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Bridget watched me from two steps behind Hope. That wasn’t surprising. Hope was always the first to rush into any situation, while Bridget hung back, observing. If I was involved in whatever was happening, I stayed even further behind Bridget because I never had anything to offer to a situation that was of any value. Hope was kind, talented, smart, and Bridget was all of those things with the added bonus of a compulsive drive for success that matched my father’s and then some.
And then there was me. Sweet, quiet, good for the family’s image, Layla.
Who was going to marry a guy who hated her—who she equally disdained—because that was the best thing for the family right now. I could contribute nothing else of value to anyone except giving away my body and soul to keep our quarterly numbers up.
I smiled at Hope. This was a familiar feeling. If I pretended to feel nothing bad, I never did. Why feel bad? I was young.Rich. Gorgeous. After today, I’d get on with getting on. Anything I wanted I’d have. Kit wouldn’t care what I did as long as I was discreet, and when it was time for us to have a baby, I was sure Laura would let me know.
“You sure?” Hope squeezed my hand again, pressing at my unspoken answer. She understood what I hadn’t said.
We were triplets. We’d shared a womb. Hope and Bridget were my first friends. We’d done everything together, and it used to be because we wanted to and not because my father’s PR company told us to be somewhere at a specific time for a photograph. The three redheads. If you added our older brother, four. But Justin was a different story. He’d always been separate, and these days, he was Kit’s favorite partner in crime when it came to partying.
The two bored men together.
And now I was going to be sister to one and wife to the other.
The woman who had been plucking my eyebrows—when had she stopped?—held out my dress to me, and I stared at it as I rose from my seat.
“Layla?” Bridget said my name. “Do you need some water or something?”
I shook my head. “No, I don’t want to have to pee.”
Laura smiled. “Good thinking. I hope you didn’t eat anything this morning either. We need to make sure it zips up.”
It was going to be fine. I weighed myself twice a day. Once in the morning, once in the evening before dinner so I could judge how much to eat at any time. The scale hadn’t moved in the upward direction in the last two years. Down, yes. Up, no. I was always, constantly hungry.
I smiled at Laura. “It’ll fit.”
The dress was beautiful but not my style. It had been designed by Daniella Lareine, whose real name was Danielle Gordan. I guessed that wasn’t hip enough. She was the ‘it’designer of the moment. The Allards wanted to seem trendy while maintaining some tradition by having the wedding in Paris. It was a romantic dress. A-lined. What they would call a sweetheart dress with an open back, except for one piece of fabric that ran down the center of it.
I looked like Cinderella waiting for her prince, just as Amanda Hill had said on her vlog. This would not have been the dress I’d have chosen if I’d been allowed to pick. Not even close to what I’d wear, which was funny because the one thing I’d done in my life, the one real accomplishment I had was a book I’d written about fashion. About getting to your true look. Well, I hadn’t written it. I’d had a ghostwriter for that. But I’d dictated information and worked on it.
I knew and understood fashion, how to make people look great in what they had.
I stepped into the dress and nearly fainted as they zipped me. Could a dress feel like a coffin? Was it covered in poison seeping into my skin? Killing me slowly?
I smiled. God, I was so good at playing pretend.
Hope narrowed her gaze. “Something wrong with the dress?”
“No, of course not. This is gorgeous.”
“And you look stunning in it.” Bridget walked toward me. “But of course, you would. You are so beautiful, Layla. The most beautiful bride there ever was.”
I supposed that was something a mother would say to their daughter on their wedding day. Ours had died when we were only a year old. She’d taken one too many sleeping pills and not woken up the next day. Leaving a two-year-old boy and a set of triplets for her emotionless husband to not raise himself. No mother meant Bridget got to play the role today.
My father certainly wouldn’t.
That was okay. I wasn’t marrying a man with no feelings. He had plenty of them, that was why he did so many drugs— so he didn’t have to think about any of them at all.
“You look beautiful.” It wasn’t hard to tell my almost mother-in-law and sisters that. They were gorgeous. In violet, even though I wouldn’t have picked the dress, their eyes really popped out. Everyone who said we were practically identical hadn’t taken a good look at our eyes. Mine were blue. Hope’s were brown, and Bridget’s a deep green. Our faces weren’t the same either, although we did have the same high cheekbones, and if someone really looked, our red hair wasn’t exactly the same either.
I wore mine long, halfway down my back, always had. It was wavy and took a lot of maneuvering to keep it neat looking. Hope had cut hers a long time ago and never had it longer than her shoulders. While Bridget’s was long and straight, something I’d envied her for every day when I battled my curls to not frizz.
And just like that, I was dressed. I was ready to become the next Mrs. Allard.
The room was stone dead silent. Was this how it was when others got married? I’d seen movies and pictures where there was champagne and laughter. When was the last time I’d done anything like that? A year? Two? The night that Kit confessed his love?
A knock sounded, and everyone stirred to activity. It was like I was outside my body watching it happen. Laura let Justin enter the room. He fussed over me about how pretty I looked while his eyes remained dead looking, like he’d rehearsed the words over and over until they were meaningless and pointless coming out of his mouth. For just a second, I could actually feel pity for him. When had he died inside? Was there anything I could have done about that? We’d never been what anyone would call close.Justin was like this remote creature we’d shared a gilded cage with for many years but didn’t really know.
