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I look up from the note to find August—because holy shit—and realize he and Julien aren’t there.
“Photos of Lily putting on her dress.” Gabriel straightens my tie. I’m wearing a fucking tie, and it doesn’t look bad. “It’s almost time for us to head out.”
“Head out to where?”
“The altar,” he says. “So you can get married.”
20
LILY
Whew. I amnervous.
It’s not a cold-feet situation at all. I feel like running down the aisle and marrying Jameson as quickly as possible. The priest can skip all his remarks about the meaning of love and marriage and go straight to the vows.
But there’s no way to rush a wedding that’s supposed to be as visible as possible without having people notice that you’re rushing it, so this is the real deal.
The morning I spent at Mason and Charlotte’s has left behind a warm, vaguely sparkling feeling, like I had several mimosas and they’re starting to wear off.
In reality, I haven’t hadanymimosas.
Because I woke up in the middle of the night thinking—
Well. Thinking thoughts. And Charlotte didn’t have any mimosas, either, so it felt like someone should also decline them out of solidarity.
Anyway, I feel good, if anxious todo thisso I can steal a few minutes to myself, when Elise knocks on the door to the bathroom in the bridal suite.
“What can I do for you?” She’s good to walk down the aisle as one of my bridesmaids, since she changed into her dress half an hour ago, and all of us spent the morning relaxing in silk robes and having our nails and hair and makeup done in an atmosphere of an upscale spa. Elise’s dark hair tumbles over her shoulders, and her pink dress brings out her eyes. If Gabriel doesn’t try to make this a double wedding, I’ll be shocked. “Another cupcake? Some chicken nuggets from McDonald’s? A shot?”
I giggle around my toothbrush. This is the second-to-last item on my getting-ready list aside from being dressed by a group of women, a final check of my hair and makeup, and a few minutes of bridal portraits.
“I don’t need a shot. And I think it’s too early for chicken nuggets.”
“It’s never too early for a bride’s request.” Her voice is serious, but her eyes are twinkling. “Seriously. Anything you want.”
I spit out my toothpaste in the sink, rinse it away, and think of sushi. I like this very particular roll with imitation crab and avocado, wrapped in soy paper and deep fried. There was a place right near NYU that sold it. I can taste it now. It would be so good, and I could eat an entire tray of it. I could eat another tray of rice. I could drink a gallon of miso soup.
Wait—not the soup. Just the rest.
I want it so much that there’s a light pressure at my temples, as ifrememberingit is making my brain go into overdrive.
“Is there time—you know what? Afterward.”
Elise raises her eyebrows. “Did you think of something?”
“This certain sushi. They don’t open until eleven, and I’m going to be busy then, so I’ll just have to wait until I’m married.”
“I admire your dedication,” Elise says. “Want to come get your dress on?”
“Let’s do it.”
We go out into the main room of the bridal suite, where my Charlotte Hill wedding dress is hung up by the window. August is in the center of the room, taking photos of the dress. Julien stands off to his side.
“Just another minute for the details!” Persephone, another one of my last-minute bridesmaids, floats over to us with a box in her hands. She, like every woman in the room, is stunning. Her hair reminds me of a shiny penny, the curls in a well-contained riot down her back, and she has silver eyes. “August wanted you to have this before the ceremony.”
“August the Photographer?”
“August the Photographer,” she confirms with a lovely, warm smile.
