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Which poses another problem. “Maybe I should go with the midnight-blue one. I wouldn’t want to upstage the bride on her big day.” I grab the dress in question and hold it out in front of me.
“Don’t you dare. This is the one. It brings out your eyes, and I can tell you’re feeling confident in it. And trust me, no one is going to look better than me on my wedding day. I made sure of that.”
“Are you getting excited?” I ask, turning around to look at myself. The dress is stunning, and Gwen is right. I feel beautiful and confident in it. I even have the perfect pair of heels to go with it. All I need is to find some matching nail polish, and I’ll be good to go for my twin’s big day.
“I am. It’s all coming together.” She shushes me into the dressing room. “Hurry up. I’m ready for an early dinner.”
After a generous breakfast at the little bed-and-breakfast my sister had checked us into for the night, we’d skipped lunch, grabbing ice coffee instead as we strolled through the streets of Charleston, admiring the historic buildings and courtyards.
“I always forget how pretty this place is,” I say when we leave the boutique, the dress carefully folded in the large paper bag I’m carrying.
“It is. We should do this more often.” Gwen links her arm with mine. It’s nice to see her happy and relaxed.
“Do you mind if we head back to the room to drop this off before dinner?” I ask.
“Of course not. Oh, look. Those would make perfect party favors.” She dashes into the store before I can make out what she’s spotted.
I follow behind. It’s one of those knick-knack places with a little bit of everything. The items that have caught my sister’s attention are a display of antique teacups in a variety of different styles and colors.
“I don’t get it.”
“I saw this cute idea on Pinterest where you fill them with potting soil and plant little flowers in them. African violets would be perfect, I think. It’ll go with the whole theme, and who doesn’t love delicate purple flowers? They’ll be table decorations that the guests can take home with them.” She’s looking around for the owner.
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” I try to figure out how many cups she would need. More than what’s here on display. I don’t even want to think about what this is going to cost.
But this is Gwen, the girl who’s always gotten what she wants. When the owner finds out this is for a wedding, she heads to the back and returns with an entire box of cups and sells her the lot for a decent price.
“I have no idea how I’m going to get these all the way back to Rockville in one piece,” Gwen says when we carry them back to the B&B.
“You might actually have to go the speed limit,” I tease her, lowering one of the boxes to the ground in front of the queen bed we share.
“You’re probably right. That’s going to kill me.” She stacks her box on top of mine and grabs a sweater before we head out for dinner at Henry’s downtown.
“What sounds good?” I ask when we’re seated. The place is hopping, and I’m grateful Cara suggested we get a reservation—and then called to make it.
“I read the Oysters Rockefeller are a must-have. Wanna split a couple of appetizers and have some drinks?” Gwen asks.
“No drink. I have to drive back home after this.”
“Sure you can’t spend another night? We have the place booked, and you can leave after breakfast.” Gwen looks at me with those puppy-dog eyes that used to get my dad to agree to anything when she was younger. It probably still worked on him, but luckily, it doesn’t on me.
I shake my head. “We’re in the middle of a movie shoot. You’re lucky I got away for a night.”
“Alright. I do appreciate it. I know this means less time with Joe. How are things going, by the way?”
“It’s good.” I glance through the menu, seeing what looks good aside from the oysters.
“Right. Spill.” Gwen looks at me, and I know I’m not getting out of this conversation.
“It’s hard while we’re filming. We’re both so busy and—”
Gwen doesn’t say a word, just looks at me, waiting for me to continue.
“I feel like he’s pulling away. I’m sure it’s nothing. Probably me projecting from back in the day.” I shake my head to clear the feeling of being left that grips me anytime I think back on my senior year of high school.
“I think you should trust your gut. If you think he’s pulling away, talk to him.” She reaches over and squeezes my hand.
“I’m sure it’s nothing.”
