Page 121 of Old Acquaintances

They looked at Tucker.

My shoulders dropped. I pulled my hair in front of my body, staring at the ground. I should have tried on the dress before, but I didn’t have time to get home between graduation and moving, and Gracie was adamant that it would get ruined I had possession of it. When I put it on that day, I wondered why she picked it. It dipped low in the front and pinched tightly around my boobs, offering up a fair bit of cleavage.

I finally looked up, seeing Tucker.

“You look beautiful,” he said gently.

But, noting how his brothers looked at me, I knew Gracie wouldn’t agree.

“Ella?” my mother called.

I slowly walked into the room next door. Gracie was dressed, Hattie fixing her veil. Hattie looked so pretty in her dress.Contained. Ashlyn handed me flowers, taking a peek at my chest, and Hattie faced me with a smile. Her smile shifted. She looked at my mom who, for once in her life, didn’t bat a lash at my attire.

“You look lovely, honey,” she simply said.

Gracie turned her head. “Ella, how come your dress slit is so much higher than theirs? And why are you so tan -oh my God.” She saw me properly and I thought she might throw herself at me.

I cringed. “I’m sorry, you picked it!”

“Then you must have sent me the wrong measurements!”

I looked at myself. “I don’t think it’s that bad.”

“That’s because you’re aslutand this is how you dress!”

Our mother snapped, “Gracie!”

Gracie stomped her foot. “It’s my wedding and everyone’s going to be staring at her!”

They all tried to calm her down. I turned and walked into the hotel lobby, my breath quickening. I tried fixing myself, pushing my boobs down and stalked off, looking for a bathroom. I found an empty hallway and a hand grabbed my arm.

Tucker eyed me with concern. “Are you okay?”

I swallowed, my nose itchy. “I’m going to ruin my sister’s wedding.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Tellherthat.” I pressed my fingers under my eyes, trying to stop the tears from falling into my makeup.

Tucker took my wrist and dragged me to a decorative armchair. He forced me to sit, and he knelt, putting his hands on my knees. “I’m sorry.” He shook my legs. “I’m sorry that she said that to you and I’m sorry for all those years that I made you feel like this.”

I pulled my hands away.

“No one should ever make you feel bad about yourself.” He ran his eyes over my hair and my arms, my dress. “You are so beautiful.”

“That’s because my boobs are out,” I groaned.

“No. You could be wearing a paper bag with your hair on fire, and you’d still be beautiful.” His hand moved slightly, giving the impression of him wanting to do or say more.

He had been very careful about touching me after our night together. He still gave me playful pinches and cheeky contact, but I wondered if he ever had to restrain himself, if he wanted to hold me or caress me the way he had. How could someone puttheir mouth on your most intimate places and call you perfect and not think about it every time you were in the same room?

We acted normal with each other because our friends were always around. Alone in this restroom hallway, my screeching sister nearby, he had the look of wanting to comfort me. His eyes fell on my mouth. I was upset, I had been crying. He might have considered my sister’s words -you’re a slut- and decided against kissing my cheek or holding my hand since I had once begged him for sex.

No need to add insult to injury.

He said, “We can make her pay.”

I laughed and pushed his shoulder. “It’s her wedding. She’s allowed to be a monster. I don’t want to make it worse.”

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