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My foot lifts, and then I’m moving.
Don’t think, just do.
fifteen
Hailey
“Canwetightenitaround her waist a little?”
Rory’s eyes bulge before her hips buck forward and her back points with the straightness of a beam.
“Are you trying to kill me?” Rory gasps, shooting me daggers before forcing the poor woman to loosen it a fraction.
“It’s your wedding day, live a little.”
“That’s what I’m trying to do, but I can’t do that if I can’t very well breathe now, can I?”
I lick my thumb with a sigh, flipping through the next page of a bridal magazine unfazed. Rory has a great figure, so why not accentuate it a little?
“Looser,” I hear her demand while I continue my perusing.
My tongue clicks. She’s being dramatic.
“More,” she snarls.
The magazine slaps, hitting my thighs.Thisis the thanks I get for helping? If she keeps it up at this rate, the T-shirt she showed up in will fit better.
Rory shoots me an unnecessary glare, telling me exactly how grateful she is. I should probably work on controlling my body language…but that’s another day’s worry. I give her a matching one right back.
Her oxygen may be restricted, but she’ll be thanking me later when Cole can’t keep his hands off her.
“You’re still coming with me this weekend?” I ask, but it’s not really a question. I’m trying to be the bigger person and change the topic. We’re supposed to be having fun. She’s getting married.
“Yes,” she asserts, baring her teeth.
I blame the abrasive action more on her lungs being restricted and not because she’s upset over me taking it upon myself and signing us both up before asking her first.
“Good.”
Spinning, the train of Rory’s wedding dress whips around her like a tail made of organza and chiffon. The muscles in her throat work seeing herself for the first time after the start of her alterations are made.
The wall of mirrors highlights every detail of the custom gown. Stock-still they stand, creating an instant photograph of the current moment through value rather than film.
I smirk, coming up behind her and wrapping an arm over her shoulder. “He’s going to lose it when he sees you.”
Her chin wobbles her agreement. The moment as sweet as it is wholesome.
“Stop doing that,” Rory complains, fanning her face. “You’re going to make me cry.”
We both laugh as I step back down from the pedestal, grabbing a much-needed box of tissues.
“You’re making me ruin my makeup,” I gripe, not at all serious. Dabbing, we’re both wiping at our eyes now.
My best friend’s getting married. Excitement, and something else I can’t swallow, grips me around the throat.
“You’re the sole reason I’ve turned into a mushball. This is all your fault,” she blames reaching for the box again. I bow my most elegant curtsy, not offended in the slightest.
She’s chuckling past her tears and I’m lifting the base of her dress. Only at this angle do I notice what she’s wearing, or rather, what she’s not.
