Page 1 of One Touch

Chapter 1

Lily

Ishould’ve known myfairy tale wedding was doomed when that damn bird showed up.

Up until then, it had been your classic wedding set-up. Chaos. Last-minute prep. My hairstylist yanking at my hair follicles like she wanted me bald. The makeup artist attacking my face with the determination of a finger-painting five-year-old. The photographer capturing my every grimace for posterity.

All normal, standard stuff.

And then—I kid you not—a robin landed on the windowsill.

“Holy Disney princess moment,” I muttered, eyeing the little feathered omen.

My friend from high school, Mary-Beth, paused her veil-wrangling to squint at our visitor. “Lils, that bird looks shadier than your ex’s Tinder profile.”

I scoffed. “Which one?”

Mary-Beth, aware of how many shady exes I had, wisely chose not to respond.

“Come on,” I said, my eyes fixed on the bird. “She’s clearly my Fairy Birdmother, here to usher in my happily ever after with Vlad.”

“Either that, or she’s here to give you avian flu on your big day.”

Ignoring her, I held out my hand. “Hey, little friend. Come say hello.”

To my shock—and Mary-Beth’s horror—the bird actually flew over. It landed on my shoulder, cocking its head as if to say, “You sure about this, honey?”

“Oh my god,” I whispered. “I’m Snow White.”

For a moment, the chaos froze. The makeup artist and hairstylist exchanged bemused glances, momentarily pausing their frantic preparations. Even the photographer’s camera stopped its incessant clicking.

And then the little feathered jerk pooped on my dress and flew off.

“Are you freaking kidding me?” I practically screamed, staring at the dirty white goo dripping down my midnight black dress.

“Don’t worry, don’t worry!” Mary-Beth said, looking around for something to clean me with. Unfortunately, there was no sink in here so she grabbed a bottle of water. “Bird poop is very lucky. Everyone says it. And on your wedding day, it’s probably double or triple—”

“It’s not lucky! It’s, like, the dictionary definition of bad luck!”

She started to pour water onto the poop, creating a milky, poopy mess all the way down my black organza sleeve.

“This is unbelievably gross. This has to be why wedding dresses are always white—to hide the bid poop.”

“It’s coming out. Be patient. You’ll be good as new in no time. And one day, you’ll be able to tell your grandchildren all about it and laugh.”

I felt a pang in my chest. “Vlad doesn’t want kids.”

Mary-Beth’s eyebrows shot up. “Really?”

“He calls them ‘soul vampires.’”

Mary-Beth somehow managed to keep a smile on her face. “He’s such a . . . creative spirit.”

That was true. Vlad was creative. My fiancé was the lead singer of a post-hardcore band called The Impalers. He was a force of nature.

In fact, he’d pretty much designed the whole wedding himself. We were getting married at The Gold Mine, a dingy live music venue in Goldharbor Bay where his band had played their first-ever gig. Currently, I was getting ready in the backstage area. There was a battered couch that stank of stale sweat and beer, an inexplicably sticky floor, and graffiti on the wall that read, “Groupies welcome!”

Vlad had picked out my wedding gown—a dramatic charcoal-colored number that looked more suitable for a Tim Burton movie than a wedding. As for my shoes, he wouldn’t let me wear heels because he was the same height as me—five foot ten—so if I wore heels, I towered over him. He told me to wear flats and he picked out a pair of Cuban-heeled cowboy boots for himself.

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