“Tiffany,” Mom scolded, glancing up from where she’d perched on the clawfoot tub. She held up her cell phone. “I just spoke to your father. He’s with Manning, and everyone’s accounted for.”
I couldn’t help but laugh as Val shook her head the same grave way she did whenever Hollywood announced another Pirates of the Caribbean movie. Halfway down the counter from us, in between applying fake lashes, she said, “Lake is more likely to bolt than Manning.”
Tiffany paused in the middle of taking a break from curling my hair to touch up her own. She widened her eyes at me in the mirror. “Are you thinking about ditching him at the altar?”
“Of course not.” Nothing could stop me from marrying the man of my dreams today. Still, the generally chilly idea of cold feet had me closing the lapels of my satin robe at the base of my throat. “This wedding is such a sure bet that if it doesn’t happen, I’ll move into your basement and do all your cooking and cleaning, like Cinderella.”
“Really?” Tiffany asked, either missing the fact or not caring about my implication that she was an evil stepsister. She sighed happily as she swept my curls off my back to my shoulders. She looked over my head, studying her work in the mirror. “I mean, I’ll have to check with Robby first. He’s very particular about his space.”
“Obviously,” I agreed, exchanging a muted giggle with my mom. It wasn’t that my joke was lost on Tiffany—she just always had Robby on the brain. I was glad for it. She’d been so distracted by him the past several months that she’d hardly paid Manning and me any attention. I’d met Doctor Robby with the nice, golden-blond hair to match his nice face. As my mom had promised, he was a stable and patient man who owned his home and was good with kids—at least, he usually had a lollipop on him. More importantly, he was as enamored by Tiffany’s carefree approach to life as she was drawn to his adoration of her. Not long after Manning’s and my visit in January, Robby had proposed.
And Tiffany never let us forget it.
“Ugh,” she said. “My ring keeps getting caught in your hair.”
“Which ring?” Val asked, rummaging through her makeup bag.
“My engagement ring,” Tiffany said.
“Oh, right.” Val popped open a blush compact, swiped a brush through it, and blew off the excess powder—all while managing a smirk. “I guess I forgot. Thanks for clarifying.”
Tiffany shot Val a daggered look. How dare she forget such big news? I held in a laugh so I wouldn’t further anger my sister. She was not only in charge of my wedding day hair, of which she currently had handfuls, but my makeup, too. I didn’t want to walk down the aisle looking like a hairless blowup doll.
Once Val had finished applying her makeup, she disappeared and returned with her hands behind her back. “I finished your bouquet last night,” she said. “I also tied together some lavender bunches for Tiffany, me, and the other bridesmaids to carry.”
I tried to look around her. “Let me see.”
She kept one hand behind her back as she passed me a blossoming bouquet of lilac, lavender, and greenery with cream and blush-colored roses. I inhaled the arrangement that complemented the plum color of their dresses. “I love it.”
“And I made this,” she said, placing a simple crown with the same flowers on my head. “Last night you said you needed something blue. I figured purple would work, but I added in some delphinium for good measure.”
“Thank you,” I said, hugging her.
Tiffany inspected the crown as well as the top of my head. “Do you even have anything borrowed?” she asked.
“No,” I said, frowning. Manning had handled most of the small details for today. I’d been more concerned with making our houseguests comfortable and handling any last-minute arrangements.
“Your dress could be considered borrowed,” Val suggested.
“True,” Tiffany said. “It’s looks like it’s from the seventies. I don’t know why you guys like that old stuff.”
“And I don’t know why you shop at Hollister when you’re thirty-five,” Val shot back.
“Girls,” Mom said. “Try to remember it’s Lake’s day.”
“I’d rather look too young than too old,” Tiffany muttered as she gave Val’s bridesmaid dress a disdainful onceover—even though it was the same one Tiffany wore. She slow-blinked at Val’s Birkenstocks. “Are you a lesbian?”
“I don’t identify with labels,” Val said. “Or give life to stereotypes, unlike some people.”
“So that’s a yes. Are you in love with my sister?” Tiffany gasped. “Or with me?”
Val rolled her eyes and turned away, muttering, “I’m changing into heels before the ceremony.”
No signature snippy comeback from Val? “Look, for the sake of getting through today,” I said, “let’s all agree to keep you two apart as much as possible. Tiffany has a very contemporary sense of style, and Val isn’t in love with me or anyone else.”