Her chestheaves from exertion, the movement making her probably-not-thirty-thousand-dollar-gown shift. She wears sequins and glitter, knee-length fabric, and cute high heels, to my floor length, straight cut, much-too-expensive, but totally elegant shiv dress.
“Where have you been?” I toss Christabelle’s hand away and push up to stand so the fabric drops into place around me. The soft lengths of material, like butter on my legs. The plunging neckline that shows off just enough chest to make me feel sexy. This isn’t one of those spaghetti-strappy kinds. But thick bands, instead, resting over my shoulders and holding everything in. I don’t step forward—I don’t have to because Aubree charges my way—and for that, I’m grateful. Because I’m not sure I feel my feet. I’m not confident my knees will keep me up the moment I unlock them from their death grip in their sockets.
Her hands wrap around mine just as soon as she’s within reach, and her sweet perfume fills my lungs so somehow, though I had no clue this was something I’ve come to rely on, her scent brings me calm.
It’s not like I dislike Christabelle or Fifi. They’re fine.
But Aubree… Aubree walks with me toward death, every single day at work. She keeps her cool while we investigate murder. Her brain is what I love about her the second-most. The first, her heart. She’s the rainbow to my darkness. The humor to my rigidity. She’s my best friend. And it’s only right now, as her perfume swirls into my lungs, that I realize when we’re with our patients and the stench of decay should be overpowering, it’s actually her I smell.
She’s the life to my death.
And I’m a mushy fricken baby.Great!
“I, uh…” she hesitates. “I was with Tim. He wanted to talk about some stuff.”
Let’s discuss her. Let’s discuss Aubree Emeri and the relationship we all kind of cheer on from the sides. Because soon, I’m parading my ass out of this room and marrying the man I’ve already married once. I’ll do it a thousand times more if he wants. A million times. I’m not nervous about getting married. My trepidation lies squarely in the fact I’m getting married in a white dress,in front of people. “Well?” I prompt when she says nothing else. “What stuff did he want to talk about?”
“The future.” She wraps her hands around mine while, behind me, Debbie clips a veil into my hair and tugs until it stings. All in the name of beautyor some shit. “He wanted to apologize for his behavior this past year. All the stuff with pushing me away. Then pulling me in.” She draws a heaped breath and exhales again until the gentle breeze touches my lips. “He wanted to check that I was okay after our thing with Veronica. And well…” She releases one of my hands and absentmindedly reaches back to touch her hair. “He basically said this is it.”
“It?”
“Yeah.It. He’s the man he is, and the family he has is the family he has. He can’t change the past, and he’s sorry for destroying our future. All of that stuff. He told me he wants me to be happy. Purely, unashamedly happy.”
“Withhim… right?” Christabelle tugs my hair again, earning a scowl. “He was asking you out?”
“Well…” Aubree mashes her lips together as she thinks. “No. Not exactly. He said he’ll make sure I’m happy. That I’ll always be safe. He said things about how I’m free to make whatever choices I think will serve me best. And that he promises to always have my back.”
“Even if you choose to love someone else?” My eyes widen in stunned disbelief. “He’s letting you go?”
“Well…” repeating herself, she presses her lips together. “Not exactly. He just said he’ll ensure I’m happy, no matter what happens. But that if I should change my mind and forgive him for his poor behavior, he’d like to take me out to coffee sometime.”
“Coffee?” Fifi shoves up from the bed in a flurry of over-dramatic flair. “He asked you out on a date?”
“If you saynot exactlyone more time,” I squeeze her hand, “so help me god…”
“Whatdidyou say?” Christabelle asks. Though she’s still new to us, so her interest in Tim, Aubree, and coffee is a little on the underwhelming side. “Did you agree?”
“Er…” Aubree sniggers. “Not exactly.”
“I’m gonna smack you!”
“I suggested we be friends!” she laughs. “I said we could get coffee as friends and see where things progress. He’s older than me by a few years. And his life experience is just…” She shakes her head. “On a completely different level. We’re not meeting at the same place here, and the places we’ve been have always been… ya know… unequal. So I said let’s do coffee and hang out. Then we’ll go from there.”
“Well, that’s utterly anticlimactic.” Christabelle releases my veil and comes around to stand in my peripherals. “You’re done. It’s time to get hitched. Again.”
“He gave me a gift, though.” Aubree reaches up and touches her hair a second time. Then slowly spinning to give me her back, she presents a brooch-like clip holding her hair in a half-up-half-down do, a spray of golden flowers, with each petal replaced by a green gemstone.
Or, well, he’s a Malone and they’re apt to sneak money into places we don’t expect, so perhaps they’re real emeralds.
“Oh gosh.” Christabelle shoves in front of me and studies the beautiful clip with keen eyes. “This is old, huh? This is an heirloom, surely.”
“He didn’t say much about it,” Aubree murmurs. Peering over her shoulder, she meets my eyes. “He said he was wandering by a shop a little while ago and saw it in the window. He picked it up and put it away for a special occasion.”
“And today was that occasion?” Suspicious, I narrow my eyes. “He chosetodayto give you a family heirloom?”
“A family heirloom implies it was passed downthrough the family,” she grits out. “Considering Tim didn’t know his mother, and his father wasn’t likely to hold on to special heirlooms for the boys unless it served him or made him money, I’m leaning toward believing the ‘walking by a store’ story. Tim said I could wear it as often, or as seldom as I want. There would be no pressure.”
