Exactly. How dare she.
How dare shelook like thatandbe so sweetandsmell so goodandinsult my freaking lemon cake. It’s rude.
“Anyway,” I sniff. “The mains? The salads? What are we thinking?”
“How abou—”
A phone ringing, cutting his words short. Then another. And another. Then, finally, my own, vibrating in my pocket. I pull it out, brows furrowed as I read “Elodie Sage” across the screen.
My greeting is echoed by three other male voices as Frank looks on, cheeks puffed in confusion.
“Roman?” Elodie’s voice tinkles in my ear, sounding… off. Behind her, several other women talk over each other. “We need a little bit of help over here.”
I blink.
“Help? Where are you?” A thread of panic slices through me.
They’re supposed to be wedding dress shopping. What could possibly have happened wedding dress shopping?
My thundering heart tells me that anything can happen anywhere. And does, all the time.
She doesn’t answer for a moment, then, in a mumble I can barely hear over the rush of blood in my ears, she says, “We’re in bridal store jail.”
In unison, the groomsmen rise.
“We’ll be right there.”
Chapter Eight
Yes, I know there's a lot of people. I hope you read the rest of the EverStorm Universe before reading this. Otherwise.... yikes. Good luck, soldier.
Elodie
Bridal store jail sucks. It’s small, it’s cramped, and it smells like a rose bush came in here to die.
Squished next to Ruby in a seat meant for one person, I lean forward toward Enchanted Bridal’s manager, Shelly, who sits across her desk from us and looking down her stupid, obnoxious nose at me.
“I just don’t understand how you’re going to try to hold us liable for anaccident,” I say, doing my best impression of someone level-headed. “It’s not our fault your gown racks weren’t secure enough. Probably if you don’t want a mass incident, you should take care of that problembeforeyou take an appointment from a blind woman to come in and look at dresses. How was she supposed to know the racks were rickety? I mean, was that even ADA compliant? Because it doesn’t seem super ADA compliant to me, all things considered.”
To my left, Ruby grinds her teeth so hard I can hear the grating in my ears, and to my right, Amber and Amelia—likewise squished together in a second chair—nod their agreement, Amelia’s head bouncing up and down while Amber gives a single, stiff lift of her chin.
Amber, I’ve learned, is the dark fairy wife of katrillionaire William Warrick, giver of a quarter of a million dollars to thewedding fund, and Amelia, a sweet, if shy, brunette girlie, is with Brian. Lucky girls, the both of them.
“Like I said before,” Miss Manager says, “in a setting such as this, one wouldthinkthat one would be careful. Dresses are heavy. And now, all of those very heavy dresses are on the floor. Until we can assess the damage, you’ll need to stay here, then we can work out what sort of reparations will need to be made.”
“And likeIsaid,” I grit through clenched teeth, “it is not our fault your equipment was of such a quality that, first, a single tap from a small woman could topple a rack which, second, would then topple the rest of the racks. That has nothing to do with us. We’re as much collateral damage to your bad racks as the dresses are!”
She takes a long, irate breath, pasting a toothy this-costumer-is-an-idiot smile on her face. “Miss Sage,” she begins, then stops, head cocking.
My head cocks too as I hear it—a loud, livid,cursingWilliam Ivan Delimar Vann.
Ooo, I havegotto see this.
Ruby and I rise at the same time, causing a moment of pain as the arm of the chair digs into my hip. I grab her elbow, wasting no time getting us out of this stuffy office and onto the sales floor where Will, surrounded by mountains of tulle and lace, stands, one hand on his hip and the other pointing at an equally angry saleswoman.
“Whereis mywife?” he asks, an angry red swatch across his cheeks.
“I’m here,” Ruby calls, tapping her cane on the ground in front of us.
