If I wasn’t so mad, I’d let it go.
But with this stupid wedding pre-rehearsal tonight, the dress still not fitting right as my weight goes up and down with my stress levels, plus now learning my mom thinks I’m still a child who needs a sitter…
Like I said. It’s messed up.
Who has a pre-rehearsal for a wedding rehearsal anyway?
It all sucks right now. And the only thing I can think of is just how right my mom is.
I hate it when she’s right. But it hits me for all the wrong reasons.
I really am stuck under her roof with her rules.
And once she marries Rhys, as nice a guy as he is, I’ll be the third wheel in a household that’s already tense.
It’ll be two against one and I won’t stand a chance.
“You didn’t ask?” I hear mom murmur to Rhys. Like this is something that’s been in the works for ages and I’m the last one to find out.
As usual.
Rhys gives a little shake of his head, trying to change the subject, but mom won’t let it go.
“I’ll just ask Denise,” she almost hisses. “Should’ve known better than to count on—” she cuts short, apologizing straight away once she sees the effect her words have on Rhys.
I’m glad they’re getting married, I truly am. But I just wish I had a life outside of this house, away from being so dependent on my mom still.
Rhys grips her by the waist and pulls her close.
“Can we not argue?” he says calmly, disarming my mom with one of his winning smiles and a kiss that sees me scrunching up my nose and turning on my heel to head back to my bedroom.
Gross.
My bridesmaid’s dress is freshly pressed and laid out on my bed.
Altered for the fifth time in as many weeks.
Puffing air out of my cheeks I let myself fall face-first onto my bed, making sure I avoid creasing the dress.
I wish it was my wedding dress.
I wish I had a big strong Marine to rescue me from all this…
There’s not exactly a big line out front filled with men like that, or anywhere else for that matter.
Not for me.
Not too many real men left either, even half the size or strength of my mom’s fiancé out there looking for a short, thick set blond girl with zero everything.
No job, no money.
They say a girl can get by on her looks, but I think that’s just something they came up with to make average people feel even less than average.
Rhys’s muffled and deeply hypnotic voice carries through the house, and after a good hour, the sound of mom’s gentle rapping on my door startles me from the dozing that almost became a nap as I considered my life options.
“Sweetie?” she whispers. “I’m sorry for before, I’m just so used to knowing where you are. That you’re safe. We both just wanna be sure you’ll have everything you need while we’re away.” She sniffs, obvious to me now that the whole thing’s made her cry.
Cue soul-deep guilt and feeling like a monster for shouting at my mother like a witch.
I sit up in bed, and after hugging me, telling me she loves me and everything will work out, she also reminds me we have a half-hour to get ready.
We’re picking up her friend Denise on the way too.
Maid of honor and freaking genius who dreamed up the idea of a pre-rehearsal.
Pre-rehearsal…
If I hear that word again, I’ll puke.
SEVEN FIFTEEN P.M.
An ex-Marine is never late, and Rhys gets us all to the church and in front of the priest by seven on the dot.
He seems edgy though, checking his watch and growling aloud how he wishes he hadn’t forgotten his phone.
Mom is starting to get testy too once Rhys insists we all wait, “Just a few more minutes,” for his best friend and best man to arrive.
Reeve Bannon.
Shifting uneasily myself as my recently altered dress pinches parts of me I never knew could be or even should be pinched, the name Reeve swirls in my mind until a sudden loud and definite bang freezes me to the spot.
Like my body can sense him behind me from fifty feet away.
The last time I saw him, I was just a little kid and the only time his name’s mentioned now is whenever Rhys says it and my mom bites her tongue, giving him a salty look.
Everyone spins to see the source of the commotion, but I know who it is without even looking.
I can feel him already.
That pinching under my dress has flushed into a deep heat, radiating from my core, through my lace see-through underwear, bought by me just for me online.
Suddenly damp with heat even though there’s a draft in the church.
I swallow hard, telling myself it’s just nerves. That I’m just being shy.