Page 108 of Making the Save
They put Wyatt in a chair and snapped a smock around his neck, so Carly, who was in charge of hair, could trim his beard and hair. He’d gone real mountain man over the last few weeks and I was a little sad to see him go.
“Can I do something with the eyebrows?” Carly asked him, a pair of small scissors in her hand.
“What the fuck is wrong with my eyebrows?”
“You look like a serial killer.” Carly said.
“That doesn’t even make sense,” Wyatt said.
My hair had already been styled into effortless waves and we’d moved on to make up.
“Not too much, Cherise,” Francine ordered her make up artist. “I want my fairy bride to look virginal.”
“But I’m not, though,” I said with a bit of a cackle. “Not even a little bit. But you do your best.”
“Tink,” Wyatt barked “You think I should do something with my eyebrows?”
I shook my head. “Your eyebrows are perfect.”
“That’s what I thought too.”
Cherise went back to work on my face, while Francine kept a careful watch as both her creations came to life.
After a light lunch, and some yerba mate for natural energy, I suited up into my fairy wedding dress concoction.
When I emerged from the bedroom, where I’d been sent to be dressed, there was a notable gasp from the crowd in my house.
“Francine,” Bea said quietly. “You’ve outdone yourself.”
“Don’t I know it,” she said.
“I feel a little silly…with the wings,” I said, pointing over my shoulder.
“Winglets,” Francine corrected me. “Not the same thing at all. Now show me you can sit, just once, then remain standing the entire rest of the time, until the limo pulls up. Which should be in a few minutes or so.”
“This is bullshit.”
I turned at the sound of Wyatt, coming out of the guest bedroom, where he’d gone to put on his suit.
He was gloriously handsome. The dark navy suit, with a copper shirt underneath, made the most of every inch of his six-foot four, two hundred and fifty plus pound frame. His hair and beard were trimmed to perfection, giving him a polished look without taking away from hisI’m a badass manexpression.
Whoever she was, his perfectly suited future wife, hisone…she was going to be so lucky.
“What’s bullshit?” Francine asked. “It fits perfectly.”
“I can barely move in the damn thing,” he grumbled, trying to lift his arms past his shoulders.
“Stop!” Francine shouted. “You’ll wrinkle or tear something! You can’t move because the suit fits. That’s the point.”
“Well, the point isn’t going to be very funny when I split these pants right down the center of my ass.”
“You’ll be able to sit,” Francine told him, as she stepped around him checking for flaws in the fit. “You won’t be comfortable, but you’ll be able to sit.”
He shook his head and muttered ‘bullshit’ again under his breath. Then he turned his head and saw me.
He’d already seen me in the dress back at Francine’s studio. So it was a surprise to see his reaction. His mouth dropped and he went wide-eyed. Like he was a kid and I was some mythical creature he’d stumbled upon.
“Syd.”