Page 39 of The Bourbon Bargain

“Fuck!” Paige swears, her hands white-knuckled at the top of the desk as she writhes through the waves of pleasure that drag me right over the edge. Hearing her use filthy words when she’s coming is my new favorite depraved delight.

I slam home once, twice, and a third time before I’m coming with her name on my lips. “Goddamn, Paige, you’re too good.”

twenty-one

Paige

“Youcan’tleave,wehave too much scheduled! It’s imperative that you are present for all of these appointments, this is your wedding, after all. We’re on a tight timeline and there’s no time for deviations to appease your desire to try on dresses hours away.”

Mama is apoplectic, nearly blowing a fuse when I broach the subject. You would think I had told her I was headed out of the country, not going to Atlanta overnight to dress shop.

“I’ll be back tomorrow, I’m sure there will be plenty of time to make me review table linens or what cardstock to use for the place cards,” I cajole, my voice wavering with the effort to argue in the face of her anger, but I’m managing to stick to the decision I’ve made rather than let her dissuade me.

Slowly, I’m winning more of the battles I pick than losing. It gives me the confidence to keep insisting on my own happiness, but it’s not easy. Resetting my default is no joke, and walking the razor-thin line of being the willing participant in this wedding despite hating every second of it so she’ll relinquish the trust is exhausting. I’m constantly weighing the risks of pushing back too hard or on too many details, and it adds an extra level of anxiety to my already fraught state.

“You have to take this seriously, Paige. Your future depends on it. You. Cannot. Leave.” She punctuates those last words by clapping her hands like I’m a simpleton in need of short sentences. It rouses a fire in me that I wasn’t sure I had when faced with her displeasure, and I’m mad now, too.

“You can pick out whatever you think is best if it can’t wait a day,” I insist, knowing that’s what would happen, anyway. It doesn’t matter if I want a different option, Mama will end up going with her choice regardless. I’m a redundancy that makes her feel like she’s letting me be a part of the selection process when I’m just an observer.

“Paige Fairchild, you will stay here even if I have to lock you in myself,” Mama threatens, moving toward me like she’s going to physically restrain me to keep me from leaving her house.

I take a quick step back and find the wall at my back. I’m not exactly worried Mama will resort to violence, but I also can’t put it past her.

Hayes steps between us, done with being the silent observer as I wage war with my mother. He is radiating anger and his eyes flash darkly. “That’s enough,” he rumbles, his voice carrying the terror-inducing and destructive force of an earthquake. “You will not threaten my wife like that ever again. You should remember to address her as Paige Olsen going forward as she is no longer just your daughter, but a powerful woman in her own right who deserves your respect.”

Mama stops her advance toward me with a look of surprise crossing her face. Maybe she realized how out of line she was being, or maybe she’s just stunned someone stepped in to defend me for once against her tirade.

My mouth drops open at his tone and the words he just spoke. I look up at him, grateful for his interference, but this is a boundary I have to defend myself when it comes to the relationship I have with Mama. I’m also glad I’m not on the receiving end of that look and don’t envy Mama for it, even if she can launch her own scary looks right back. I reach for Hayes’s arm and keep him from unleashing his fury on Mama, who rightly deserves it.

“I’ve made my choice of where I would like to look for a wedding dress, on my own, and I’m going whether you want me to or not.” My voice is steady, thanks to the reminder from Hayes that I am powerful and I do deserve her respect, which is a win on its own. “I requested that I would pick out my own dress when I agreed to this whole thing. If I want to go to a store that I know carries dresses I like and I’m comfortable in, it’s worth a lost day of planning with you.”

“Mothers are supposed to be there when their daughters try on wedding dresses. It is my right to be a part of this process,” Mama argues, clutching at her chest like she’s been personally affronted by my assertion.

Hayes makes a noise of frustration next to me and I know he’s a second away from letting her have it. I gently run my hand up and down his back and turn to Mama again.

“You’re the one that insisted on this tight timeline. If we had more time, we could have all of the normal wedding planning mother-and-daughter moments. As it is, you had your chance yesterday, and I wasn’t satisfied with the experience. We’re doing this our way or not at all. You can get on board and still have the event you want so bad, or you can let this all be for nothing.” I cross my arms over my chest to keep my hands from visibly shaking. I’m doing a decent job of standing up for myself, but it comes at a price. The guilt, anxiety, and frustration coalesce in my belly and turn into a vile thing that has me unsure if I just made the worst decision ever, or the best.

Mama stares me down, her expression is fierce and her own arms crossed. Slowly, the anger recedes, and she looks away first, conceding the battle so she can win her war.

“Fine. Go to that godforsaken place and leave your mother out of the process. I guess I’ll never have that moment with you when you find the dress of your dreams.” Elation fills me that I have won this fight, small as it may be.

“Mama, it doesn’t matter if you see me in the dress the moment I find it. We were able to have the bridal shop experience together and that will be enough. You’ll be the one buttoning me into the dress on the wedding day, and we can have that special moment together then,” I say as a peace offering, despite still thrilling from the moment of victory.

“You wound me, Paige. That’s hardly a consolation.”

“That’s what you’re getting, Mama. Count yourself lucky to get that much with this debacle you call a wedding.”

We flew into Atlanta this morning after leaving Mama’s and I’m making the most of my freedom by spending a good portion of the day dress-shopping with Angela at Haute Belle while Hayes runs his own errands. I called ahead and Angela closed the shop so she could give me the one-on-one attention that was required, and I couldn’t be more grateful. I picked out the wedding dress of my dreams and I didn’t even feel bad about doing it on my own without Mama present. I also found something for the reception and even picked a dress to wear to the rehearsal.

I didn’t have to force myself into ballgowns that didn’t fit or fight for the style I wanted like I had to yesterday with Mama.

Angela worked her magic to make sure the dresses were exactly what I wanted, adding a few special touches to make them custom as a personal request. She’s a magician with how quickly she can perfectly alter a gown off the rack to fit like a couture piece.

“I take it this was a successful few hours?” Hayes asks, entering the shop. He doesn’t bat an eye at the stack of garment bags, shoe boxes, and jewelry cases stacked on a blush pink settee at the front of the shop where Angela and I have been chatting. He merely pulls out his wallet and hands his black AMEX to Angela, who dutifully rings up my purchases.

“Honey, you’re going to die when you see what she has planned,” Angela says, handing Hayes a receipt with his card and helping us carry my items to the black Mercedes-AMG G63 SUV parked in front of Haute Belle.

“Looks like you were busy, also.” I nudge a few bags over to make room for my shoes.