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Felicia strikes a pose, fanning out her dagger nails. “Of course it is. An original Vera Wang. I would have nothing less for my dear new daughter’s wedding.”
Does she really think she’s doing Ronnie a favor here?
“I like Vera Wang,” Ronnie stammers. Her dress was off the rack at Dillard’s. In 1991. “Where’s Dad?”
Felicia examines a nail. “Your father’s leg is bothering him. It’s why I changed. I was going to save this gown for the reception, but it seems, my dear, that I’m walking you down the aisle!”
“What?” The word explodes out of me before I can stop myself.
Felicia gives me a sidelong glance. “You should be happy for us, Ensley.” She says my name as if it leaves a nasty taste in her mouth.
I step close to Ronnie. “You want me to do something real ugly?” I whisper.
Ronnie leans close. “Remember your positivity training. You’re all sunshine now.”
Right. I can’t afford therapy, so Ronnie paid for us to get training to cultivate the sunshine demeanor I’ve always wanted since moving past my difficult childhood. “I’mpositivethat I should do something ugly.”
For the first time since her stepmother invaded the dressing room, Ronnie cracks a smile.
I glance back at the rest of the bridesmaids. Ronnie’s older sister is serving as the maid of honor, but she’s watching us in astonishment like the rest of the puff-dressed observers. Aren’t we supposed to have Ronnie’s back?
Ronnie and I have been best friends since we were children. She was there when my mom died when I was five. And I was there when she lost hers. There is no tighter bond than that.
I have to do something about this stupid dress and prevent Felicia from ruining Ronnie’s entrance.
I glance around the room, searching for something that will help. I spot the fireplace tools. Is violence the answer?
No. I might get blood on my dress.
And then I see it. The perfect solution.
I hope someone is videoing it, because I’m about to be a viral sensation.
I can see the caption:Perfect bridesmaid saves wedding.
It’s a tray filled with crystal goblets. Champagne. White wine.
Andred.
I keep my voice casual as I walk over to the tray. “Felicia, may I offer you a glass of wine?”
Felicia smirks, her lurid lips glossy. She thinks she’s won me over. “Champagne, please.”
Ronnie watches me with concern as I pick up a glass of champagne for her stepmother, then choose wine for myself.
Red, of course.
Ronnie’s eyes go saucer wide as she watches the next few seconds unfold. I think it’s one of my finest moments.
I step closer, the glasses held out in front.
I trip, stumbling over nothing.
Then I toss both glasses straight at Felicia’s pristine bodice. The wine soaks her, staining the white satin before the goblets crash to the floor and shatter.
“What have you done?” Felicia tries to step out of the way, but she’s far, far too late. She looks like a zombie bride after a snack.
“I guess you’ll have to wear the blue dress after all,” I say. “Sorry.”
