“Like you’re engaged to a vampire.” She steps closer, presses a finger to the darkest of the bruises on my collarbone. “I mean, seriously? Did he gnaw on you or something?”
“Oh, shut up!” I slap her hand away. “So I take it this dress is a no, then?”
She snorts. “Honey, they’re all going to be no’s if you plan on letting those bruises stop you. I mean, seriously,” she demands as she circles me, poking at the numerous love bites. “How many freaking hickeys did the man give you?”
“None of your business.” I step back into the small cubicle and slam the door before she and that finger of hers can leave me with even more marks. “So, should I try on some long-sleeve dresses, then? To hide them?”
“Don’t you dare!” she squawks. “It’s summer in Vegas. You’ll look ridiculous.”
“More ridiculous than I do with all of these?”
“You don’t look ridiculous. To be honest, you look kind of hot. Especially if I think about Ethan being all caught up in the moment and biting on you like that. I bet he’s gorgeous when he’s doing it.”
I throw a hanger over the top of the dressing room door at her. “Excuse me, but that’s my fiancé you’re lusting after.”
“Hey, you’re the do-gooder here. Consider it a community service. It’s been a while since I’ve had a man that fine in my bed.”
“Yeah, well, my social conscience just isn’t that developed. I don’t share.”
“I wouldn’t, either, if he was mine.” She snorts. “But you’d better get used to wading through the drool. Ninety percent of the women in the Western world are lusting after your man. And can you blame them?”
No, I re
ally can’t. Ethan is an incredibly beautiful person, both inside and out. He’s brilliant, funny, rich and yet still humble enough to have his own set of insecurities, insecurities he finally let me close enough to be privy to. Is it any wonder women pretty much trip over themselves for a chance with him?
There’s a little voice in the back of my head telling me that maybe one of them would be better for him. Or at least, healthier. She’d fit into his world better and being with her wouldn’t destroy every important familial relationship Ethan has.
It’s a realistic thought—and a dangerous one because I can see myself falling down that rabbit hole way too easily. But Ethan didn’t ask any of the millions of women lusting after him to marry him. He didn’t fly one of them to Vegas for a quickie wedding because he couldn’t stand the thought of being away from her for one more second.
He asked me. He flew me here. This is my wedding day.
Repeating those words in my head like a mantra, I slip out of the deceptively simple white sheath dress Tori picked out, before passing it through the door for her to hang on the hanger I’d used as a weapon against her. Then I shimmy into the second dress she chose, a long, slender column of white that hugs me from chest to ankle and emphasizes every curve I’ve got—which, if I’m being honest, isn’t many. Still, the dress does an incredible job of showing off the ones I do have.
I kind of fall in love with it at first sight.
But it’s also sleeveless, with a sweetheart neckline that leaves my shoulders, upper back and collarbones bare.
“Hurry up!” Tori calls impatiently from the other side of the dressing room door. “I want to see!”
“What’s the point?” I tell her. “Every single dress you picked out is going to show the bruises.” And it’s not that I’m ashamed of them, because I’m not. It’s just that the love bites are personal. They’re between Ethan and me, his way of trying to take the pain of the past and turn it into something better. Something I could own instead of it owning me.
But other people don’t know that and I don’t want them to know it. What’s between him and me is nobody’s business but ours and I don’t want anyone being privy to this very private, very emotional part of it. Not the people here in Vegas who might see me going into the wedding chapel and not the rest of the world if something goes wrong and the pictures leak. Which they probably will.
“I should pick out a long-sleeve blouse and skirt to wear. Ethan just wants me to marry him. He won’t care how I’m dressed when I’m doing it.”
Tori gasps. She actually gasps. Then, for long seconds, she doesn’t say a word. She doesn’t make a sound, doesn’t so much as breathe as far as I can tell. I’m just beginning to think that maybe I gave her a stroke when the door between us flies open and she’s standing there, eyes narrowed and face filled with a resolve that I rarely see from her.
“You are not, I repeat not, wearing a skirt and blouse to your own wedding!” Her voice gets higher and higher with each syllable she utters until I start to worry about the store’s display windows cracking from the sound.
And I mean, I know Tori takes fashion to another level—hell, it’s pretty much a religion with her, one she insists on preaching to me at every turn—but my relationship with Ethan isn’t about that. It’s never been about that. If it was, he would have given up on me, the girl who rotates the same two suits over and over again and who prefers yoga pants to couture, a long time ago.
“What’s the point in wasting all this time and money?” I complain. “I just want to get married.”
“You will get married,” she assures me. “And you’ll do it in a kickass dress with perfect makeup and perfect hair and the sexiest stilettos that Vegas has to offer. And it will all cost a fortune and your fiancé won’t even notice the blip on his credit card.”
“That’s not true—”
“Yes, it is. Now stop whining and come out here and turn around so I can see the back of that dress because the front looks amazing.”