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“Ooh, that’s a nice picture,” Debra said, in the voice that all stylists used when trying to make small talk with a client. “A lot more casual than when I Googled you guys.”
“You Googled us?” I asked with a snort of laughter. “I hope we didn’t bore you.”
“Not at all,” she said with raised eyebrows as she shook up a bottle of moisturizer. “There are some really interesting rumors out there about you guys. But you already know that.”
No, I did not know that.
Nope. Not today. I was not going to worry about Google rumors or awful books or any other problem. I’d already embraced all of that nonsense to be with Neil. I wasn’t going to let it turn me away from him now.
It felt like it took an hour to get my face on lockdown
, which was somewhat worrying; what did I look like normally if it took so much careful contouring to make me acceptable? Every time I tried to peek at myself, Debra firmly turned the chair from the mirror. I guess she didn’t like having people watch her work. When she finally let me see myself, I gasped. I didn’t look like Sophie Scaife. “I look like Kim Kardashian!”
Aunt Marie’s face lit up with recognition. “I have her phone game.”
“Is looking like Kim Kardashian a bad thing?” Debra asked, peering at me over the slim rectangles of her magnifying glasses.
“Are you kidding?” I turned my face from side to side, examining all angles. “She’s a goddess.”
Pia arrived with the dress and a tackle box full of sewing supplies at three. My female relatives and Holli were all dolled up with hair and makeup, but I still had curlers in.
“They’ve got the mirrors upstairs,” Mom said, pointing Pia toward the stairs. “Do you need help with anything?”
“Yeah.” Pia awkwardly managed the huge box under her arm and juggled the tackle box to hand it off to Mom.
Aunt Marie hurried any non-essential personnel from the room, so I could take a break to eat something. “You don’t want to pass out on the way down the aisle, dummy,” Holli scolded me. Though the croissants were delicious and the fruit was as fresh as if I were eating it in the orchard it had been picked in, I could barely hold any of it down.
I hoped the few bites I got in would be enough to keep me from fainting during the ceremony.
There was a knock on the door, and Emma called, “Is everyone decent?”
Holli went to the door and let Emma in. Olivia was snuggled in her arms, dressed in the most adorable little pink shantung party dress with seed pearls and delicate embroidery on the front and more pearls scattered over the sheer organza skirt.
“Gimme!” I said, launching myself up from the couch.
Emma handed Olivia over to me. “You look like Kim Karadashian.”
When Emma said it, it didn’t sound nearly so positive as when I said it.
“Have some fruit and shut up,” Holli told her, thrusting a plate into her hands.
I kissed Olivia’s head, and her cute little eyes fluttered open. She stared up at me, blinking in the universally human expression of someone who is confused as hell upon waking.
“Hello, sweetheart,” I cooed at her. “Have you been to see Grandpa this morning?”
I wasn’t looking at her, but I swore I could hear Emma’s eye roll. “Oh, yes. We have been to see Grandpa.”
“How’s he doing?” I glanced up at Emma. “He’s not going to leave me at the altar or anything?”
“Sophie Anne!” Mom exclaimed, crossing herself. “Don’t even say something like that. That’s just terrible.”
“He’s doing obnoxiously fine, Sophie,” Emma reassured me. “I’m shocked that he’s not in here marrying you right now.”
The tight knot of worry in my chest eased, and I breathed an audible sigh of relief.
I sat on the sofa, and Emma took a seat beside me. “You don’t have to doubt him. You’re the one.”
“Thanks. That really helps,” I told her then added, just to rankle her, “daughter dearest.”
