Page 96 of None Of Your Business

“I’m being a chilled-out, modern bride,” Madison insists. “I’m practicing trust. Now go. Browse. Pick whatever you want.”

“She’s testing us,” I whisper to Piper the second Madison turns her back. “If we pick wrong, she’s going to murder us in our sleep.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Piper whispers back.

Still, I take the freedom and run with it before she changes her mind.

I wade through the pastel nightmare of pinks and lavenders until I find a deep forest green gown. It’s simple, structured through the top, and falls into a soft skirt with a generous side slit that lets my left hip move without fighting three layers of fabric.

Piper emerges from her rack holding an effortless, vintage-looking off-the-shoulder rust-colored dress.

When we head into the fitting rooms, I step into my dress and pull it up, but my left side is so stiff from the weekend’s painting marathon that I can’t reach the back zipper without sending blinding pain down my spine.

“Piper?” I call out, cracking my curtain open. “Can you zip me?”

“On it,” she says, popping into my stall.

I hold the top of the zipper together and turn around. I forget, for a split second, that my back looks like I lost a street fight with a crowbar.

Piper lets out a sharp gasp and drops the zipper.

“Rowan,” she breathes. “What the hell happened to you?”

“Nothing,” I lie immediately, trying to pull the fabric together. “It’s fine.”

“That is not fine!” She reaches out, her fingers hovering in shock over the severe, mottled purple and yellow-green bruises blooming across my ribs and spreading down into my left hip. “You look like you got run over. Did you fall again?”

“No. I was painting.”

“With what? A sledgehammer?” Tears spring to her eyes, her emotional setting immediately flipping to full-blown panic mode. “This is terrifying. You’re falling apart. That’s it. I’m getting Madison. We’re calling Dad, we’re calling a doctor—”

“Piper, no! Stop!” I grab her wrists and pull her back before she can burst out of the fitting room. “Do not tell Madison.”

“Are you insane? Look at your body!”

“I spent the weekend crawling around on a concrete floor making art for my show,” I tell her. “I bruise easily. It’s not as bad as it looks. If you tell Madison right now, she will lose her mind, cancel the dress appointment, and turn today into a full-blown family crisis about my health.”

“Because you need help,” Piper cries quietly, a tear spilling over her lash line.

“I’m seeing a specialist. I saw her this morning. Her name is Dr. Mercer. She’s amazing.” I hold her gaze and squeeze her hands tightly. “Please, Piper. Madison has been planning this wedding in her head since she was six. I’ll tell her after the wedding.”

“No.”

“Piper—”

“That’s four months away.”

I look toward the curtain and lower my voice. “Dad already thinks I try to take the attention away from everyone. I am not turning Madison’s wedding into another family crisis about me.”

Piper goes very still. “What did you just say?”

“Not now.”

“Dad said that to you?”

“Piper.”

Her eyes sharpen. “What the fuck did he say?”