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“What?” Amanda asked, looking back at my arm for a second before she met my gaze. Sudden realization crossed her face, like she had just remembered we were having a conversation. “Yeah, uh, everyone looks good in a bow tie.”
I raised my brow, leaning back in the seat. When I crossed my arms over my chest and cocked my head, Amanda blushed. A dark pink hue colored her cheeks and then her neck. My throat tightened when she looked down and smiled.
“That’s not true,” I told her. “Not everyone looks good in a bow tie.”
The once-over she gave me wasn’t subtle, and her blush traveled to her collarbone. “If you say so,” she said. When I smirked, she reached for her things. “It’s okay to be wrong.”
Her laugh was infectious, and I couldn’t help but join her. “I’m not wearing the damn bow tie,” I said, dropping my arms and leaning forward. I rested my elbow on the table.
“Fine.” The word stuck in her throat, and she cleared it, looking around us as if to make sure we were still alone. “You’re the one who will have to answer to the bride.”
I gaped at her. “I think I can handle it.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” she said, scooting her chair back. It scraped against the cheap tile, and the sound made a shiver go down my spine. “You’re charming, but are you charming enough to change her mind?”
She stood up, cradling the small stack close to her chest. “I think we both know I am.”
She nodded briefly and stopped. “You’re so full of yourself.” Amanda scrunched her nose to stop herself from smiling. The air was thick, and I could practically taste the nervous energy radiating from her. She chewed at her lip before she let go of it with a quiet pop.
“Something like that.”
Chapter eleven
Amanda
It was normal to cry when your best friend tried on a wedding dress. Right? Mackenzie spun around while the heavy white material wrapped around her legs and pooled at her feet. I dabbed at the tear in the corner of my eye, careful not to smudge the mascara that would likely be running by the end of the day.
“It’s hideous,” she said, lifting her hands to cup her breasts and drop them again.
My mouth dropped open, and I gaped at her, making eye contact with her in the mirror. “Are you out of your mind?! Look at you!” I pointed in the mirror as if she had missed seeing her own reflection.
“I am. I hate it.” Mackenzie giggled. “It’s a pretty dress. It’s just not my pretty dress.”
She shrugged and slinked back into the fitting room so the attendant could unzip her and help her get into the next. I walked around the racks while I waited, running my fingers over the variety of wedding gowns that hung there. The material varied between each dress—satin, chiffon, lace—but all of it felt so delicate.
On the other side was a smaller stand of colorful dresses for bridesmaids. I fingered through a few of them, grabbing a hanger that held a floor-length powder-blue dress with thin straps and an open back. Pulling it from the rack, I made my way to the open fitting room.
“No way, not happening. I look so cheesy,” Mackenzie told the attendant helping her, followed quickly by the muffled ruffling of her removing whatever dress she had hated. I imagined it was the one with the large, poofy lace skirt.
Giggling, I pulled the curtain behind me and slipped into the silky blue dress. It was form-fitting, and the color made my eyes pop. I was thankful that Mackenzie had chosen this color for the bridesmaids—it complimented me well.
When the curtain on the room next to me started to open, I threw back my own and hurried out. I didn’t want to miss the reveal on the dress. Like with the first dress, my stomach fluttered with nerves. Why was I nervous? It wasn’t even my wedding.
“Okay, now this one is pretty perfect,” Mackenzie said, stepping out from behind the curtain.
She smoothed her hands over the front of the satin dress. The dress was sleek, hanging tighter against her thighs and flaring out at her knees. It had one strap over her shoulder and hugged her curves, bringing focused attention to her cleavage. My mouth dropped open. “I hate the words that are about to come out of my mouth,” I said with a small giggle, “but my brother is going to die for your tits in that dress!”
Mackenzie threw her head back and laughed, her curls falling over her shoulder. “He is, isn’t he?” she exclaimed, shimmying and smirking at herself in the mirror. She spun and looked at me, the tears in her eyes threatening to slip down her cheek. “I love that by the way.” She pointed to the dress I wore.
I shrugged, giggling. “I do too. Is it weird to pick the first dress I try on?”
My best friend shook her head. “Not at all.” When she stared at our reflection, I imagined she was picturing her wedding day and the way we’d stand in a mirror just like this in these same dresses. “We look beautiful.”
“We always do.” I kissed her cheek. “I can’t believe you’re going to be my sister!”
***
“To saying yes to the dress!” I said, lifting my wineglass and tapping it to Mackenzie’s. She grinned, her eyes lighting up.
