“The important thing here is I’m marrying the man I love—”
“The important thing here is that you look amazing while you marry the man you love,” she corrects me. “And don’t worry about the bruises. The makeup artist you have an appointment with at the salon will have something to cover them.”
“I have an appointment with a makeup artist? Since when?”
“Since I made it for you when we checked in.” She shakes her head. “You don’t seem to be getting it, Chloe. You’re getting married in five hours! And if I know Ethan the way I think I do, I can guarantee once he puts a ring on it, that’s it. You’re never getting away. Which means, this is the only wedding that we will ever be able to prepare for and even if it’s in Vegas and even if it is rushed, I want it to be perfect.” She glares at me. “It’s going to be perfect.”
“It’s not the only wedding,” I correct her a little desperately. “You’ll get married someday and we can spend months preparing for it. Years, if you want. And—”
“I’m never getting married, Chloe. My taste in men pretty much sucks—and it’s not like I could ever trust a man who wants to marry me, anyway. What would that say about him?”
I freeze, pulling my thoughts away from Ethan and the wedding because this is about as real as Tori has ever gotten with me. She’s always flippant, always dismissive, always wearing an armored shell three inches deep. That she chooses this moment—in the middle of a high-end boutique in Vegas—to lower her guard doesn’t make it any less important. Nor does it mean that I need to be any less careful negotiating the minefield that surrounds Tori’s psyche.
I want to turn to her, to hug her and tell her that any man who gets her will be lucky. I want to list all the wonderful things that make me adore her. But I’m one of the few who knows how delicate she is, how easily a sincere compliment can make her shut down completely.
So I keep my back to her, pretend to still be looking at myself in the mirror when what I’m really doing is looking at her. And say as casually as I can, “It would say that he knows a good thing when he sees it.”
“Yeah, my father’s bank account.”
And there it is, the breezy, who-cares attitude is back in force as she makes the joke that isn’t really a joke. I know her well enough to recognize her tells—and the way she rubs her thumb against her ring finger is a surefire giveaway. She really believes that no man would be interested in her unless he was after the power and position that comes with marrying into her family. And while I admit, for a lot of guys, that would be a big enticement, I also know that Tori is selling herself way short.
Yes, she comes from a family that’s very, very wealthy. And yes, she likes the things that money can buy. But she’s so much more than her monthly allowance and her father’s bank balance. She’s fun and funny, fiercely generous and even more fiercely loyal. Plus she’s smart, really smart and beautiful, even with all her tattoos and the crazy, multicolored hair that she changes almost as often as I change my socks.
I don’t tell her any of that, though. Because she doesn’t see it. Because she won’t see it. Because, more than all those things, she’s also messed up—too messed up to listen to the truths I know, at least not when they contradict her own ideas about who she is and what she has to offer. I don’t know why she is the way she is, don’t know what hurts she’s suffered. But I know they’re there. Like calls to like, after all.
Yes, there’s so much I want to say to her, but this isn’t the place to crack open her wounds. So I go for the joke and promise myself that later I’m going to make her talk to me.
“Hey, you’re the one who keeps telling me Ethan’s bank balance is a good thing. Why should your dad’s be any different?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” Her eyes meet mine in the mirror. “But trust me, Chlo, you don’t ever want to compare Ethan and my father. If you knew—”
Her voice breaks and she turns her head, blinks her eyes a couple dozen times. My
heart is beating extra fast now, because Tori doesn’t cry. Ever.
And to hell with her pride, to hell with her getting prickly. I can’t just stand here and do nothing. I turn so quickly that I nearly trip and yank her into a hug that is as strong and fierce as she usually is.
“Ignore me,” I tell her. “I’m so wound up about this whole wedding thing that most of what comes out of my mouth doesn’t make any sense at all.”
She laughs hoarsely, dashes a hand across her eyes. “You’re more together than pretty much any bride I’ve ever seen. And trust me, I’ve been to my share of weddings.”
“Me, together?” I mock-gasp. “That’s not something I ever thought I’d hear you say.”
“Well, maybe that is overstating it a bit. You could use a little polishing.” She pulls at one of my frizzed out curls—Ethan’s hands definitely didn’t do my hairstyle any favors. “Well, a lot, really.”
“Now there’s the Tori I know and love.” I keep my arm wrapped around her shoulders as I turn us both to face the mirror. “It’s not just me, right? This dress looks really good?”
“So good.”
“Then what do you say we don’t even bother with the other eight? You pick out jewelry and shoes to match, I’ll buy everything and if you hurry, we’ll have time for ice cream before we have to be at the spa.”
“Change the ice cream to a margarita and you’ve got yourself a deal.”
“Somehow I knew you were going to say that.” What goes unsaid is that there’s a part of me that wishes she hadn’t.
This time, she’s the one gasping in mock outrage. “Don’t tell me I’m becoming predictable?”
“Only to those who love you.”