Beth
The sun streamed through the windows of Oak Hill, bathing everything in a warm golden glow. I’d spent the morning outside with my sisters, arranging chairs and flowers on the terrace. Now we crowded into the master bedroom, Momma and Aunt Phee, my sisters and me, to help Jo get ready for her wedding.
She stood in front of the full-length mirror as Amy, on her knees, made a last-minute adjustment to the hem of her wedding gown.
I’d changed my clothes an hour ago, grabbing a moment alone in the bathroom, where no one could see and compare and comment. Without Sharla to supervise, my makeup was simple, mascara and lip gloss.
Every few minutes, I checked my phone for messages from Colt.
“I suppose you’re next,” Aunt Phee said.
“Next?” I repeated.
“To get married. You and that singer.”
“Oh. I... No.” I blushed furiously, putting my phone away. “He hasn’t even...”Asked me. “Met the family yet.”
“Is he here?” Meg asked.
“Not yet.”
He had texted late last night, my phone screen lighting up the dark.Great show. Miss you, angel face.
Then... Nothing.
He didn’t say when he was coming. If he was coming. He’d never actually promised.
“He has a lot of people depending on him,” I said.
Our mother shot me a sharp look.
“Stop fidgeting,” Phee ordered Jo.
“I feel like I’m getting ready for prom,” Jo grumbled. But she stood obediently still as Amy trimmed her thread.
“Think of it like a play,” Meg suggested.
When we girls were little, Jo wrote plays for us to perform on the parsonage porch. I remembered changing costumes behind a blanket, and for once, the memory of going onstage didn’t make my stomach clench.
I smiled. “Only this time you’re the princess.”
“Not me. Amy’s the princess,” Jo said.
Amy narrowed her eyes. “Why am I always the princess?”
Jo grinned. “Because you can’t act?”
“Well, today I’m your fairy godmother.”
“I’m a fairy, too,” Daisy shouted, pirouetting. As she twirled, the blush tulle skirt of her flower girl dress floated around her like a cloud. The photographer Meg had hired snapped a picture. I flinched at the click of the shutter, automatically sucking in my stomach.
But nobody was looking at me. All eyes were on the bride.
Jo turned to study her reflection. “Thisisa great dress.”
The heavy cream silk flowed over her curves, softening her angles. Her hair was up—Meg had arranged it in a softer version of her usual messy bun—exposing the jaunty black bow at the back of her neck. The racerback straps emphasized the strong, clean line of her shoulders.
Amy got to her feet. “Thanks.”
