My mouth fell open. Me, in a floor length gown, traipsing down the aisle with a bouquet of flowers ricocheted through my mind’s eye. The only thing worse than knowing I could’ve possibly prevented my childhood friend marrying the spawn of Wallstreet, was placing my public stamp of approval on it.
“Did you ask Georgie?" I finally managed, voice thin.
“Yes. She’s busy with the shop, but of course, she said yes.”
Of course.
“Okay,” I replied, not fooling anyone with my lack of enthusiasm.
Serena didn’t miss a beat, squeezing my hands in hers before calling for Jesse. “We’ll show you where the ceremony and reception will be held. Isn’t it just incredible that they had an openingthisweekend, of all weekends?”
She sighed, taking Jesse’s arm while she continued to wax on about the romantic happenstance and how, “when you know, you know.” The gravel crunching beneath our feet did little to drown it out.
“Just incredible,” I grumbled as we followed them inside.
Teddy unwrapped himself from my shoulders. I strained for a glimpse of him in my peripheral, a needling ache appearing in my chest the second we parted. When he met my gaze, it almost seemed for a moment that he felt it too.
That was it, though:almost.
Close to forever, but not quite. Just as all my dreams seemed to be.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“It was terrible,” I groaned for the fifth time, adjusting the refrigerated under-eye masks.
Georgie tossed me a raised eyebrow over her shoulder. Half her hair piled on top of her head, a mud mask streaked across her face, and she perched on a floor pillow scrolling on my laptop. “Really, he can’t bethatbad if Serena’s marrying him.”
“You won’t get it until you meet him,” I muttered and flopped back onto a pile of pillows on the couch.
She hummed in response, her version of, “I think you’re wrong, but I won’t say it.”
“Do you think this is cabernet?” Georgie asked, tilting the screen toward me.
I propped up on an elbow and peered at the gown in question. Serena, unsurprisingly, had opinions on nothing but the attire. She apologized profusely for not being able to design our gowns—a task I thought was ridiculous for a bride to even consider—before providing a long list of qualities we needed ina dress. Floor-length, silk or chiffon, no high leg slits or sleeves, and not maroon, or purple, or burgundy: the shade ofcabernet.
Admittedly, even I was a little stumped.
Were all fashion designers this high maintenance as brides?
“I dunno,” I said with a shrug. “Have any red wine laying around?”
She wrinkled her nose. “No, I don’t hate myself.”
I shouldn’t have even asked the queen of all things sweet. To her, coffee and alcohol were best consumed when no longer identifiable by anyone sane.
However, her aversion to wine stood in the way between me and a perfect evening.
Easton groaned in his sleep and stretched, but came up against a wall of Margot. He opened one eye and stretched again. I poked him with a toe and said, “Stick to your cushion, buddy.”
“Oh, what about this one?” Georgie pointed to a gorgeous silk gown. “Please tell me this is the right color.”
I peered over her shoulder. “It just might be.”
She sucked in a sharp breath and dropped her head in her hands. “Never mind—it’s eight hundred dollars.”
“Aren’t you all flush with pottery cash now?”
Georgie’s eyebrows flew up. “Notthatflush! Plus, I’m working on paying off all my debt from the last few years.” She shuddered.
