Page 60 of Break Out

I don’t have to wait long for a response.

Brody: At least you won’t have to worry about her criticizing everything you do. Try to relax and enjoy.

I exhale and tuck my phone away. Of course he sees it. I think everyone sees the way my mother treats me. I am glad she’s not here, but it still surprises me. At brunch on Tuesday, she said she was looking forward to the spa. I make a mental note to ask Brody if Arthur played golf with them.

Four hours later, I’m nicely relaxed after a Swedish massage, a mud wrap–which was as gross as it was relaxing–a manicure, a pedicure, and a few glasses of champagne.

“You excited for the big day?” I ask Clara as we sit waiting for our manicures to dry and for the rest of the group to finish getting their nails done.

“I guess,” Clara whispers, studying her nails.

“You guess?” I repeat. “I thought you were excited to marry Chet.” I pull my hands out of the nail dryer and inspect the light pink polish that matches my maid of honor dress.

Clara peeks up at me, and I wonder if she’s drunk enough alcohol today to loosen her tongue. I sit silently, waiting for her to elaborate.

“I am. But this wasn’t how I imagined it,” she finally says with a resigned sigh.

Well, color me shocked. Clara’s been talking about Key West and this wedding since they settled on a date. I open my mouth, but she cuts me off.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m excited to get married here. I just pictured something . . . different.” She picks up her water bottle and takes a sip, as if what she told me is no big deal.

“Oh?” Is all I can come up with?

Clara blows on her nails although I’m sure they’re dry by now. “It wasn’t my idea to have such a huge wedding party. Or to do just about everything else we’ve done.”

“Whose idea was it?” I ask, even though I already know the answer.

Clara levels me with a look that says take a wild guess before saying, “Mom’s.”

“What are we talking about?” Bri asks, taking a seat on the other side of Clara.

“The wedding,” Clara says, staring back down at her nails. “I hate my dress. It’s ugly.”

Shit.

Shit.

I suck in a deep breath, shocked at my sister’s revelations.

Bri interjects. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Clara stares down at the floor. “She insisted that I looked the best in that dress. That it was the one I should get. And since she’s paying for the wedding . . .”

I meet Bri’s gaze, silently asking her what to do.

“I don’t—” I start, but Clara interrupts me, glancing at both of us.

“There’s nothing to be done now. It is what it is. It’ll be over in a few days, and I can move on with my life.”

I hate that answer, but there isn’t much that can be done now about her dress. I wish I had known how she felt sooner. So I could do what, though? It’s not like I could have swayed my mother. But maybe I could have supported Clara more during the planning. If I had, maybe she would have had the strength to stand up to Mother.

There’s one thing that’s been bothering me since the change in Clara’s demeanor and attitude toward me last night. No time like the present.

“Why were you so adamant about proving that Brody and I aren’t really dating?”

Clara studies me for a minute before saying, “I figured telling Mom that you two were fake would get her off my back and back to meddling in your life. It would take her focus off me. Make me feel better about my shitty wedding. I’m sorry.”

The rest of the bridal party comes pouring in from the room where they were getting their nails done. Clara is swept away by her friends, and I’m left alone with Bri.