Page 32 of Make Me Want it Too

“And Spencer?” Wood says quietly.

“Yeah.” And Spencer. I look down at my hands twisted in my lap. I hate how silly that makes me sound.

Wood reaches over and gives my shoulder a squeeze. “I would have done the same,” he whispers. His hand is warm as it lingers there. Big and strong and I instantly don’t feel as alone, and I wouldn’t mind one of those hugs he seems to give to everyone right about now.

But he gets up from the bed instead and grabs a fresh towel, then heads into the bathroom.

I flop back on my pillow, willing the sun to stop rising so I don’t have to go back out there and face any of those people again. Then my stomach growls.

Right. I’ve got to check and inject and eat and blah blah blah, I’m a slave to my body’s basic functions because it can’t do it on its own and I’ll die otherwise. It’s cool.

I fling myself out of bed, ignoring a bit of light-headedness, and grab a banana from the fruit basket. The basket looks fuller than it did yesterday. Hm.

My insulin and stuff is in the bathroom, which is currently occupied by a naked and showering Wood. So I shuffle over to the dresser to get some clothes, mouth stuffed with half a banana, the other half in my hand.

On the dresser, next to the framed itinerary, is now a framed menu for the day—what’s available for breakfast, lunch, dinner, and dessert, even a list at the bottom of snack options.

When did that get here? Guess they left it when they brought in extra linens and things during dinner last night?

I’m feeling better after scarfing down that banana…and then Wood walks out in just a towel wrapped around his hips. Blond hair wet, skin all tan and smooth over ripple-y ab muscles and that v-shaped cut over his hip bones that points down directly to his?—

“Mace. Macy! Hello!” Bex waves a hand in front of my face, and I snap out of it.

No, I was not still thinking about Wood in that towel. I wasn’t. I was totally thinking about how the chiffon ruffles on my bridesmaid dress really… accentuate my figure and that this shade of peach totally doesn’t clash with my red hair. At all.

“Oh. Hi. Sorry.” I look at her in the mirror over my shoulder.

“You okay?”

“Yep.” I wish people would stop asking me that. I’m completely, one hundred percent fine.

“So—” Bex smiles big. “What do you think?”

I turn around. She’s in her gown, and I quickly step off the platform surrounded by mirrors so she can step up to be admired.

Livvy and Margot immediately hop up in their matching peach dresses and gush over how beautiful she is as I step back. She is beautiful. And the dress is gorgeous. She’d sent me a picture, but this is the first time I’ve seen her in it. Livvy and Margot look beautiful, too. The peach complements their complexions.

Especially Margot. Her skin looks tanner, her blonde hair glowing, her blue eyes brighter. She and Wood would look good together. They’d make more sense. I don’t know why that thought popped into my head or why it bothers me so much.

“You look breathtaking, Bex,” I say.

She beams. Truly, she’s glowing in the white, ethereal lace. I told myself I wouldn’t cry anymore unless they were happy tears. I wouldn’t get upset that I’m not the one in a white dress. But I wipe a single tear from my cheek, not sure if it’s for her or for me.

The wedding coordinator, a woman who looks like she could snap me in half, comes in with her headset and clipboard, two smaller women with headsets trailing behind. She silently assesses the room and writes something down, whispers something to Jake’s mother, then leaves.

The seamstress gets to work, kneeling and pinning the hem of Bex’s dress to the perfect length.

“It is lovely, Rebecca,” Bex’s mom says as she walks around the platform in her buttoned up cardigan, her little gold cross necklace resting over her heart. She looks Bex up and down, her mouth downturned just at the corners. “I do wish, though, that you had chosen something that didn’t show quite so much skin. Maybe a little sleeve. You know, to cover that.” Mrs. Bishop gestures toward the tattoo on Bex’s shoulder. “What do you think?” She gets the attention of the seamstress. “Is there time to add a little something to it? A little lace cap sleeve or something?”

“No, Mother, I like my dress like it is,” Bex says through gritted teeth.

“Of course you do, dear.” Mrs. Bishop waves her hand. “You always did whatever you wanted to, anyway. I’m going to go have a rest before lunch.”

She leaves along with Margot and Livvy to change out of their dresses while the seamstress starts marking where the dress needs to be taken in around the waist.

“You’ve lost weight,” the seamstress says matter-of-factly with a click of her tongue.

Bex grimaces. “Pre-wedding jitters. Sorry.”

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