Page 12 of Whispers of My Skin

?

“Why are you crying, Tara?” my little sister asks, strutting into the room as if she owns the place. What a diva she’s becoming.

“Camille!” I hastily brush away my tears. “It’s nothing, I’m just feeling a little emotional I guess. It’s not every day a girl gets married, is it?”

“Hmm. Well, I must say you look very pretty,” she says, giving me the once-over. “I, on the other hand, look totally gorgeous.” She treats me to a dramatic twirl to show off her outfit.

“Well, thank you. Anybody would think it was your wedding,” I reply, rolling my eyes.

“I’m only telling you the way it is. I picked out this dress because I know purple suits me. It’s important to know these things if you want to make the best of yourself. You should take note, you could learn a thing or two from me.”

I change the subject to avoid being lectured further by my baby sister.

“I’m surprised Mom let you get dressed so early. Aren’t you going to wrinkle your clothes?”

“Mom has a hangover, too much champagne, I guess. When I asked at first, she said I should wait a few hours. But I know how to handle our mom, so I kept on at her, and in the end she told me to do whatever I wanted, as long as I left her alone.”

Camille continues parading around the room, and if I close my eyes, it’s easy to forget her young age. I just hope she doesn’t become the shallow kind of girl I used to be a few years ago.

She deserves to be better person.

Way better.

“I’m glad you went with that dress, at least you got that right,” Camille comments. “It’s very flattering and shows off your figure. Your cleavage especially is on point. Joel’s going to be blown away.”

I look at myself once more in the full-length mirror. I have to admit that it is indeed a beautiful gown, and I knew as soon as I put it on that I’d found my perfect dress.

It’s full-length, has a fitted lace bodice, with a deep V-neck that shows off my cleavage yet isn’t too revealing. It has a gossamer lace overlay embellished with fine beadwork, and a gorgeous pleated skirt interweaved with chiffon and lace. It’s stunning, even if I say so myself.

From the same store, I managed to find a small, delicate headpiece to compliment my dress perfectly. Now, with it skillfully integrated into my hairstyle, it makes me look almost like a movie star from the twenties. As for my shoes—I didn’t see any point in forking out on a new pair, since I already owned some that would do just fine. Keeping with tradition, they’ll be my something old.

“I doubt he’ll even notice,” I grumble in response to Camille’s comment about my boobs. Joel doesn’t look at me any more than is strictly necessary.

Secretly, I’d love him to look at me the way he used to.

But I didn’t buy this dress to impress him, I bought it because I liked it.

Keep telling yourself that. That annoying voice in my head won’t shut up lately, but I try not to listen to it. Anyway, conversations with my little sister are way more illuminating.

“Trust me, Joel will notice,” she insists.

“What on earth are you talking about, Camille?” I frown.

“I’ve seen the way he looks at you when he thinks no-one is looking,” she asserts confidently, nodding her blond head to emphasize her point. “He eats you up with his eyes, like you’re his sun and moon. I just hope someday I’ll have a sexy hunk like Joel looking at me that way as he begs me to marry him.”

“Camille!” I reprimand her. That girl lives in cloud cuckoo land sometimes. And what is a girl her age doing talking about ‘sexy hunks’?

“But it’s true,” she continues unrepentantly. “Why would I marry a man if he didn’t adore me and worship the ground I walk on?” Her comment gets me thinking. She has a point.

I’m getting married, but not for the reason everyone believes. Not because I’ve fallen head over heels in love, I remind myself. My motive is something else entirely, sadly.

“Camille, darlin’, don’t bother your sister,” my mother states, strutting into the room, and for once I appreciate her intervention.

“Oscar will shortly be arriving to walk you down the aisle,” she informs me.

Oh no. Not happening. I thought I’d made myself clear on this point, but as usual my mother has steamrollered over my wishes.

“No, mom. As I told you, I’m going to walk down the aisle on my own,” I insist.

---