Page 48 of His Bride Bargain
“Aw, sweetie, it’s okay. Every girl gets nervous before her wedding. It’s part of the process. And it’s what we’re here for. We’ll support you, won’t we, ladies?”
There’s a murmur of affirmation from Katie’s lackeys. How many of them are only agreeing with her so they don’t get in trouble? I start imagining her as some kind of medieval monarch with an extreme wig and extreme makeup, bossing about her maids and sending them off to be beheaded if they bring her the wrong type of bread or wrong color corset, laughing maniacally at her own power.
I’m so distracted by my own fantasy that I completely miss what she says to me next. She stares at me expectantly. I blink in confusion. She sighs and repeats herself. “Do you feel like anything needs adjusting here?” She waves her hands at my body like she’s going to do any sewing alterationsherself.
“Yes.”
She crooks her finger at a woman with a notepad, ready to write down whatever I need. “Go on?”
“Everything,” I frown.
“Candy, Candy, what’s the matter?” Katie asks, her face the picture of sympathy — if that picture had been drawn by a raccoon with its eyes shut. “You can tell me. Girls’ secret, I promise.”
“Do I really have to wear all this?” I throw my hands up and when they land back down on the skirt, they’re absorbed into the layers of chiffon.
Katie touches my face again, her hands ice-cold. “Darling, I promise. You look wonderful. Everyone’s eyes are going to be on you — everyone in the whole city. You don’t want the papers to tear you apart, do you?”
I shake my head, not trusting myself to say anything else. The papers might like this dress, but social media is going to hate it. There’s nothing more cruel than a normal person with too much time on their hands making fun of someone with more wealth and influence than them. It’s not like I’m a household name, but Aiden is.
And soon, after this big, grand wedding, I will be too.
“Look,” says Katie, poking me in the back to make me stand up straight. “You know what I see?” She wraps an arm around my shoulders in a move that’s presumably supposed to be comforting but makes me feel like I’m about to be thrown to the wolves. “I see a beautiful young woman who’s going to make her man’s mouth drop open when he sees her. I see someone who’s pretty and smart and confident. Don’t you agree?”
“Yes,” I say through gritted teeth. Why were most of the items on her list to do with how I look? She sounds like one of those knock-off influencers whose patronizing bullshit is supposed to be empowering. Whatever she thinks I’m insecure about, she’s wrong.
“Perfect,” she says, flashing her teeth at me again. “All righty, so, if you’re happy with the dress — don’t make that face.”
I force my face back into a neutral expression. I can’t summon a smile.
“So, we’ll break here for lunch. I’ve made reservations at the King’s Hotel. Their restaurant is to die for.”
“Thanks,” I say weakly. The attendants start stripping the dress from me, leaving me staring at myself in nothing but my underwear. Somehow, I’m more comfortable looking like this than I am in any of those clothes.
“Then,” steamrolls Katie, “We’ll move on to the afternoon itinerary! Yay!” She raises her hands to her face as she squeaks in an attempt to be cutesy. I give her my best smile, which at this point is pretty bad. “We’ve got jewelry fittings and we’re going to pick rings. Oh, I can’t wait! This is going to be the most perfect wedding ever!”
“Yeah,” I say, though I don’t believe it at all. I’ve never felt less perfect about anything.
CHAPTER30
AIDEN
These shoes don’t fit me. They’re brand-new and the leather is so stiff it’s digging into the backs of my heels, and they don’t fit. It’s not stopping me pacing, though. It’s pacing or throwing up — and I’d rather deal with the blisters.
What do I do if she doesn’t come?
Katie told me yesterday that she wouldn’t be surprised if Candice left town before the ceremony. She laughed it off as if she was joking, but it’s sickeningly plausible. Candice never wanted all this shit. I promised her we wouldn’t have to do it like this, but when my mother gets her hands on something, it’s her way or nothing.
I wish I could talk to Candice. I want to know if she’s okay.
A twinge of guilt hits me in the stomach. I should have talked to her more over the last month. I’ve barely seen her at all except for business meetings, and she is really good at keeping a professionally straight face in front of other people. I have no idea how she does it. I’m being torn apart. Is it the same for her? Is she tormented by decisions, by wondering what the future will be?
It’s not that I haven’t tried. I wanted to meet for lunch a bunch of times over the last month but each time I got a weak excuse. The last time I saw her was at the rehearsal last weekend, and by now I know exactly what her forced smile looks like.
Is something that’s going to be so great for business really worth breaking her for?
I’m being dramatic. Of course she’ll show. She knows what this means for us. It’s one day of discomfort for a whole lifetime of success. Mettie’s means the world to her, and unless she’s come up with another brilliant plan to save herself, I think she’ll follow through.
I hit the far wall again and turn, wincing at the sharp pain in my foot. I’m pretty sure I’m drawing blood at this point.