Surrendering
to
Always
One
“I can’t believe this is happening,” I said as I looked at myself in Sloane’s three-way mirror. I was wearing a dress. My wedding dress. Well, one of them. Sloane had come to me with the idea of making two, one for the ceremony and one for the reception and I loved it.
As I stood and beheld myself sheathed in white lace, Sloane flitted around, adjusting this and checking that. Finally, she stopped fiddling and stepped back.
“Fuck, can I sew, or can I sew?” I looked at her over my shoulder and I swore there were a few tears in her eyes. We’d been friends since college and now I was finally taking the plunge and walking down the aisle with my sexy ginger prince.
“He’s going to lose his fucking mind,” she said, shaking her head at her own genius. Sloane had sketched dozens of different designs, but this was one of the first and we’d both picked it. Lace flowed over my curves, creating a perfect hourglass shape that pooled into a perfect train. My boobs were pushed up and my ass was accented and my waist was hugged in tight. It was also cut low in the back, so it showed off quite a bit of skin.
I’d never felt more sexy and I was wearing yards of fabric.
“I can’t believe it’s real,” I said in a hush and Sloane busily blew her nose.
“Are you crying?” I asked, turning and savoring the sound of the fabric shushing against the floor of Sloane’s studio.
“No,” she said, but she wasn’t convincing anyone.
“It’s okay. You can cry. I probably will.” She tossed her tissue and swiped her fingers under her eyes, wiping away any runny mascara.
“Oh, that reminds me, there are little pouches around your boobs for things like tissues.” I felt around and she was right. She’d thought of everything.
“You’re my favorite,” I said, wanting to hug her, but not wanting to mess up the dress before the big day.
It was still two months off, which simultaneously felt like an eternity and no time at all. My phone buzzed from where I’d set it on one of Sloane’s work tables and she handed it to me. I smiled when I saw who was calling.
“Hello, Mr. Blythe,” I said, unable to hide the happiness in my voice.
“Hello, future Mrs. Clarke-Blythe. How is everything going?” I rolled my eyes because he knew exactly where I was and what I was doing. He’d made it his mission to somehow see the dress before the big day, even though I’d told him repeatedly that it was bad luck. He knew I had one dress, but he didn’t know I was going to change. I was keeping that little secret for myself. I couldn’t wait to see his face.
It seemed almost impossible to believe that last fall I’d been completely against the idea of even getting engaged. We’d had to do it in stages, getting “pre-engaged” first and then he proposed for real and I accepted. Looking down at my left hand, I stared at the ruby class ring that had belonged to his mother and now belonged to me.
“Everything is fine,” I said, enjoying being the one to keep a secret from him for a change. “How are you?”
He growled at me and I laughed.
“I don’t like this.”
“Like what?” I turned from side to side, watching the dress swish. I’d never dreamed of being a princess, but now I was definitely seeing the appeal. I’d always dreamed of high heels and briefcases and a mahogany desk in a high-rise office. I’d gotten it, but the whole princess thing was definitely something I was enjoying.
“That you’re the one with the secrets.” I threw my head back and laughed.
“Yeah, the shoe is on the other foot now, huh?” He growled again.
“So, I was thinking I could grab chicken curry on my way back from Ryder’s?” Lucah’s problem-magnet brother was finally getting his shit together. He’d asked Lucah for a loan so he could get a halfway decent apartment not far from us and he’d actually found a job with his friend Gil at an alternative art gallery. And then there was the fact that he was dating my best friend and if they got married, that would make her my sister for real.
“Yeah, curry sounds good. Can you also pick up one of those monster Caesar salads?”
“Sure thing, Sunshine.” My heart fluttered every time he called me that. He’d said it hundreds of times, but it didn’t matter. I’d probably be old and senile and not remember who he was, but my heart would still get fluttery when he called me Sunshine.
“Thanks, LJ,” I said, using the nickname he hated.
“You’re lucky I love you,” he said with a chuckle.