Part 1 (2/2)
I take a deep breath and grab the silver ornate handle of Elizabeth's Bridal and enter.
A tall woman with wavy red hair greets me when I walk into the boutique. She wears a slender pencil skirt and black pumps that would surely break my neck if I wore them, but she glides effortlessly across the carpeted floor, extending a hand toward me.
”Welcome to Elizabeth's Bridal. I am Mackenzie. You must be my three o'clock,” she croons. ”Bayleigh?”
”Yes ma'am,” I say. She isn't that much older than I am, but this seems like the kind of store in which you call women ma'am. The carpet is white, the walls are white with pearly patterned wallpaper, the furniture is white and all of it just screams luxury and cla.s.s and fancy-rich-people. I am a little, okay a lot, over my head here. The entirety of my experience in dress shopping lies at the prom stores in the mall. But I stand up straight and press my shoulders back and act like I am not a terrified teenager who really really wishes I hadn't come here alone.
Mackenzie pulls up my information on her computer and readies a pearly white folder with my name on it. She says we'll put all of my measurements and information in there, but I'm barely listening. All I can do is think about how all of this would be much easier with my best friend by my side. Maybe I should reschedule for another day.
The door opens again and I turn around expecting to see another bride-to-be coming to pick out her perfect wedding dress, but it is so much better than that.
”Bay!” My smiling best friend waves and rushes over to me, wearing a lime green BMX s.h.i.+rt. My heart erupts into joy at seeing her here. She throws her arms around me and I'm such a dork I think I jump up and down a little.
”How did you get out of work?” I ask. Becca smirks, putting her hands on her hips. ”I told my boss to shove it.”
”No you didn't.”
She shrugs. ”Okay, maybe I didn't. But I did beg and beg and beg until he got sick of me and said I could leave.”
”You're the best.”
She brushes her brown hair over her shoulder and rolls her eyes up to the ceiling. ”Girl, I know it.”
Mackenzie is unfailingly patient with us as she pulls dress after dress off the racks and presents them to me for consideration. After half an hour, we have chosen seven dresses to be added to the try-on pile and rejected another two dozen. Or maybe it was three dozen. For all I know, time has frozen in this bridal shop and the world is nothing but white silk and lace and ruffles and veils.
Mackenzie has me slip into a fitting room that's as big as my bedroom back at Mom's house and then she and two of her a.s.sistants take turns violating my privacy as they slip me into the first dress, poking and pus.h.i.+ng all my parts until the sleeveless bodice gets laced up the back and sucks in my stomach, making my b.o.o.bs look huge.
I yell at Becca to close her eyes as we emerge from the fitting room, both because I want it to be a surprise for her, but I'm also just mega nervous to be seen in a wedding dress by someone who actually knows me. She does as she's told, covering her eyes with her hands and Mackenzie leads me to a circular podium in the middle of an array of mirrors. I step up onto it and immediately feel like a princess as I stare at the five reflections of me in the angled mirrors.
”You can open your eyes,” I tell Becca. ”But no laughing!”
”Why would I laugh?” she says, but even with my warning glare, she bursts into giggles when she sees me for the first time. I put my hands on my hips and purse my lips. ”Sorry,” she says, ”I don't mean to laugh, I just” She stands and gnaws on her bottom lip. ”You just look really awesome. And this is crazy. You're getting married, Bay.”
”It's not crazy it's...”
”It's love,” Makenzie supplies the missing word for me. I'm sure she's just saying that because it's her job to make the clients happy and besides, she has a big commission riding on me buying of her dresses today. So of course she's going to say things to make sure I don't ditch on getting married, but her words still bring me comfort. Jace and I don't have a typical teenager relations.h.i.+p and we never have. Maybe that's what makes us special.
I drop my hands from my hips and splay them out in front of the satin dress. ”What do we think of this one?”
”It's nice,” Becca says, walking around me to get the full effect. ”But it's a little....”
”It's too blah,” I say, nodding. ”Plus I don't think I want a strapless dress. I'm already freaking out that my b.o.o.bs will fly out of this thing and we're not even in public.”
We try on a few more dresses, and when I say we, I mean we. Just because I'm wearing the dress doesn't mean it's a solitary affair. The boutique women have to help me into and out of every single dress. It's like these things were created to be worn with an entourage.
