“All right, gather round, gather round,” Nikki said.
We were in Bali for a destination wedding—my destination wedding. The pack had sprung for tickets and accommodation for my entire family, and it was all of the female members that my best friend was gathering together right now, plus Scarlet and some friends from school.
“So if you know Sage, you know how damned hard it is to get her into a dress,” she said. I was standing in the adjoining room, Fabian at my side. “But this cute Pommy lad she found on her travels seems to have the magic touch. He knocked up something quick for her special day.”
“Quick?” Fabian seethed. “I sewed beads until my damn fingers bled. Thankfully, I didn’t get any on the dress. Now, where’s my wine?”
He picked up his glass and swilled the contents.
“No one’s seen the dress yet, except me and Fabes,” Nikki continued.
“Fabes is not a nickname,” he muttered, then glared down at me. “Tell me we are not making it a thing.”
“Don’t let Nik know, or it’ll be chiselled into your tombstone when you die,” I advised him.
“Without too much ado, may I present the bride!”
This was a bloody vulnerable moment, which was why I hadn’t shown anyone the dress. I’d had aunties and cousins all asking me about it since we’d landed, but Fabian was the master of putting people off, saying he needed to do some last-minute adjustments.
“I guess you’d have your work cut out for you,”Mum had said.
No more was said than that, but her sharp tone had everyone peering at her, then me, moving restlessly, like a herd of herbivores that had scented a predator near. I peered around the doorway and saw that Mum had pushed her way forward in the small crowd, standing there with her arms crossed, a flute of white wine dangling from her fingers, but it was her expression that put me on high alert.
Narrowed eyes, thinned lips curved into a smile, but there was no joy there. She had thoughts, so many thoughts about everything, especially when I’d given her next to no platform to voice them. The only time I’d spoken to her about the wedding, it was when she and Dad came to meet the guys for the first time at the pack’s house, and good manners had precluded her from letting fly, but the voicemails? I didn’t listen to them, giving that job to Nikki, and she’d heard the first and then deleted every other one.
But this bitch? She was ready to bite.
“You look fucking amazing, and I am a genius.” Fabian’s voice cut through my thoughts and broke me out of my reverie, letting me take the first steps forward.
I was met by a gratifying chorus of oohs and ahhs as I entered the room, coming from everyone but Mum.
She looked me over with eyes like a dead fish—devoid of light and kinda glazed over. I couldn’t hear the congratulations or the compliments, not while she stared at me like this. People praised me, Fabian, even Nikki somehow. In the warm bosom of my family and friends, I was beautiful, radiant.
In everyone’s eyes but hers.
“You must be proud,” Aunt Stacy said to Mum. “That’s an incredible dress. Fabian, this is your work?”
“It was specially designed for you?” one of my cousins sidled closer. “Damn girl, I am jelly, but shit, you look amazing, Sage.”
The skin around Mum’s mouth tightened, making the lines there become more pronounced.
“You must be so proud, Annie,” one of my other aunties from my dad’s side said to Mum. “Sage looks like a princess.”
That was the tipping point. Her eyes flashed, and the word was out before she even thought about it, I bet.
“No.”
Just one sound, and Mum had the room’s attention, just like she always did. She was able to cut through the bullshit and redirect things the way she liked with such little effort, it took my breath away.
“What?” my aunty said, unable to even phrase the question more politely.
Fabian and Nikki moved as one, clasping the red wine they weren’t drinking but more carrying as weapons that did not need to be concealed. They zeroed in on Mum as she opened her mouth to answer.
“This is too much dress for Sage. Hats off to Fabian. He’s obviously incredibly skilled, but…” My mother made a small tutting sound. “This is not Sage. This whole wedding is not Sage.”
“Annie, stop,” my aunt said, drawing herself up straight, a frown forming. “This is Sage’s special day.”
“There’s newspaper photographers at the wedding,” Mum said. “They’ll take photos of my daughter looking like…this. Better she hears it from me than in the gossip rags.”