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“How’s our bride this morning?” I smile as I set my overnight bag down on the floor and hang the garment bag housing my bridesmaid’s dress on the clothing rack next to the vanity.
“Nervous,” she laughs awkwardly before pulling what I assume to be a mimosa to her lips. Gen has never been greatwith massive amounts of attention on her, and you can’t get much more center of attention than a bride on her wedding day.
“Why are you nervous?” I ask, but I’m sure I know before the words come out.
“Your mom insisted on us inviting close to 200 people on your family’s side. We’re going to have over 250 people there today and every time I think about walking down that aisle, I envision myself tripping and subsequently I get the strong urge to vomit.”
And people say I’m dramatic.
“Viv—” I squeeze her shoulders as she breathes in, then exhales an elongated breath. Jackson and her dad are the only people I hear call her by her childhood nickname anymore, but if any day calls for sentimentalities, it’s this one. “You are about to marry the love of your life, and if that’s not enough motivation to push past the anxiety of today, you’re also about to gain me as a sister. What gets better than that?”
Gen crinkles her nose at my joke, the years we spent apart a distant memory that I would prefer to pretend never happened. There once was a time that I willingly stood between her and Jackson and the idea of that makes me want to barf. Gen and Jackson are perfect for one another—I was an idiot not to see that.
“You’ve always been my sister, Hannah. Marrying Jackson doesn’t make that any more true than it already is.”
Tears threaten my waterline and I stare up at the ceiling, trying my best not to allow it to ruin the makeup I managed to put on before leaving my hotel room—much to Liam’s dismay, mind you, as he made no less than three attempts to coax me back into bed. Despite my repeated reminders that we’re bothin the wedding, he kept reiterating that he isn’t due to meet Jackson for another couple hours.
Gen reaches up, cupping her hand over mine resting on her shoulder. With a tight squeeze, my eyes are pulled back to hers in the mirror, the tears welling in my eyes reflected back at me in hers.
“I love you, you know that?” she says.
“What’s not to love?” I laugh, causing her to squeeze my hand tighter. “Kidding, kidding. I love you too, Viv.” I press my lips to the top of her unstyled hair. She’s a stark contrast to me and Savannah, who already have our hair and makeup done, but Gen wanted us to be here while she’s getting ready.
Now that I think of it, all three of us are supposed to be here. I look down at my iPhone to find no notifications from Sage before looking over at Savannah. She seems to get the message as she pulls her phone out to check for any missed texts or calls. Savannah shakes her head in disappointment at me. We still have a few hours, so it’s not quite cause for concern.
“What was that?” Gen sounds frantic.
“What was what?”
“That look you two just gave each other?”
“We didn’t give each other a look,” I say with a laugh as Savannah comes to stand at my side.
“I’m going to go up to Sage’s room. She just texted me letting me know that she needs help bringing down the extra champagne.”
The blatant lie rolls off Savannah’s tongue with ease and it appears to calm Gen from the impending spiral she was no doubt preparing to have.
Savannah disappears for longer than running up to a room in the same building to grab champagne requires, but whenshe appears in the doorway with a bare-faced Sage at her side and a bottle of champagne in hand, I breathe a sigh of relief.
By the time Gen is preparing to get into her wedding dress, Sage is ready. Her chocolate curls are pinned into a bun on top of her head, mirroring mine and Savannah’s, and her makeup is elegant yet understated. Each of us steps into a sage-green, chiffon floor-length gown, but we each have a different neckline to accentuate each of our respective body types. Sage makes a menagerie of jokes about the color of our dresses being her name, but I don’t miss the way Savannah hasn’t stopped glaring at her sister-in-law.
What the hell is that about?
Whatever, we don’t have time for that right now.
Savannah steps out of the walk-in closet attached to the bedroom with a large white garment bag, no doubt housing the gorgeous lace gown Gen found all those weeks ago.
The intricate beadwork mixed with the scalloped lace gives the gown almost an art deco style reminiscent of the twenties. Flutter sleeves melt into a deep V neckline, giving a peek of cleavage, but not so much that it looks distasteful.
Gen steps into the gown and, as she pulls it up over her hips, then all the way over her frame, it’s clear that it was made specifically for her. It hugs her perfectly, and despite the bile that forms in the back of my throat at the thought of what my brother is inevitably going to think—and not all of it appropriate—I still admire how understated yet sexy it is. The fit-and-flare silhouette flatters Gen’s ample curves in such a way that Aphrodite would be jealous.
Tears start to threaten, but I’m quickly pinned with a glare from Gen.
“Don’t. Because if you start crying, I’ll start—” Her voice cracks as she cuts herselfoff.
I stare up at the ceiling for the second time this morning in an attempt to keep my emotions in check as Savannah appears with a tissue for Gen, dabbing her waterline ever so delicately so as to not disturb her makeup.
“Are you ready?” Savannah asks Gen, and her question is met with a nod.
