I don't even have to think about it. “With my life.”
Amy takes a deep breath as she slowly unzips the garment bag. “Good, because this isn't what you picked out. I need you to keep an open mind.”
I hold my breath while she pulls it out. It’s a short white dress, not a floor-length lace and champagne silk wedding gown. It’s not a romantic, traditional gown at all. The bodice is astructured, fitted white leather corset with delicate lacing up the back. The skirt is short and appears to hit mid-thigh, made of soft white tulle that flares just enough to be feminine without being over-the-top. There's a subtle edge to it with the silver grommets along the corset and a thin black ribbon threaded through the lacing. It's biker chic, sexy, bold, and it's absolutely gorgeous.
“Amy,” I breathe, reaching out to touch the fabric.
“I know it's not what you wanted,” she says quickly. “But Sofia, the boutique owner Vegas knows, said this would be perfect for you. Since youaremarrying a biker, I saw it and knew you had to have it.”
I look up at her, tears already threatening again. “You were both right, it's perfect.”
Amy's face breaks into a relieved smile. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I stand up, pulling her into a hug. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”
“Save the mushy shit for later. We've got a wedding to get ready for.”
The next hour is a complete blur. Mom does my hair with soft waves, pinned back on one side with a small crystal clip, while the rest falls loosely over my shoulders. Amy handles my makeup, keeping it natural but polished with enough drama on the eyes to make them pop.
Once my hair and makeup are perfect, Amy and Mom help me into the dress. They lace up the corset in the back and adjust the tulle skirt. It fits like it was made especially for me. I stare at myself in the mirror, and for the first time all day, I don't see a bride on the verge of a breakdown.
“You look beautiful, honey,” Mom says, her voice thick with emotion.
“Don't start,” I warn, blinking rapidly. “If you cry, I'll cry, and Amy will kill us both.”
“Damn right, I will,” Amy threatens with no heat behind her words.
She hands me the shoe box. Inside are simple white heels, low enough that I won't break my ankle, but high enough to make my legs look good. I slip them on, and Amy steps back, hands on her hips, surveying me like a general inspecting her troops.
“Perfect,” she declares. “Let's go.”
We all load into the car, and I immediately ask, “Where are we going?”
“You'll see,” Amy says, starting the engine.
“Amy.”
“Trust me.”
I glance at Mom and Dad, who are sitting in the back seat with mysterious smiles on their faces. “Mom? Dad?”
“You'll see, sweetheart.”
I huff, crossing my arms. “I hate surprises.”
“You're gonna love this one,” Amy says, pulling out onto the street.
The drive takes about twenty minutes, and the whole time, I'm trying to figure out where we're going.
When we turn onto a familiar road, I swing my head in her direction. “Amy,” I say slowly. We pull into the parking lot of Saints Outlaws clubhouse, and I stare at the building, confused. “What are we doing here?”
Amy parks the car and turns to me, a mischievous smile on her face. “You'll see.”
“Amy.”
“Come on.” She gets out of the car, with Mom and Dad following her. All of them look way too pleased with themselves.
I climb out slowly, my heels clicking on the pavement as I follow them toward the entrance. The front door is propped open, and I can hear music playing inside. It’s soft, nothinglike the usual rock or metal that blares through the clubhouse speakers. Amy holds the door open for me, gesturing for me to go in first.
