Drop Dead Gorgeous(117)
The next gown is wrong too, and the one after that is even worse.
It’s a sparkly number that somehow makes me look like a constipated fairytale princess. Too New Jersey, if that makes any damn sense, and as a half-Italian, avoiding any Jersey Shore comparisons is vital to me.
Which probably means I’ll have to come back another time to try on even more gowns. Abi and Archie might kill me if I make them sit through this again, but I need their help and want someone to celebrate with when I do find The One.
Because I will.
Against all odds, I found a husband-to-be, a venue with an opening for our short-notice ceremony and big reception, and I will find a dress that makes me feel special for my big day.
Abi adjusts my bra straps, beaming at my reflection even though she already told me this dress is ridiculous and Archie made a rather harsh comment about my being ready for Wedding Day: 90s Vegas Style with the amount of bling thrown on this thing.
“When do you want to come check out the invitations?” Abi chirps. She co-owns a local specialty floral boutique and is handling all of my flower arrangements personally. But as my maid of honor, she offered to do the invitations as well.
Shit.
“Oh, yeah, sorry! I’ve been so busy with work and dress hunting, I totally forgot about that! When do you want me to come by the boutique to see them? Colin and I have a breakfast date tomorrow morning to talk about the wedding, so we could rearrange and come by the shop instead. But Archie and I have a job lined up right after—”
“With Bitch-ella, the Ice Queen,” Archie interrupts with a mutter that I can’t really disagree with, but I give him a side-eye that begs him to at least try to be professional about the client.
“So, we’d have to be fast,” I finish.
Abi purses her lips thoughtfully as she places her hands on my hips, moving my body slightly to the side and staring at my shape in the mirror. “No way. You two do a breakfast date, and we can figure out a time when it’s not a rush. Tomorrow’s Friday, so maybe we can do it after work and then grab drinks?”
I nod, ignoring the flutters of butterflies in my stomach. I don’t know why I’m so nervous all of a sudden. I mean, yes, there’s a lot to do and not much time to do it in, but everything’s going to plan, just like I hoped.
Papa.
Colin.
The wedding.
I should be on cloud nine. Yet, these butterflies don’t feel like good, happy flutters. More like a tornado of responsibility, expectations, and nerves.
Abi turns me, eyeing me thoughtfully. “You good? Everything all right, Vi?”
I don’t want to bring down the mood or start examining the questions in my head too closely, so I play pretend, telling myself that slightly cold feet are normal. After all, getting married is a big deal and not one to take lightly.
“I’m fine. It’s just this damn corset!” I say with a grimace, grabbing my sides. “After I meet with Colin tomorrow, everything should be good to go.” I look between the both of them, spreading my arms out to the side and twirling across the showroom stage in my dress one last time. “Final verdict?”
“Not my favorite,” Abi says, shaking her head.
“I agree,” Archie co-signs. “It’s totally giving me Tangled, meets the Little Mermaid, meets Cinderella vibe, but like they all became dancers on the Vegas strip. Emphasis on the strip.”
“Gee, thanks, Arch,” I mutter sourly. But funnily enough, I agree with his assessment, although my terms were a little less . . . animated and crude.
Archie winks at me. “You’re welcome, sweet cheeks.”
“Don’t worry, Vi. We’re going to keep looking and find the perfect dress that’ll knock Colin flat on his ass!” Abigail’s assertion settles me slightly, helping me focus on the issue at hand . . . my dress. If I can just find that, everything else will be smooth sailing.
“Yeah, turn that frown upside down!” Archie adds, pushing at my cheeks with two fingers. He looks deep into my eyes, and I’m expecting some sweet words of wisdom, but I should know better with Archie. “Just think, before you know it, Colin won’t have to bag it up anymore, and you’ll get to feel the real thing. How big we talking here?” He holds his fingers a few inches apart, spreading them to indicate a bigger and bigger appendage, but it’s seeing the whites of his eyes growing as I don’t stop him that does me in.
“Oh, God, you’re too much!” I groan, forcing his hand down and chuckling.
Come on, girl. Everything is going to work out. It has to.
*
“I’m calling off the engagement.”
The words hit me like a freight train, a grenade launched directly into my heart.
When Colin told me he wanted to meet with me this morning, I was under the impression it was to discuss the details of our wedding, plan who we were inviting, what DJ we were going to use, etc.
Never in a million years did I think it would be to dump me.
“Violet?” Colin asks, noticing that I’ve gone completely rigid, my latte frozen inches away from my lips and my half-eaten bagel in front of me.
Colin Radcliffe. My fiancé. My ex-fiancé, I correct with a wince. Fucking rat is what my mind is yelling loudly.
Dressed in a gray, freshly pressed, tailored suit, Colin’s blond hair is styled and parted, and he’s gazing at me with expectancy, as if I’m supposed to burst into hysterics, crying and making a scene worthy of Hamlet.