Page 102 of Hating the Boss

“That woman deserves a ring after the hell you’ve put her through, and you will give it to her today,” said my father adamantly. He pulled out his phone and made a few calls as Anton walked back over, munching on a bag of potato chips.

“How did it go?” he asked, wiping away a crumb from his chin.

“I think we’re going ring shopping…” I said with a shrug.

“That’s right, boys. The jeweler isn’t far. He just closed down the store just for us. We will be back before anyone notices you’re gone,” my father said excitedly, leading us toward the elevator. I wouldn’t have left if I didn’t know Sarah was sleeping and surrounded by loved ones, but I did want to see a ring on her finger. Having my father be a part of this made it even better.

Twenty minutes later, I was comparing cuts and carats, the diamonds casting rainbow prisms against the black velvet boxes. As I looked through the various rings, my father told Anton and me about his own proposal to my mother and how a ring has to represent the woman. I had never really heard him talk like this. I’d only seen it when he and my mother were together. I never realized how much I wanted what they had, until I met Sarah.

When I found the perfect ring, my father put his arm around my shoulder as the jeweler packed it up.

“I can’t believe my son is getting married,” he said in awe. “Wait until your mother hears about this. We are going to be grandparents!”

“And me an uncle,” added Anton with a grin.

“I’m still wrapping my head around it.”

“I do have a request though,” said my father.

“What’s that?”

“I want to be called Paw-Paw!” He grinned. “Just like my grandfather.”

Chapter 39 Sarah

“I look like a whale!” I exclaimed dramatically as I turned to the side and looked in the ornate floor-length mirror. The dress I had picked out a few months ago was now looking like a lost cause as the satin fabric strained across my growing belly.

“You do not!” said Juliet from across the room where she was doing the final touches on her hair. She looked like a goddess, which normally wouldn’t get to me, but on my wedding day pumped full of pregnancy hormones, I had the urge to throw my white satin shoe at her.

“Why did I choose this dress?” I muttered, trying to reach for the back zipper even though there was no way in hell it was going to budge, leaving the back of the dress wide open.

“Because it’s beautiful. And you are beautiful,” said Jessica, rolling toward me in her wheelchair. She reached for my hand and gave it a gentle squeeze as she looked at me through the mirror.

“So are you,” I said softly, taking in my sister’s champagne dress that complemented her fair skin and made her dark brown hair pop. Usually not one to care about primping or wearing anything fancy, she looked like a freaking Disney princess. I saw so much of our mother staring back at me.

I felt a little twinge of sadness nestle into the pit of my stomach. It was my wedding day, and while I knew my parents wouldn’t be here for it, it felt more painful than I thought it would. I blink back the prickling of tears that were beginning to form behind my eyes. I would not ruin this makeup.

“They’re here,” Jessica whispered, as if reading my innermost thoughts. “They’re with you.”

She squeezed my hand again before letting go as Brittany rushed over with pins and needles and white thread.

“We are going to fix this,” she said with a nod that wasn’t quite believable, but I appreciated her for trying.

She began pulling at thread on the dress, carefully pinning the fabric in new places, and barking commands for me to turn this way and that. She was practically sewing the dress on my body. I wondered how I would get out of it…or how Brad would get me out of it. We would have to worry about that later.

Brittany pricked her finger with a needle and let out a little yelp.

“Medic!” she said loudly before popping her finger in her mouth and sucking at it.

“I’m on it!” said Juliet, rummaging through her purse and pulling out a Hello Kitty bandage. She rushed it over and wrapped it around Brittany’s finger, so she could get back to work.

“Sorry,” I said with a shake of my head.

“For what?” asked Brittany, already back to work with her needle, creating straight stitches through the satin fabric.

“For this,” I said, patting my stomach that had grown into quite the bump in the past five months. “I really thought we had nailed the sizing for baby to have room to grow in this thing.”

“Don’t ever apologize for my niece,” said Brittany with a grin.