Page 32 of Bridesmaid to Bride

“Exactly.” I squeeze her hand. “Consider it room for cake.”

“Or bloat,” Skye says. “There should always be room for a little bloat.”

I ask the seamstress to show me the paperwork that came with the dress, as it was shipped from New York where Paige selected it. It fit perfectly then. When we make it to the counter, the seamstress flips through the order forms until she finds it and hands it to me. There’s an alteration request to take it in. “What the hell?”

“What’s going on?” West peeks over my shoulder, his proximity sending a tingle down my spine that has no business being there.

“Look.” I jab my finger at the paper. “Why was this alteration request made? I certainly didn’t make it.” I call over the seamstress. “Excuse me, who made this alteration request?”

“I’m sorry, miss. I don’t know. It was like that when I received the paperwork. I can call the New York shop.”

“Please do, and thank you,” I say.

West’s eyes narrow. “First the pupcake fiasco with the dogs, then the double-booking, and now this?”

“I know.” I put a hand on my hip. “And every time there’s an issue, it’s impossible to trace who’s behind it. The dogs were ordered to be left alone by an unknown hotel staffer and same with the double-booking. Now, this alteration was made by a person at the shop in New York.”

“It’s like someone’s gunning to make problems for this wedding.”

“Right? What’s next, locusts?” My stomach churns. “This is starting to seem intentional.”

“Oh, clue me in.” Skye can’t hide the twitch of her lips.

I lower my voice. “Looks like we might have a saboteur.”

“But who?” West goes back into concentration mode.

I think about Olivia and how she was all over Zach. But that’s not enough to accuse her, so I say, “No idea. But nobody messes with my sister’s big day.”

Skye goes into a zone. “We need to investigate this and stop whoever’s behind it.”

“We’re on it,” West and I say in unison.

I remind myself that everything’s going to be fine. We’ve got this, and nothing is unfixable.

Skye cracks her knuckles. “Let’s roll some heads.”

15

Jellies 'n Lube

EVA

I’ve made it through the day, and “Like a Virgin” blares from the vintage boombox of Paige’s honeymoon suite—a gorgeous, plush living room with a two-story stone fireplace, wrap around views of the ocean, a separate room with a king bed, a massive flatscreen, and stocked bar. Right now it’s decorated in neon lights, cassette tapes, and Pacman, and cameras surround the place as I shimmy to the beat wearing my off-shoulder pink Flashdance sweatshirt. For Paige’s bachelorette party, we’re going full-on eighties because she’s obsessed.

And I’m so glad to have some fun scheduled. After brunch and dealing with Paige, I came to this room to find West’s parents here decorating for me, which was an amazing surprise, especially because I had to make sure everything’s set for tomorrow’s dinner cruise on the bay. They rock.

“Guys, I look like I raided Studio 54.” I spin around in my jelly shoes, which are so uncomfortable, by the way.

“Or Molly Ringwald’s closet.” Jess’s leg warmers slouch around her ankles while she dances. Coco Chanel, decked out in a mini neon tutu, yaps in agreement.

“Hey, respect the decade that gave us Dirty Dancing.” Paige sways with a glass of Chardonnay in one hand and Dior’s leash in the other. The poor dog looks confused by her faux mohawk.

We all raise our glasses—bubble gum pink plastic—and clink them. Paige herself is head-to-toe Cyndi Lauper, right down to the ratted red hair and armful of chained gloves.

“Girls just wanna have fun, right?” She grins, wrangling Balls, who’s more interested in the chip and dip than in our festivities.

“Most definitely!” I sink into the comfort of being surrounded by my sister, her friends, and her canine babies. The energy is electric, laughter mingling with the synthesizer beats and electric rhythms of the music, and for a moment, the weight of all the wedding planning, trying to give Foster a chance, and taking over Dad’s law firm doesn’t feel like a pair of concrete shoulder pads.

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