Page 211 of A Merry Mountain Christmas

“No, I have bigger plans.” She keeps sifting purposefully, looking for whatever horror show she selected for me.

This place is proudly peculiar. There’s an old white Christmas tree in the corner decorated with a disturbing mix of ornaments, including the heads of baby dolls. And the velvet.Everywhere I look there’s old velvet, like in a grandparents’ basement, and the clothes are a strange mix of styles that have gone out and, according to Nicole, come back. I’ll have to trust her on that, since there’s no question, she’s hipper than I’ll ever be. There are sequins. High-neck dresses. Hammer pants. Oh no. Surely she wouldn’t ask me to wear hammer pants around Jace.

Speaking of…

I glance around and find him and Damien standing at a rack across from us, murmuring about something. Jace shrugs as Damien hands him an all-black outfit. Part of me regrets that he’ll be taking off the suit. He may be uncomfortable in it—I can tell from the way he keeps fidgeting with the collar—but he looks sexy as hell. Still, in all black, with a leather jacket slung over his shoulders…

I have to fan myself at the mental image. Then Nicole gives a cackle of victory and pulls out a poodle skirt—a literal poodle skirt—and a pink blouse.

“Ugh. Really?”

“Oh, yes,” she says. “We paid for the outfits already to guilt you into wearing them.”

“How’d you know my size?”

“I looked through your things.”

I could act pissed, but I’m not exactly surprised. “How’d you know Jace’s size?”

She purses her lips. “It’s best if you don’t know.”

I have half a mind to tell her I’m not changing. Doesn’t she want me to stand up to her? Isn’t that what this whole Bad Luck Club thing is all about?

She’d probably be pleased to discover I have a backbone. Only Jace was right. This wedding might be the exact opposite of what I’d want, but if playing dress-up in weird vintage ’50sclothes is her kink for the night, who am I to tell her no? This place certainly suits her better than a church would.

Still, it’s hard to shake the old judgments sometimes, the ones my mother fed me.There’s a time and place for everything. You’ll have a talking-to with your sisters about spending time with those wild kids, won’t you? I don’t want any of you to wind up pregnant. Marriage needs to be your choice, Mary. Acarefulchoice.Mom loved me; I know. She loved all of us, but the judgments she passed on to me…I never really wanted them. And the husband I carefully chose fed those sharp-toothed creatures a buffet feast.

I felt the judgment creatures creeping over my limbs earlier, attempting to pull me under, but isn’t it better to let people be who they are? This place doesn’t need to make me feel comfortable or fit my vision of a wedding—it needs to fit hers. And Damien’s.

It’s nice how Jace backed me off that ledge, all without making me feel bad or small or petty. And the other night, when he came over to make Christmas ornaments with Aidan, I found myself watching them from the kitchen, observing his patience, his kindness, his ability to live in the moment. My son looks at him with adoration, and I can’t deny that’s what I feel too.

I adore this man.

Again, I can hear my sisters asking me what’s holding me back. Molly, telling me she’s never seen me so happy. “You even slouched slightly just now,” she said the other night. “That’s amazing!”

I glance Jace’s way and meet his eyes. He winks, and I feel a rush of heat settle in my core. I can hear him telling me I’m beautiful. Making mefeelbeautiful. I’ve always told myself it’s better to be treated as competent and capable than beautiful. Until recently, it hadn’t occurred to me that I could be both. But he makes me feel it’s possible.

Nicole takes my arm and shakes it. “Did I break you? You’ve been standing there for a solid two minutes. You look like that chick inMannequin.”

Nicole is nothing if not surprising. Where’d she come by a knowledge of ’80s movies?

Her gaze shifts to Damien, who clicks his teeth together in an imitation of biting her. Oh dear. Then she looks at Jace, her gaze dipping as if to check out what’s in his suit.

“You were really going to give that man away?” She tsks. “I’ll bet his cock could be used as a mold for dildos.”

“Nicole,” I chide. “It’s your wedding day.”

She laughs. “Damien’s cock coulddefinitelybe used as a mold.”

Then she’s dragging me to a flimsy curtain that passes for a changing room. She comes in with me, and it’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her to wait outside, but even though my judgment beasts have scattered, I still want to talk to her, to make sure this is what she wants, and this may be our only chance before the ceremony.

She hands me the outfit, and I ask her to turn around.

“What, you don’t think I’ve seen dozens of boobs before?”

I don’t ask again, just use my hand to mime turning around.

She does, with a sigh.

---