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Everyone’s eyes follow her as she walks. The parade warehouse is actually just an industrial space with concrete floors and exposed duct work, and yet Whitney might as well be walking down the center aisle of Notre Dame. Carrie walks beside her, holding her veil so it doesn’t drag on the ground. Whitney’s talking with her, unaware of the affect she has on the rest of us. It’s better that way. I need a moment to take her in, to catch myself. Remind myself of where we are. What we’re doing.
When she nears the float, I climb back down the ladder, knowing she’ll need help getting up.
Her eyes flit to me, down across my wedding suit. I’d forgotten I was wearing the damn thing, but she notices. Her cheeks flush with color and she looks away, back to Carrie.
“Help me up the ladder, will you? I don’t want to fall and break my neck—or worse, tear this dress.”
“I’ve got it,” I tell Carrie, and she nods, stepping back.
“Carrie can help me,” Whitney insists, glancing back at Carrie over her shoulder. I can only imagine she’s threatening her friend with an urgent glare. Don’t you dare leave me alone with him.
Too bad.
I step forward and loop my arm around Whitney’s shoulders, turning her in the direction of the ladder. “Don’t be difficult. I don’t have the energy for it today.”
She exhales an angry puff but listens to me all the same.
I’m careful with her as she climbs the first few steps, focusing on the row of small white buttons that trail down her spine. I lift so much of her weight, I doubt she’s even touching the rungs as she makes her way up.
“They could have put me in a pantsuit or something, at least. This doesn’t seem at all safe. Climbing ladders in wedding gowns…”
“We have good worker’s comp insurance.”
“Ha ha. Very funny.”
The engineer excuses himself once we make our way up onto the platform. Either he’s done with his checklist or he heard us arguing and wanted to get as far away from us as possible. I can’t say I’m sad to see him go. I need a private word with Whitney.
As soon as she’s sure on her feet, she tries to put space between us. Though the float itself is large, the platform we’re on is only about ten feet wide. She can’t get far.
For a few moments, we stand in silence. Whitney straightens her dress and arranges her veil so it falls lightly down her back. When she’s done making up tasks to keep herself busy, she finally spares me a glance.
When she speaks, her tone carries a note of annoyance. “You actually look like a real prince. Tall, muscular, and that thick brown hair doesn’t hurt either. It’s like they plucked you straight from the pages of a fairytale. I can practically hear the women in the crowd swooning already.”
I don’t take her bait.
She glances over at me. Her feline eyes are narrowed and mischievous. “Aren’t you going to say anything about how I look?”
“I think you’ve probably already heard it enough today.”
She scowls. “Hopefully my real wedding day isn’t as bad as this. It shouldn’t be considering my groom won’t be half as overbearing as you are.”
“Overbearing?”
“Yes. I think that describes you pretty accurately. It means arrogant or bossy,” she explains with a haughty tone.
I want to ignore her comment altogether, but I can’t. I press her. “How exactly am I overbearing?”
“Isn’t it obvious? You do exactly what you like at all times. Just like you did a moment ago, shooing Carrie away and pushing me toward the ladder. Walking in and out of my life whenever you feel like it. I guess it makes sense why you act this way. Growing up as the heir to this empire, I’m sure you carried a lot of weight on your shoulders. Most men would have buckled under that pressure, but you rose to the occasion. Now, I imagine it’d be impossible to separate the man from the heir.”
She might as well be staring at her fingernails. So confident in her assessment, she’s bored.
“I wasn’t aware we were psychoanalyzing each other. Is it my turn now?”Chapter SixteenWhitneyI aim a smirk his way before replying, “You can try, but I doubt you’ll get it right. Go ahead. Tell me everything you think you know about me.”
I’m faintly aware of Thomas speaking to all of the parade cast with a megaphone. I’m too busy staring Derek down to listen. I don’t think he registers Thomas either. Just as the floats at the very front of the line start to move forward, Derek turns fully toward me.
“Do you remember our conversation in Cal’s kitchen at the dinner party? You claimed you were the passionate one out of the two of us.”
