Claire
Istillwasn'tquitesure how I had gone from arguing about marrying Mason today to standing in front of a giant mirror, watching as Emma and the makeup artist, Mariela, attempted to make me beautiful. I sighed, deciding to chalk it up to the phenomenon of how oddly time moved in the week between Christmas and New Year's. The reality was that I loved the bossy asshole in all his bossy glory. But, of course, it didn't help my mental clarity or willpower that Mason fucked me into slack-jawed oblivion every chance he got.
I looked at my lingerie, knowing I had to get a minute alone to change the panties. The control freak even took me aside this morning andtoldme about these dummy panties.
I stood at the counter in the kitchen, pouring milk into my coffee. The dishwasher ran beside me, just loud enough for me to miss the sound of him softly approaching. His arms snaked around my waist, and his lips found my ear. “There's a set of lingerie for you with the dress,” he told me with no preamble.”
“I remember your gift.”
“There's an entire set. You need the best foundation garments, or that's what the designer said when she sold me on making them for you.” He turned his hand over and revealed the pearl panties from Christmas. “Wear the other ones while you get ready with your friend, but I expect my wife to be wearing these pearls and edged to the point of desperation when we say our vows.” I took them from him and felt rather than saw his smile against my neck. “Good girl.”
He walked away, and that was the last I saw of him, though I never turned around, so I hadn’t actually seen him.
“Come on, Claire. It's time,” Emma interrupted my impromptu flashback. She already had the dress gathered at my feet, and all I had to do was step in. I took a steadying breath as I did. She and I slid the fabric into place. I stared dumbly at the dress.
“It’s so pretty.”
“Youare so pretty.” Emma corrected from behind me as she closed the buttons on the back. “This dress just accentuates what you already have.”
I didn’t know what to say as I looked at myself. I really did look stunning, like someone who belonged beside Mason.
Emma stepped back, looking at me with her hands on her hips and a twist to her lips. “She looks gorgeous, but what about a bolder lip?”
“A bolder lip would be nice,” Mariela’s voice held a note of forced patience. “ButClairesaid she wanted something light,” they went back and forth for hours over the perfect look. I wanted Mason to think I was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen, but I didn't have a dream wedding makeup look outside of that.
“A bolder lip might be nice,” and I really did think so. But, of course, I wasn't an expert on this kind of thing, so swaying my opinion wasn't difficult.
“Are you excited?” Emma asked me for what was likely the tenth time. She looked at herself in the mirror now, and though she pretended to fix her makeup, I think she just needed a distraction.
I sighed, already tired of this conversation. I wanted to be happy about my wedding, not irritated about convincing Emma I wanted to marry Mason, “I am.”
“And you’re happy?” She ran her finger along the edge of her lip, wiping off an invisible smudge beyond her lipline.
“About being his wife?” I gave her a pointed look through the mirror to suggest I wasn’t happy about her line of questioning, “Yes. I love him. The wedding itself?” I shrugged. “I'm nervous, but it will be okay.” I watched as Mariela applied a darker shade of lipstick that made me look far sexier.
“And you’re sure… about him?”
I took a deep breath, I didn't want to be mad at Emma today, and I knew she was coming from a good place. I smiled at how nice the new color looked and turned to Mariela, “Do you mind giving us a few minutes?”
“Of course not, but if you wait a minute, I just need to set your face, and then I'm done.” She held up the little bottle, and I closed my eyes. She misted my face and then waved to dry it off more quickly. “All set.”
I smiled, “I appreciate all your hard work today.”
“You're a beautiful canvas. All I did was add some embellishments.” I scoffed lightly, not realizing it until it had already slipped out. I sucked at taking compliments. She narrowed her eyes, “You're stunning.” She pointed at me seriously, “That man of yours is lucky.”
“Thank you,” I answered, trying to sound more grateful.
“She's right, Claire. You're a fox.” Emma turned to face me now that we weren't discussingherissues withmyrelationship. “Every time we've gone out together, guys check you out left and right. You don't even notice how many options you have. You're so oblivious sometimes.” She turned to the mirror before adding, “I'm not sure he deserves you.” There was far too much bitterness in her tone forthatto be a joke.
“Best wishes!” the makeup artist called as she beat a hasty retreat, clearly not wanting to get caught in whatever was about to happen between Emma and me.
The door thudded softly behind her. I turned to my friend and met her steely gray gaze.
“Yes. I am more than happy with choosing him. I know there are a lot of things about our relationship that are less than ideal. But what areyouso concerned about?”
She nibbled on her lip, her eyes trained on the floor, “He lied to you constantly, Claire. He went out of his way to make people lie to you. I'm one of those people, and it was…” she struggled to find the right words, “It fucking sucked. I hated lying to you.”
“I hated being lied to,” I agreed mildly, but my rage simmered under the surface.