A message.
‘Don’t approach, I’m venomous.’
‘Don’t bite me, I bite back.’
‘Please don’t hurt me.’
One wound too many and a forced adaptation.
Chapter 34
JULIA
“How many bridesmaids does one person need?” Aislin grumbles quietly from behind me.
Chuckling as I reach to pull a set of rollers from a shelf, I lift a shoulder in a shrug.
“I only had the one,” I tell her.
With fourteen women lined up to have their hair styled, we’ve all been working nonstop since seven o’clock this morning. Two of my stylists volunteered to come in on their day off to help us, and I’m grateful for the hours they saved us in doing that.
Grateful for the extra time that I got to spend tucked in bed with my boys.
After they came home last week and pulled me into the shower with them, we’d ordered some Italian and laid in bed together with a movie playing on the TV. It wasn’t until Connor had fallen asleep that Tripp told me what happened when he flew home.
I’d be lying to say that I wasn’t annoyed that he’d hidden it from me, but I understand why he did. He’s a proud man, a strong man, and vulnerability has never agreed with him very much.
Slapping a hand against Aislin’s pilates-toned bottom, I offer her a wide smile.
“Get back out there and tease like your life depends on it,” I tell her as I step through the door to the salon’s main room.
I’ve met the bride’s mother; our lives mayactuallydepend on it.
All of my stylists are working tirelessly, like they have been for the past five hours, with butts in every chair and at least one glass of champagne in every hand. Each of the bridesmaids are donning silky mint green robes while the bride dominates the spotlight in ivory.
As I pull up a section of her hair to tease the roots, she swipes through the photo gallery on her cell phone. There have to be a hundred photos of her dress; a beautiful, detailed gown with a train to die for that must have cost her more than ten thousand dollars.
It’s entirely dissimilar to my twenty-dollar thrift store dress, but the dress that I wore to my senior prom? Now,thatwas a gown. It wasn’t the one that I’d had my heart set on, because according to my mother, I’d needed to lose at least forty pounds in order for it to suit me, but it was still gorgeous. I thought Tripp’s eyes were going to fall out of his skull when he came to pick me up that night.
My mother’s voice, the way that I remember it, claws its way into my mind.
‘It’s not your day, Julia,’she tells me.‘You’re being selfish again, Julia.’
The roller drops from my hand to clatter to the floor as I shake my head to try to force her from it. As I pick the roller off of the tile, earning a sideways glance from my bride, my fingers tug at the apron tied around my waist.
“Sorry about that, gorgeous,” I tell her as I separate the section once again and bring my comb through it. “Tell me how you met your hubby-to-be.”
“Oh, we met through a mutual friend,” she says, offering a warm smile to her own reflection. “She knew Travvy was my perfect match before I did…”
I feign paying attention to her story, offering smiles and nods in the mirror while she rambles on and on about her fiancé, who honestly doesn’t sound like much of a catch. With thirteen bridesmaids, I can’t believe not a single one of them hasn’t made any commentary.
Aislin would have plugged her nose at me and made a loud farting sound with her mouth if I told her that I was marrying this guy.
It takes another hour to finish her hair, all the while listening as she prattles on about the man she’s marrying in only a few hours. I’ve styled her hair into cascading waves as we planned when she first contacted me, pulling the top half of it up into a braided crown. We decide to adhere pearls throughout her hair to accent the gown, and I’m really happy with how it turned out. I think she is, too.
With another hour passing for their photographer to snap a series of staged photos, I walk them to to the door to wish them well as they climb into the massive bus waiting to take them to the wedding venue.
As they leave the lot, a familiar black sport bike enters it, and I smile as my husband slides off of the seat and pulls his helmet from his head. His fingers push through his white-blond locks as he unties a plastic bag from the left handle of his bike.
