Page 62 of Bossy Bride: Emma and Jesse

One of them—a woman about my age—says something cheerful in Italian and then ushers everyone out and closes the huge double doors behind her.

I dip one foot in the water and groan with happiness. Then climb all the way in and sink down into the hot water with a sigh.

I might never get up.

Everything is wonderful. This whole mess of a day just fades away as I duck my head under and get my hair wet, then reach for the bottles of shampoo off to the side. There are several to consider in pretty, unmarked bottles. I sniff them all and choose one with a faint scent of cherries. It’s not overpowering and when I lather it up on my head, the bubbles feel luxurious and thick.

The tub has a handheld sprayer so I rinse and then use a conditioner in a matching bottle. Once that’s done, I spend several minutes scrubbing the theatre make-up off my face. And that’s when I feel like myself again.

There’s a knock at the door almost in that same moment. The same young, pretty woman who ushered everyone out earlier pokes her head in and says something quick and cheerful in Italian.

I have no clue what she’s talking about, but this is a wedding and I’m the star attraction. So I assume she’s telling me to hurry. She points to a thick, white robe hanging on a peg near the tub and yup. It’s time to get out.

As great as the bath felt, I’m ready to get this show on the road. I really think Fingers will come through for us and even though I have a feeling the dress will be a little more… full than I imagined in my dream wedding, I’m also confident it will be gorgeous.

This whole place is pretty. And I caught a glimpse of some of the bridesmaids as I was ushered into the bathroom. The dresses were a pale yellow. Very tasteful. Very sophisticated.

Who knows? Maybe I’ll love the dress?

I get out, wrap the robe around me, and then step out of the bathroom. The cheerful woman points me over to a chair for hair and four mani-pedi women appear in a swarm and get started on my hands and toes.

I sigh as I look in the mirror, listening intently to the hairdresser as she explains what she’s going to do in Italian. Luckily, she uses a lot of hand gestures and I get the gist.

Updo. Nice.

A hair dryer whirls into action as I smile down at my hands and toes, and then close my eyes and enjoy it, thinking, If Fingers keeps this up, I might have to tip the man.

I doze a little, still pretty worn out from our crazy adventure. This time yesterday we were just getting ready for the street party.

Shit. I wonder where my family thinks we are? We’ve definitely been missed at this point. It’s nearly four in the afternoon. Note to self: Once the wedding is over, I will call home and explain everything.

My mother will be livid. But she’ll get over it. And besides, we’ll be home by tomorrow for sure. We have to be home by tomorrow because I have to give Jesse his Christmas present.

Let me tell you, buying presents for a man who has everything? Not easy. I could get him anything he wants. But he could get himself anything he wants too.

So the trick is to get him something he wants, but won’t get himself.

I figured out exactly what that was months ago and tomorrow, on Christmas Day, he will be surprised.

I wonder what he’ll get me? I’m the same as Jesse. I can afford to buy myself any present I want. But is Jesse clever enough to come up with something I want, but can’t buy with money?

We’ll see, I guess.

But even if he does get me something material, like a piece of jewelry or a car, or a trip—I don’t care. This day, even with all its faults and disappointments, it’s one in a million. There’s no way we could’ve planned this crazy adventure.

So I don’t care what he gets me for Christmas. As far as I’m concerned, this is my present and I love it.

Yup. This wedding is the one. I’m sure of it.

I really do doze off after that, because the next thing I know I’m being shaken awake. I open my eyes and the woman staring back at me in the mirror is… “Wow!” I smile up at all the ladies. “Wow, you guys! I look amazing!”

And I do. My dark hair is up in a pretty updo with just enough tendrils falling down the side of my face to be artistic, but not messy. And I have a little tiara on my head with a short veil that covers just my eyes.

And my eyes. Wow! They are smoky gray with a little shimmer of bronze and gold, but not depths-of-hell dark like the pirate wedding makeup. My cheeks are the perfect shade of rosy, and my lips are the perfect glistening pink.

I nod in approval and clap my hands. “I love it!” I beam at them and they beam back. “So great, you guys!”

Then they’re urging me up and leading me over to… “Holy shit!” That dress is spectacular. No, I wasn’t imagining a poofy Cinderella dress with layers and layers of tulle and off-the-shoulder-satin for sleeves when I pictured my fantasy wedding, but… I’m not complaining about this. It’s a million times better than anything the mean Russian Stasia could come up with, that’s for sure!