“Do yourself a favor and give that to Marlie. Taylor just texted and said she’s there and in designer mode. That woman’s a work horse, a lot like yourself. Anyway, hand that off to her, please, or Taylor might kill her maid of honor and best friend forever and ever. Taylors’s words, not mine.” I get a kick out of that because Taylor is pretty easy going. I’ve yet to meet Marlie because of her schedule and mine always clashing, so it’ll be interesting to finally put a face to her name.
“Gotcha. If we’re done talking like two girls, I’ll go hand off your present and get back here in time to be your best man. You know, the reason I’m in this getup.” I point to the black-and-white ensemble, the cummerbund, a freaking cummerbund. I don’t know how I got roped into this, but it’s bullshit. Give me a cotton shirt, worn-in jeans, broken-in boots, and I’d call it a day. The kicker is, I’m wearing a dark purple tie, along with the same color flower pinned through the lapel on my left side. If my sister were here, she’d point at me and laugh, then I’d have to ruffle her feathers, Mom would holler, Dad would laugh, and our brothers would get in on the fun.
“Yeah, get your panties out of a twist while you’re at it. It won’t kill you to wear it for a few hours, and you can repay me one day when it’s your time to get married.” That causes a shiver to travel down my spine. It’s not that I’m opposed to marriage; I’m just beginning to think I’ll be single forever. And that’s fucking fine with me. My business is thriving, my family isn’t on poverty’s doorstep, and my four-year-old golden retriever, Tim, might be all I ever need.
“Not likely. Be back soon.” I head for the door to do his bidding, like I’m some girl Friday. I should probably rethink this friendship with Ridge. It seems like more work than ever.
CHAPTER THREE
marlie
“Can you get the door? I just know it’ll be Ridge, and he’ll ruin the whole surprise.” Taylor points at herself, stopping me from answering the door to take in my beautiful best friend. It took me days, nights, and hours attempting to convince her not to use me to design her wedding dress. Apparently, we’re both stubborn and bull-headed because she’s wearing a dress that, you guessed it, I designed and painstakingly sewed every stitch, some by a machine but most by hand.
“Of course. You look so gorgeous, Taylor. I can’t believe you’re getting married. I mean, I can. Shit, I’m butchering this. I just love you, and I’m so incredibly happy for you and Ridge.” I wave my hands in front of my eyes, from the veil—which, by the way, I will never, ever make another again—its intricate lace and sheer fabric, to her flowing hair, and the dress. It’s a freaking masterpiece on Taylor’s body—capped sleeves, tight bodice, flowing at the bottom, handsewn lace flowers. I guess she was right after all. My worry stemmed from her hating it and then being stuck with something she hated, therefore hating me.
“Shut up, Marlie. You’re going to ruin our makeup, but I love you just the same. Now, go answer the door before the knocking continues,” she says in a drill-sergeant voice.
“Aye, aye, Captain.” We both laugh. She moves to where the other girls are, away from the door, and I do her bidding. It’s been like this since we were in college, the two of us in a dorm room, sitting around talking about every hope, dream, and inspiration we could ever think of.
I open the door slightly in case Ridge is pulling a fast one on me and tries to barge in, because that would completely be what he does.
“Hey, you must be Marlie.” I squeeze through the opening, ensuring I don’t ruin my dress or hair in the process.
“Hey, that’s me. You must be the famous Tanner.” I hold my hand out to shake his.
“That’d be me. I guess I’m the lucky one to be Ridge’s chore boy today.” Our hands slide in one another’s. My eyes haven’t left his face. Sure, I saw the picture Taylor sent me, but it didn’t do him justice. I repeat, it did not do Tanner one bit of justice. Drop-dead gorgeous comes to mind, so does Greek god, as well as tall glass of water. I’m kicking myself in the ass right now for not making the time to meet him before now, because you guessed it, I am absolutely speechless. Some of his hair is hanging over his forehead, soft brown in color, and his dark eyes are like molten chocolate. He’s got lines in the corner of his eyes from either laughing or smiling, and I haven’t even gotten to Tanner’s smile. It’s one that will make your knees quiver. It’s a tease, a playfulness on the tip of his tongue, and he probably has no idea what he’s doing to my insides. Full lips, a dimple on one side of his cheek, and you can tell he shaved earlier this morning, because he already sports a five-o’clock shadow. My eyes rove down his body, and I’m secretly praying that I’m not acting like the weird girl by not saying a word, but seriously, this man is capital F-I-N-E. Tanner’s shoulders are broad, his suit form fitting, showing off his muscular arms, chest, tapered waist, and that’s when my gawking stops. Even I have standards, and I’m not going to blatantly stare at a man’s package.