Page 130 of Peaches & Pistols

Her svelte figure is molded into an emerald-green bodycon dress that might as well be painted onto her naked body. I know she’s naked because she announced it to the room. God forbid she have panty lines at a family backyard wedding.

“When do we get to see your dreesssss?” Izzy whines, soon joined by Delilah and Livy.

“In a minute. Patience you three.”

Poor Cecelia’s been a saint today. Running here and there, averting fashion crises without a hair out of place.

“Cecelia—”

“How many times will it take for you and that thick-headed husband of yours to call me Mom, for god’s sake?” She fusses more to herself than to me, warming my heart.

“Okay, Mom, would you please help me into my wedding dress?” That’s all it takes and Cecelia’s full-on sobbing.

“Yes, sweetheart, I’d be honored.” My three best friends step out and give us the room.

“I’m excited to see it as well,” Cecelia says, pulling the garment bag from the hook Greyson screwed into the wall specifically to hold my dress.

“I’m sorry, I should’ve brought all of you with me shopping, but I had no control over anything last time, and I wanted to experience everything for myself,” I admit.

“Don’t you apologize, Mia. My heart’s spilling over with pride for how much you’ve healed since that day Izzy brought you home to me. You deserve to have whatever wedding you want. I’m honored to be included,” Cecelia…Mom, says.

I nod, afraid if I open my mouth to speak, I’ll cry and wreck my makeup which I was told could under no circumstances be ruined.

Unzipping the protective garment bag reveals my dress. I tried on countless dresses because I didn’t get to last time. The sales girl was so kind after I explained my situation. She cheered me on and brought me dress after dress, happy to let me indulge.

The dress I fell in love with, the one I knew I’d be wearing when I became Mrs. Mia Clark, was one of the first ones I tried on. Something about it spoke to me from the rack and I’m glad I listened.

The chiffon is an elegant peachy-champagne color. Sheer, boho long sleeves complement the sweetheart neckline where the fabric meets in a tightly pleated pattern on the bust.

From the natural waist, it billows out in every which-way—twirling and gathering as it sees fit, ending at tea length, perfect to show off my new cognac-suede cowboy boots.

“Oh, Mia. It’s perfect. This dress was made for you. Here, let me help you step into it.” Cecelia gives me a hand and gets me zipped up.

I slip into my butter-soft boots and sit patiently as Cecelia touches up my hair. Livy talked me into a tiny bit more than my mascara and tinted lip balm, but I am who I am, and I want to look like myself on my wedding day. Not the mail-order bride I looked like last time.

Cecelia has my unruly waves silky soft, pinned back out of my face, allowing the waves to tumble down my back.

“I’ll go get the girls.” She opens the door and ushers them back in.

I’m lavished with oo’s and ahh’s, every compliment under the sun, and several iterations of “Greyson’s going to have a heart attack when he sees you in this dress.”

“Shall we?” Delilah motions towards the back of the house where the garden patio doors are open and waiting.

“You all go. I’m going to take a few minutes alone.”

Me: Hey cowboy.

Hubs: Hey yourself, my bride.

Me: Come see me in the back bedroom.

Hubs: Isn’t it bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding?

Me: Our love is stronger than luck. Please?

The door opens moments later to the most devastatingly handsome man I’ve ever laid eyes on. Greyson’s skin has tanned working in the sun as spring arrives. His facial hair is neatly trimmed, and I itch to feel it beneath my palms.

Same as everyone else, I wanted Greyson to be comfortable on our wedding day. He looks good enough to eat in a black pearl snap tucked in to perfectly fitted, starched, dark blue Wranglers. Even his boots look like they got a polish. Like a fool, I stand transfixed by what’s in his hand.