“Babes!” Nevaeh rises from her seat and drags Isla into a crushing hug, which Jess joins. “You’re getting married!” They hop a few times, holding on to each other and doing one of those excited, high-pitched screams. It sends another pang of regret through my chest that I torpedoed my friendships in Chicago before moving back to Minneapolis.
“How many mimosas do you think they’ve had already?” Lexi asks as she comes to a stop beside me. We’ve been texting more and more, and I think she and I could end up being close, which is soothing.
“At least two,” I answer. “Should we grab one so we’re not left behind?”
She nods, grinning. “Absolutely.”
“Eh,I like it, but I don’t think it’sThe One,” Jess says as Isla flounces out of the dressing room in a frothy, tulle wedding gown.
Lexi’s eyes narrow as she studies it. “It’s kind of a lot.”
Isla glances my way, and I shrug, going for sisterly honesty. “You look like a cupcake. Or one of those cakes where they shove a Barbie into the top, so it looks like she’s wearing a frosting-covered gown.”
My future sister-in-law giggles, checking herself out in the mirror. “Yeah, I do kinda look like that, don’t I?”
“Next,” Nev proclaims, and Isla nods. We all chuckle as she struggles to make her way back to the dressing room, weighed down with far too much tulle.
We’ve been here for an hour already, and Isla has tried on at least a dozen gowns. She has liked a few, and a couple received enthusiastic reactions from the peanut gallery, but none of them have brought tears to Isla’s eyes—or ours—so the search continues.
As she changes, my eyes wander around the bridal shop, lingering on beautiful beaded gowns and fairy tale dresses with flowers and vines embroidered down lace sleeves and full skirts. My mind keeps recalling the photo I found in my suitcase when we got home from Las Vegas of Griffin and me, smiling and drunk, at the little twenty-four-hour chapel where we got married. My dress is far too sexy for a wedding, my hair is a bit disheveled, and the veil I rented as part of the Enchanted Graceland package is slightly askew. Griffin isn’t wearing a tux or even a suit jacket. The sleeves of his dress shirt are rolled up nearly to his elbows, and the top two buttons are undone.
I can’t help imagining what we would look like if I had been wearing a beautiful dress, and he had been wearing a fancy suit or a formal tux. A little pang of something that feels an awful lot like want spears through my chest, and I rub absently at my sternum.
None of that is how I pictured my first—and hopefully only—wedding to go. I always imagined myself in a gown like this, with my family and friends surrounding me. I imagined dating for a year or two before he’d get down on one knee with a stunning diamond in a little velvet box, and the look on my mom’s face when I’d show her the ring. She’d cry and hug me before dragging my fiancé into the embrace. Then we’d go shopping at a pretty shop like this one, where I’d spend hours trying on dresses before finding the perfect one.
“This one is so pretty, isn’t it?” Isla’s question pulls me from my thoughts as she walks out in a gorgeous gown. It’s covered in beaded lace, has delicate straps that plunge into a deep necklinethat somehow appears elegant rather than scandalous, and a skirt that flares out just enough to provide some drama without being overwhelming. The train is modest and rustles as she walks. It’s… exactly the kind of dress I would have chosen. For myself, that is.
My future sister-in-law looks absolutely stunning in it.
“I feel like I’m too short for it, though, don’t you think?” She does a little spin, and the beaded skirt twists around her. It restricts her movements just enough that she stumbles.
“You’re right,” Lexi agrees. “I love the shape of the top half, but I’m not sure the bottom half is quite right.”
Isla nods, then looks at me. “You know who would look absolutely stunning in this dress? Mira.”
“Ooooh, yes,” Jess says, appraising me. “She’s got the legs for it.”
“You should try it on,” Isla says. “It’s fun.”
Laughing them off, I wave a hand dismissively. “I don’t want to waste the salesgirl’s time.”
The woman who’s been helping us grins. “You wouldn’t be wasting my time. Besides, I get to help women play dress up all day. My job rocks. Come on, I’ll put you in the dressing room next to the bride.”
I hem and haw and try to get out of it, but everyone insists, so with a deep sigh, I strip down to my undies and step into the heavy dress. I don’t look in the mirror until the salesgirl zips me up before going back to Isla’s dressing room and helping her with her next gown.
Lifting my eyes, I gasp at my reflection. Even though I’m wearing minimal makeup and my hair is braided to the side in one thick plait, I look…ethereal. The dress hugs my curves in all the right ways, flaring out at my hips and plunging between my breasts. The ivory color is soft and elegant against my more golden skin tone.
I look like a bride. A real one. Not a bride who rolled up to a little Vegas chapel after too many drinks with her friend and got married so they could see young Elvis. The woman in the mirror is one I’ve dreamed of seeing for years, and something twists in my chest. Because I can’t help imagining myself walking down the aisle in this dress. Can’t help imagining a flower-covered archway in an outdoor location somewhere with a petal-strewn aisle and a beaming groom waiting for me at the end.
And fuck me, because in the fantasy that takes hold of my mind, the groom isn’t some faceless future possibility. He’s not Jared, not Mr. Fancy from the club all those weeks ago, when we celebrated Maddox and Isla getting back together. No, the man waiting for me in my fantasy has shaggy golden hair, sparkling hazel eyes that catalog every ivory-covered inch of my body, and full lips that have kissed me senseless time and time again since we got home from Vegas.
Wearing this stunning dress and imagining the perfect wedding calls Griffin Wright to mind, and that scares the shit out of me for so many reasons.
“Come out, Mira,” the girls call. “You’ve been in there staring at yourself for ages. Is it bad?”
Clearing my throat, I open the door of the dressing room and walk out. Lexi’s eyes go wide as she takes me in, and Isla’s friends fall silent.
“So, no. Not bad. The opposite of bad,” Nev says to herself. Her beautiful umber eyes meet mine. “Mira, you look amazing.”