A little while later, I'm standing in front of the mirrors again, wearing a dress with lace sleeves that go down to my wrists and feeling like an old lady. ”I'm sorry I'm being so difficult, but I'm just not sure I like any of these,” I tell Mackenzie. She swats away my words with her hand. ”No worries, hun. You are not being difficult at all. You should see some of the women who come in here.” She glances at her a.s.sistants and they both animatedly agree. ”Would you like to look around some more and find a dress that speaks to you?”
I nod but it looks more like a shrug. Honestly, I'm kind of over trying on wedding dresses. At what point is this supposed to be fun?
Becca must sense my frustration because she says, ”Picture your perfect dress and describe it to me and I'll go find it.”
I close my eyes for a second and try to think. ”Well, I don't want it to be sleeveless but I also don't want sleeves. And this satin fabric reminds me of prom dresses and I want my dress to be an elegant gown, you know? Not just silky smooth like a prom dress.” My eyes open and I look into the mirror again. ”And, I don't know...maybe some kind of sparkle?”
”Got it!” Becca's voice came from across the room. I hadn't even noticed that she had left her spot by the mirrors until she comes rus.h.i.+ng up carrying a dress over her arms. Her cheeks are flushed in excitement as she holds out the dress toward me. ”It's your size. Try it on!”
Her enthusiasm is contagious and I trust her with my life, so of course I'll trust her with a dress. I don't even look at it longer than a split second before I hand it to Mackenzie and rush back into the ma.s.sive fitting room and start stripping out of the long sleeved old lady dress.
This dress is so much quicker to get into. It's simple and sleek. It has a silk lining and a lace overlay that drapes to the floor. It doesn't exactly have sleeves, so much as delicate lace triangles that cover my shoulders and keep the dress supported so I don't have to worry about having wardrobe malfunctions as I walk down the aisle.
And then there's the best part. The sparkle.
Tiny s.h.i.+mmery beads embellish the dress from head to toe. It sparkles and swooshes around my ankles and fits like a dream. I am in love with the most handsome man ever and this is the most beautiful dress in the world. Both of these were meant to be mine.
”I'm thinking you won't be trying on any more dresses today,” Mackenzie says with a coy smile.
I smile and push open the fabric curtain of the dressing room, eager to show Becca. ”I'm thinking the same thing.”
Chapter 3.
All of that dress shopping must have worn me out because at some point I wake up on the couch. Checking the time on my phone, I realize it's only six in the afternoon and I must have dozed off while watching TV. Jace hadn't been home when I got back because he was teaching a private motocross lesson with a client. But that was probably for the best because I would have been a hyperactive maniac, filled with excitement over my dress. Sometimes, when I get that way, all super excited and gus.h.i.+ng about something girly, I'll immediately feel embarra.s.sed as h.e.l.l when I realize how childish I'd been acting. And now more than ever, I need to act mature.
I stretch and yawn from my spot on the couch and that's when the smell hits me. Jace is in the kitchen and he's cooking my favorite dinner, which is actually breakfast food. Maple flavored bacon sizzles in the frying pan and the faint scent of scrambled eggs topped with cheese fills the air. On any other day, the incredibly generous act of cooking my favorite food mixed with the delicious aroma would have made me one happy girl.
Today, though, it makes me throw up.
Jace calls after me, asking if I'm okay as I barrel down the hallway and into the bathroom, just barely making it in time to avoid spewing Diet c.o.ke and lunch all over the place. The vomiting doesn't last very long, but my eyes fill with tears. Jace taps on the door. ”You okay? Can I come in?”
”No!” I call out, slamming my hand to the back of the bathroom door to prevent him from slipping in uninvited. I twist the lock on the door for good measure and then turn on the water in the sink to brush my teeth. ”I'm okay,” I say.
”I'm getting tired of talking to you through bathroom doors,” Jace mutters.
”Then stop doing it and go back to the kitchen.” I don't mean for my voice to sound so b.i.t.c.hy, but I'd really really like it if he would just leave. I only like Jace seeing me when I'm cute. Brus.h.i.+ng out the vomit stank from my mouth is decidedly not cute.
The nausea leaves just as quickly as it had come, and when I emerge with winter fresh breath, I feel fine again. The bacon smells good and I'm hungry. Thank G.o.d. I would have hated to turn down his dinner and hurt his feelings.
Jace seems a little annoyed when I set my plate of food on the counter and take up the barstool next to him. ”What's wrong, honeybun?” I nudge him with my shoulder, smiling all stupid and dorky so he'll brighten up.
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