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“She loved it as much as I knew she would, and she seemed to really hit it off with Tom. He ended up having a drink with us after the dinner rush.”
“What happened with Richard?”
I shrugged. “Nothing. I think she’s still seeing him. She hasn’t given me a lot of details, though — I think because she knows I don’t really approve. I was secretly hoping that Dick would invite her to the wedding though.”
“Wait.” Macon took a break from shoveling sausage gravy into his mouth to join our conversation. “Dick, as in Richard from thefirmRichard? Isn’t he in his seventies?”
“Yes, the same Richard, and he is in his early to mid-sixties I believe,” I answered, looking from Holden to Macon. “Although I didn’t ask to see ID.”
Was that last part a little snarky? Yes, it was, but in my defense, I hadn’t finished my liquor-laced coffee yet. Also, he was making Holden miserable, and that had earned him some snark. Holden cleared his throat, and I caught the edge of his lips twitching like he was fighting a smile. His smile was more effective than the coffee at getting my heart pumping.
“Huh.” Macon’s brows furrowed thoughtfully, then he shrugged and continued eating. Bless his simple heart.
I took a sip of coffee, meeting Holden’s gaze over the rim.
“So,” Mama began slowly, her and Daddy’s gazes bouncing between Holden and me, “you two seem...friendly.”
Daddy’s eyes narrowed. “Awfullyfriendly.”
My hands shook a little as I set my mug down. Thankfully, Holden didn’t leave me any time to panic and say something stupid.
“We’ve gotten to know each other through all the wedding events.”
I nodded my head in agreement, mentally scrambling for a new topic to offer up. For some reason, I didn’t want my family to know about my friendship with Holden. It felt new and fragile, and I didn’t want to expose it to the opinion of others. And frankly, I died a little inside every time I had to pretend like friendship wasallI felt for him. I was very sure that I was more than halfway in love with the man, and the jealousy I felt when Skye so much as looked at him confirmed it. Not to mention the stabby rage I felt whenever I looked at Macon and thought of how hard he was making Holden’s life.
“Yep. So what time do we need to be at the salon?” I directed my question to Mama, because I had reached my limit of Sissy before I’d finished my first cup of coffee.
“Well, the makeup artist and stylist Sissy hired” — I thought I detected a hint of uncharacteristic annoyance in her voice — “are supposed to arrive at the St. Jameses’ around eleven, so we should leave here around ten twenty, I figure.”
“Oh, sorry,” I said. I hadn’t intended to upset Mama with my question. “I just assumed we would be getting ready at the salon.”
“No.” Mama’s one-word answer spoke volumes.
Sissy must have picked up on some of the annoyance, an unusually perceptive moment for her. “I wanted Mama to be able to relax and enjoy the day,” she said. “Plus, it’s always fun to be pampered.” She glanced meaningfully toward the window and sniffled. “Now I’m evenmoreglad we decided on the house, so we won’t have to go from the salon to the house in this weather.”
“Sure. It’ll be fun,” Mama said. Her smile looked a little forced, and I thought they were just the first of many forced smiles and faked fun for the day.
34
Admitting you were wrong doesn’t always feel great, but sometimes itlooksgreat. I glanced at myself in the full-length mirror on the wall of the bathroom in the mother-in-law suite we were using to get ready. My hair was braided and wrapped around my head in a cornet with loose tendrils hanging down to frame my face, a hairstyle I never would have chosen for myself. The makeup artist might have been a magician, because I looked like a shinier, prettier version of myself, without feeling or looking like I was wearing a ton of makeup. So, while I wanted to be offended on Mama’s behalf, I had to begrudgingly admit that hiring a hairstylist and makeup artist had been the right move.
I turned from side to side admiring my reflection. The bridesmaid dress was surprisingly flattering. I would not have put it past Sissy to have chosen the ugliest, most unflattering bridesmaid dresses possible just to guarantee no one outshined her. Then again, ugly dresses might ruin her wedding pictures, so her selection wasn’t likely motivated by benevolence.
The ceremony and reception were going to be held in the St. Jameses’ garden, and the men were getting ready in the pool house. Here in the suite, the nerves and excitement were almost palpable as people rushed around putting the finishing touches on bouquets, makeup, and hair.
“You look beautiful, Sutton.” Mama joined me in the mirror, reaching out to trace one of the tendrils hanging down near my ear. “It’s still hard for me to believe both my babies are grown women now.”
I turned to wrap her in a light hug, careful not to wrinkle our dresses or muss our hair.
“I love you,” I said softly, breathing in the floral notes of the perfume that she’d worn since we were kids. “And you look beautiful, too.”
We separated, both turning to look at our reflections.
“It’s a bit flat for me. Needs more volume at the back,” Mama sniffed, patting her sleek French twist. “But it’ll do, I suppose.”
I smiled. Mama firmly believed in the old saying “The higher the hair, the closer to God.” There was probably a hole in the ozone with her name on it. Her hair height had decreased some over time, but she still liked to tease it to within an inch of its life for special occasions.
“Okay, ladies!” the wedding planner called, breezing into the room with clipboard in hand. I was actually slightly terrified of the petite woman. She was like a much smaller, more stylish Miss Trunchbull — efficient and scary but with amazing hair. “You have five more minutes and then we need to start lining up. Sissy, once the bridesmaids are lined up, I’ll bring your father and the photographer in for reveal pictures. Does anyone have any last-minute issues or questions?”
