“Hmm, let me see.” She flipped through her laptop. “Amy, why do you look crazy in this photo?”
“You look like this homeless woman I saw on the train last night,” Brea added.
I peered at the picture. I did look crazy and disheveled. But Sebastian was smoking hot in his tight white pants and glistening chest.
“He looks like he just got done having sex,” Sophie said breathlessly.
“To be more accurate, it looks like he was getting ready to have sex.” Elsie pointed at the prominent bulge at the front of Sebastian’s pants.
“Yes, please!” Sophie giggled. “If you don’t want him, I’ll take him, Amy!”
“I do not want him,” I said, lying through my teeth. “He’s obnoxious and a germaphobe.”
“That’s a good thing, though,” Brea said approvingly. “Nothing better than a man with a dick so clean that you can eat off it.”
“You should totally eat super-expensive sushi off his cock!” Sophie said, grabbing my shoulder and shaking me.
“And I’m going to add that to the list of things I never want to do,” I replied.
But Sebastian’s chest smeared with whipped cream and hearing the slight catches in his voice as I licked it all off? Yeah, actually, I could go for that.
Get a grip.
“The bride is on her way up,” Ivy said as her phone pinged with a message from the building concierge. “Stand tall, ladies. I spent the entire two-hour drive back to Manhattan yesterday fielding calls with her about her desire for various exotic animals at the wedding. Also, Sophie, she wants gold leaf on all the cakes.”
The elevator door chimed, and we all jumped up to welcome the bride to her first dress consultation. Tatiana had brought her entourage with her.
“These are my mother and my sister,” the bridezilla said. “She’s adopted, obviously. That’s why she has such a weak chin.”
“Not as weak as your character,” her sister shot back. “Or your morals when you stole my boyfriend.”
Their mother took a packet of chips out of her bag and ate several nervously. “Girls, I wish you wouldn’t sleep with your college professors,” she pleaded. “The neighbors keep gossiping about you.”
“Oh, shove off, Mom,” Tatiana snapped. “Daryl and I are in love.”
“He’s going to cheat on you just like he did me.” Her sister slumped onto the couch and crossed her arms. “He’s a serial cheater, and I’m going to laugh in your face and hang up a big poster that says I told you so when it happens.”
“Girls, please,” their mother begged. “We’re supposed to be having a lovely afternoon picking out a dress.”
“Don’t put her in a white one,” Tatiana’s sister said snidely.
“We have a number of colors and styles to choose from,” Brea replied, smiling brightly.
Sophie helped fluff out the gown on one of the mannequins as Brea launched into her spiel, describing the various silhouettes, from the more traditional ball gown and A-line to the sexier silhouettes like the mermaid and the trumpet to some of the funkier options with asymmetrical skirts and slits in fun places.
Bet you want Sebastian to have fun in your slit.
Ugh, no way.That sounded like a bad decision—even if it was making me hot.
He was just discombobulated because you flashed him. Honestly, walking around in a strange man’s house without a bra is going on your top-ten list of worst decisions.
“I want a royal gown,” Tatiana said, pursing her mouth. “I want this wedding to be a royal wedding with a tiara, and everything should be orange-themed.”
“Oh!” I said, clapping, “that would be fantastic! I have been wanting to try growing miniature fruit. I have been experimenting with tiny oranges. We could have them in your bouquet and in the table décor. Little ripe, juicy mini oranges sprinkled among white flowers, maybe some honeysuckle, and lush greenery. It would be amazing and super Instagram worthy.”
“Ugh, no,” the bride said, rolling her eyes. “I want orange from the Netherlands. I think I can convince one of the Dutch royal family to come to my wedding. Then I’ll have a ton of tabloid press. Orange is the Dutch national color.”
“So you just want the color orange everywhere?” I asked, confused.
