I walk into my room and close the door, breathing in the silence. I let out a long, deep breath and sink down onto the edge of the bed. I can hear some rustling in the room next door, and I realize I’m going to have to get used to this.
I’ll be living with my husband, and I don’t plan on leaving him.
I take a few more breaths to regulate my heartbeat. This isn’t something to be scared of. I trust Zane. I like Zane. And the scariest part is that I could maybe come to love Zane.
The door closes, and I hear him thump down the hallway. Then the front door closes too. Soon, I hear the four-wheeler fire up and drive away.
I stand up and walk to the closet. My sisters helped pack everything, but I was the one to set it up. I didn’t want to have to explain the two rooms to them.
Maybe I’ll feel more normal if I get out of my wedding dress, but it makes me sad thinking about climbing out of it because it’s the only time I’ll get to wear it.
I reach around to the back and fumble with the top clasp. I can’t quite reach it. I twist my arm the other way and try to unclasp it, but I can’t reach it from that angle either.
Well, this is one part of the plan I did not think of.
It took my mom, Belle, and Briar to get me buttoned up in the thing. It was not an easy task. If it took the three of them, I don’t think I can expect to get myself out of this on my own.
It would be a shame to cut myself out of the dress.
I could wait until I lost weight. But that also doesn’t seem like a good plan.
I jump up and down, trying to twist the dress around. It doesn’t budge. It is form-fitting, and there’s no moving it.
I can’t get out of the dress without ruining something. So, I do what any sane bride would do. I walk out of my room and find the remote to the TV, then sit down on the couch. I scroll through the various show options and almost watch a BBC drama just to torture Zane, but then I settle on a witty new mystery movie I’ve seen previews for.
The back door opens, and Zane walks into the house. He stops when he reaches the living room and looks at me sitting on the couch.
“What do you think? A mystery, or a reality TV show about a dramatic friendship?” I ask.
“Definitely the reality TV show. I need something mindless tonight. My brain is fried after I talked to so many people,” he says. Then he looks at me with raised eyebrows. “Are you comfortable in that dress?”
“Not exactly.”
“Okay, I guess I just assumed you’d be in something more comfortable by now …”
“I have a little bit of a problem, and I’m not sure how to solve it.” I stand up and turn my back to him.
A short laugh bursts from him. “I can see the problem.”
“I really can’t reach any buttons,” I tell him.
“Do you want me to help you?” he offers.
“I think so. Is that weird?” I ask quietly.
“No, I’m a professional unbuttoner.”
I don’t think about why that makes me jealous. And I definitely don’t want to think about what he’s been unbuttoning.
But he solves that train of thought for me.
“I’ve been wearing button-up shirts since I first started walking. I think I can handle a buttoned wedding dress.”
His footsteps come closer, and I bend down to grab the train and lift it to the side.
“This is such a beautiful dress. I hope you like it,” he tells me as he reaches for the top clasp.
His fingers brush against my back and shoot electricity down my spine. It takes a minute to get the top button, and then he reaches for the next one. The rest of them go a little quicker, and I stand perfectly still as his fingers gently graze my back.
