Page 97 of Passing Ships

Finally, the door swings open to reveal my mother’s shocked face.

“What in the world are you two doing in here?” Mom asks as she takes the two of us in.

“It’s a long story,” Amiya says as she shoots past Mom and jogs down the hallway. “I have to find Avie,” she calls behind her.

She disappears into the stairwell, and Mom turns back to me.

“What is going on? Everyone has been looking for the two of you.”

“We were returning a ladder and somehow got stuck in here. Amiya must be afraid of tight spaces because she started to hyperventilate, and I was just trying to distract her,” I offer as an explanation.

She looks around me to where the ladder is wedged. “That’s what I was looking for. Your father and Sebby need it to hang the string lights in the banquet hall,” she says.

Groaning, I turn and lift the fucking ladder back onto my shoulder and walk it back out of the damn closet and head to the stairs.

This wedding is going to be the death of me.

Sebastian is going to owe me big time.

Amiya

I open the door to the bride’s dressing room and rush inside. Avie is wrapped in a white silk robe, her hair and makeup perfect, sitting in a chair facing the pedestal dressing mirror, looking as if she’s about to hyperventilate.

“Where have you been?” she asks as I close the door behind me.

“Locked in a closet, letting Lennon feel me up,” I reply.

Her eyes go wide. “What?”

I make my way to her and place my hands on her shoulders as our eyes meet in the reflection.

“Ugh, I’m having an existential crisis here. I can’t stop sleeping with him. I think something is wrong with me. I need a doctor or something,” I say as I adjust the diamond comb in her hair.

“A doctor? What? To sew your vagina shut?” she asks.

“Yes. Maybe.”

“I’m sorry. I really want to help you, but I’m kind of in the middle of something at the moment,” she says, but the panic has left her voice.

“Right. Shit. What can I do?” I ask.

“Can you lock my mother in a closet?” she asks.

“On it.”

She laughs.

“I know she’s been a little nutty through this entire process, but admit it—it’s been nice, too, having a mother fawn all over you, hasn’t it?” I ask.

She blinks tears away as she lays her hand over mine, and we hold each other’s gaze in the mirror.

“Yes, it has,” she whispers.

“You don’t have to act like it annoys you on my account, you know. Momma C might be a tad overbearing, but I’m happy you have her.”

“I know.”

I wrap my arms around her neck and hug her from behind.

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