I’m convinced we’re busted, caught like teenagers sneaking out after curfew. But a traitorous thought flickers through mymind: getting caught might be our salvation, a dramatic exit from this charade of a wedding that has become our personal purgatory.
Her phone rings, and she sighs dramatically before answering it with an overly chipper tone. “Dorothy, hi! Lilies? they want to give us lilies? I guess if that’s the best they can… Yeah, okay. Of course. I understand.”
The phone hits the bed, and Kenzie lets out a small scream. She stomps her foot on the floor.
“Drunk bitch.”
Letting out a few deep breaths that whistle through her clenched teeth, she comes back to the closet, yanks a silky blue blouse from a hanger with enough force to send the empty hanger swinging wildly, and slams the doors shut again with a crack that reverberates through the wooden panels. Both of us jump, our shoulders colliding in the cramped space, but we don’t make a sound as Kenzie’s heels click-clack across the hardwood floor toward the front door, each step fading like the ticking of an angry clock.
We stay completely still until we know she’s officially gone before stepping out of the closet. That was close. We were almost caught mid-sabotage, and we burst out laughing.
“Pretty sure Harper never said that about Mom,” Alex says.
That sparks an idea, and I bounce with giddy. I hurry out to the kitchen and look through the fridge and cabinets until I find what I’m looking for.
Red wine.
Next stop: Bathroom.
Her cabinets are so unorganized that I almost want to organize it for her. “No wonder it takes you three hours to get ready. It takes two just to find your eyeliner.”
Finally, I find the Q-tips and hurry back into the room where Alex frowns.
“What the hell is that for?”
“Wine stains.”
Her eyes light up. “And paintbrushes!”
Alex unzips the garment bag with surgical precision, revealing the pristine ivory fabric beneath. I uncork the wine bottle, its deep burgundy contents gleaming like liquid rubies in the closet’s dim light. Dipping the cotton swabs until they’re saturated, we kneel before the dress and begin our work. The wine seeps into the delicate fabric with each careful press, blooming outward in crimson flowers. Our hands move in silent coordination, creating a constellation of stains across the groin area until the pattern unmistakably resembles the aftermath of a period that arrived at the worst possible moment.
“The back, too!” Alex says.
We turn it around to mark up the back to look the same, and we can’t help the laughter. “We just have to hope she doesn’t open the bag before she goes to try on the day of.”
“Right? Although, what can she really do? Get one off the rack that isn’t the exact dress Harper chose?”
“I got it! Hold it up and tight along your chest.”
Alex doesn’t question me and does as I suggest, stretching the ivory fabric taut across her chest. I dip the Q-tip deep into the burgundy wine, letting the excess drip back into the bottle before bringing it to the dress. With surgical precision, I dot two perfect circles where nipples would be, watching as the wine blooms outward into the delicate fabric like a time-lapse of roses opening. Alex’s shoulders quake with silent laughter, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes as she struggles to hold the dress still.
“Hold still!”
“I’m trying,” she says between fits of giggles. “We’re pure evil for this. You know that, right?”
Shaking my head, I examine my handiwork. “No, wer’e not evil. We’re retaliating against evil with evil. Fighting fire with fire. There’s a big difference.”
“I suspect we’ll have this exact conversation as we sit in hell, but that’s okay. No one deserves this more than Kenzie.”
I couldn’t agree more.
Chapter 34
Harper
Isnap pictures of Gina and Lance in the backyard before we head to the church. The Christmas lights catch on Gina’s diamond earrings as she throws her head back, laughing at something Lance whispered in her ear. Her vintage white dress I’ve seen in Mom and Dad’s wedding pictures hugs the curves of her body, and her hands keep finding their way to Lance’s chest, smoothing his navy tie against his crisp white shirt.
My sister radiates joy that seems to emanate from somewhere deeper than her smile—it’s in the way she leans into him, how her eyes crinkle at the corners when she looks at him. I can already imagine her cradling a baby bump one day, that same light in her eyes, and my finger itches on the shutter button, thinking about capturing those future moments.
