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“It can’t be that bad—” Jolene ripped back the curtain. “Whoa.”
“Yeah,” I deadpanned.
“It will look different,” Jolene promised. “After the rose and the ruffles and everything are put on. It’ll look different.”
“I don’t think ruffles are going to improve the situation.”
“I know,” Jolene whispered. “I know it’s horrible. I’ve worn that dress in six of my cousins’ weddings, including my cousin Raylene, who chose black taffeta for a July ceremony. Nobody looks good in it. That’s the whole point. Parade the bridesmaids out in this dress, make them look like cows—”
“Hey.” I glared at her. “There’s no need to agree with me quite so much.”
She ignored me. “So that when you walk down the aisle, you seem gorgeous by comparison. That’s the real tradition behind the dress.”
“You’re already gorgeous by comparison,” I hissed.
“Thanks,” she said, glowing briefly. “But it’s the one concession I’ve made to the pack about the wedding. I’m not marryin’ a were. I’m havin’ a nighttime ceremony to accommodate the vampire guests. I’m not marryin’ in the boneyard.”
“Boneyard?”
She shook her head. “Don’t ask. I went against almost every McClaine family tradition to marry Zeb. This is the one thing I agreed to.” She paused when I arched an eyebrow. “That you have to wear. You can get me really, really drunk at my bachelorette party and take embarrassin’ pictures,” she promised.
“I was going to do that anyway,” I snarked.
Aunt Vonnie bustled into the room with a bolt of lime-green chiffon. My lack of enthusiasm was clearly an affront to her craft.
“I haven’t stayed open past six in thirty years of business,” she reminded me.
“I really appreciate it, Miss Vonnie,” I said with all the cheer I could rally dressed like an extra from Footloose. “And thank you for making the dresses. They’re just … stunning.”
Aunt Vonnie easily picked up on my shifting eyes and twitchy lips. Or maybe I was pushing it with the empty double thumbs-up.
I have got to learn how to lie.
“Every McClaine bride since 1984 has chosen the ‘Ruffles and Dreams’ for her bridesmaids.” She sniffed, turning back to the sewing room. “It’s very popular here in town. I’ve made this dress in thirty-two colors for more than one hundred weddings.”
“Well, that certainly explains the Hollow’s unusually high divorce rate,” I muttered.
“I heard that!” Aunt Vonnie yelled from the back. I was going to have to watch myself around werewolves and their superhearing.
I turned to Jolene. “There will be pictures. Oh, yes, pictures and male strippers.”
“I accept your terms,” Jolene said solemnly.
“Get me out of this thing.” I sighed, angling the ridiculously placed zipper toward her. “Can I at least see the wedding dress?”
“I ordered it special on the Internet!” she squealed as she ran into the back room.
“Still need help with the zipper!” I called after her. I turned and caught a look at myself in a mirror. “Gah!”
Seriously, how does a veteran seamstress sew a zipper so that you need Go-Go Gadget arms to reach it? I spun in circles like a dog chasing its tail. I heard shuffling and giggling as Jolene tried on her wedding dress.
She emerged from the dressing room a vision in an elaborately beaded white Edwardian gown. And despite the universal laws of wedding dress ordering, the standard size four actually fit her perfectly. The cut emphasized her tiny waist and gave her the ideal hourglass silhouette. Every move sent a burst of sparkles from the beading. Her skin seemed clearer, brighter, creamier, her eyes a truer green.
“I hate you. You’re completely gorgeous, and I hate you,” I grumbled, feeling even more dumpy in my half-basted peach death shroud.
“Thanks.” She sighed dreamily.
“Meanwhile, I’m still dressed like this and …” I sent a glance at my watch.
