“Aw, thank you.” I feel the blush burn my cheeks.
Jess invited me to her wedding – she practically demanded I come – so I’ve delivered her table arrangements to the function center, set them up, delivered a box of boutonnières to Kane, and now here I am, my last stop before the ceremony takes place.
I was planning on coming in black pants and a cream blouse. I’d spent an hour ironing loose curls into my hair, and playing with a little rouge on my cheeks, but as I attempted to leave the shop, Nadia practically tackled me to the floor and demanded we try again.
So now I’m wearing a navy blue gown that stretches to the floor, with flowers embroidered into the skirt and midriff. The tiniest section between skirt and top shows my pale stomach, but because it’s literally less than an inch wide, Nadia refused to entertain my complaints about showing too much skin.
The loose curls remain in my hair, but now it’s tied up into a ponytail, and Nadia added a little extra makeup around my eyes, so I ‘look like a grownup for the night’.
I feel like a princess… but also a fake. This isn’t me, and it kind of bothers me that I feel pretty. I should feel pretty when I’m dressed down too, right? I should be comfortable in my skin.
But I’m not. I haven’t been since I entered puberty and my body did its own thing, rather than fill out like all the other girls’ in my school.
It bothers me that I let Spencer Serrano influence my outfit choice today.
“Come on in.” Laine holds my hand and drags me through the simple home.
It’s not extravagant, just as it’s not a secret-lair-type setup. It’s… just a home, built somewhere around the sixties or seventies, with high ceilings, picture rails on the walls, and a long, leather sofa not a lot different from Nix’s.
Women race around the room; the women I saw at the Checkmate office yesterday, and others I don’t recognize. Laine and I move through the living room and past happy women who finish pulling on their outfits. Most of them wear silver, which complements the peonies I’ve brought today, so Laine has the honor of being unique in her aqua, sweetheart-necklined gown.
I recognize Sophia, the brunette ballet dancer who dates Kane’s brother. I recognize the other woman from the office, the one who likes to draw. I don’t recognize a blonde woman who wears fire engine red high heels beneath her gown, but I do recognize another blonde who walks around like a drill sergeant, holding a binder and pen, snapping orders at anyone who stands still for more than a second.
It’s like they’re going on a mission that could be deadly… but in heels and pretty dresses.
Laine leads me through the kitchen and up a staircase, only to stop at the top of the hall and knock.
“You decent, Jessie?”
“She’s fine.” The door swings open and reveals the male equivalent of the twins.
Blond and blue, tall and fit, the man I know as Luc Lenaghan smiles at Laine, then his eyes stop on me and light up.
“Abby. Come on in.” He pulls me into a gentle hug, but it’s fast and barely there, as I hold the boxed flowers in front of my body and try to minimize the touching.
I’ve been conditioned for so long to minimize human contact, so I save it all for my family, because they know best and how to do it without hurting me.
Stepping into the room, I stop a few feet in and let my anxiety drop from my shoulders when I’m faced with a stunning bride.
She’s so insanely pregnant, I’m tempted to measure how far out her belly stretches, and then compare it with her height. She’s not carrying just one Bishop, but two, but despite how tired her eyes are, her smile is amazing.
Her dress is form-fitting, and the sleeves stretch right down to her wrists and end in a V, so a tiny loop of material twirls around her middle fingers. I might feel like a princess in my dress, but shelookslike one. The gown follows the lines of her body, so I know her exact shape beneath the white lace. The bust shows a little cleavage, but it’s tasteful in the most magical way. Lace is tight over her hips and bottom, then flares out from her thighs like a mermaid’s tail would. Her normally straight hair is half up, and loose curls dangle to the middle of her back.
When she turns to set something on the end of the bed to free up her hands, I have to hold my breath and my envy when I see that the fabric is sheer and stretches right down to the small of her back.
She’s wearing a backless dress, without it truly being backless.
“I’m so jealous of you right now,” I blurt out. “You look amazing.”
It might be the babies making her emotional, or perhaps the fact it’s her wedding day. Maybe it’s both, but she steps forward with sparkling eyes that look almost on the verge of crying, and pulls me into a hug made awkward because of her belly.
“Thank you so much.” She pulls back and looks into my eyes. “I’m so happy you decided to come. You look beautiful.”
“Of course I came. This is my job.”
She purses her lips, but her smile slips through. “I mean, of course you were going to deliver the flowers. But you dressed up, which means you’re coming to the whole wedding. You work so hard, I’m glad you decided to dress up and come out. You deserve a little fun.”
“I’m actually kind of excited.” Surprisingly, that’s not a lie. “I haven’t worn a dress like this in years, so this will be fun. I’ll still be in bed by ten,” I laugh. “But a nice meal, good music, the potential to see a live birth on the dance floor…” I giggle when she growls, then gently tap the lid of her flower box. “Wanna see?”