Page 76 of Theirs to Corrupt

Tears sting my eyes.

All of a sudden, my day is brighter, and I know I’ll get through the next few hours. “How long are you here for?”

“Two full days after this. And your man put us up here. So luxe.”

“You look beautiful.” And she does, in a figure-hugging dress and earrings that actually match.

“It’s borrowed. A bit too small, but David isn’t complaining.” She giggles.

“It’s fabulous on you.”

“Thank you, darling,” she says, breaking the final word into two pieces, making it sound like dah-ling.

Then she pours mimosas for us and the stylist.

Ariella, unsurprisingly, refuses. But I can’t help but notice the way she eyes the brownies.

After replenishing the chocolate supply in front of me, Natalie chatters nonstop, about all kinds of different things, even pulling the hair stylist into the conversation. When she’s finished, Nat is equally engaging with the makeup artist.

“Lawd, Tess, you have to try this,” Natalie says, bringing over a decadent-looking chocolate truffle.

The rich, velvety sweetness melts on my tongue, and I close my eyes in bliss. “You’re going to have to roll me down the aisle if I eat any more of these.”

“Betting you will work off the calories later tonight,” she says with a wicked grin.

“Nat!” I protest, but I can’t help laughing. “You’re terrible!”

Remorseless, she refills mimosas all around.

Right on time, a woman from the bridal store arrives with my gown, shoes, and veil.

I slip on the sandals, and then she and Natalie help me into the dress.

Finally the stylist moves back in to attach the veil to my updo.

And we have almost half an hour to spare.

“My God,” Nat says. “You look like a princess. Truly, truly.”

“That’s sweet of you.”

“Honesty.”

She’s so sincere I almost believe her.

“Thank you. And thank you for being here.”

“I wouldn’t have missed it.”

Except for Natalie, everyone leaves. And the clock keeps moving forward.

Butterflies start to dance in my tummy.

There’s a knock on the door, and Ariella opens it, admitting a woman with a camera.

With tons of confidence, she strides over to me. “I’m Marcella. You must be the future Mrs. Merritt.”

Will I ever get used to thinking of myself in those terms?