Page 10 of Free

Ivy Hutton, sweet and gentle, but sharp as a tack, assesses me with her hands clasped in front of her body—non-judgmental as ever. Her blonde hair curls lightly around her shoulders.

Mina West with her fair skin and raven hair, her lips moving ever so slightly in what’s probably a whispered prayer for help in avoiding shoving her foot in her mouth.

And Amelia Cooper, the woman who swooped in when my brothers and I were young and troubled, and Dad didn’t know what to do with us. She had the patience, love, and acceptance we so desperately needed. Today, her eyes are uneasy and her smile is forced. It’s not a look she wears well.

This is my wedding day. She’s supposed to be happy.I’msupposed to be happy. I’m marrying my high school crush. The man voted most likely to succeed… a man who definitely did succeed. I’m safe with Davis. Secure. My future is set and I know he’ll never hurt me the way Nick did. He’ll never walk away from me. He’ll never leave me waiting, wondering, aching…

But still, I feel restless. My heart is racing for all the wrong reasons. Is this normal? Does every bride feel like they’re teetering on the edge of a cliff, unsure if they’ll fly or fall?

I purse my lips and release a long breath, letting my eyes slide closed for a blessed moment of peace before I open them again.

“I’m sorry,” I say as brightly as possible. “You’re all being wonderful and I think I’m just a bundle of nerves and have been cooped up in this room too long. You know how I get.”

My crew nods knowingly. My ‘terrier energy’ is well known. If I’m not run at least once a day, things can get ugly.

“And, I don’t know, is there just way too much pastel in here? It’s not helping.” I wave my hand around the room with its blush pink walls, mint accents, and way-too-soft lavender detailing. The furniture only adds to the sugary sweetness—a baby blue loveseat against one wall, a pale yellow armchair by the vanity, and a pink rug that matches the walls a little too perfectly. Sheer curtains drape the arched windows, letting in soft, natural light that doesn’t make it any better. The vintage vanity is decked out with pastel-colored hydrangeas and floral-patterned makeup bags. Even the decorative pillows look like they were designed to suffocate me with their cheeriness. The church administrator was so very proud of the bridal suite the day she gave us a tour. Davis ooo’d and ahh’d, as impressed as the muumuu wearing woman beside us.

“I tried to tell Davis pastel makes me antsy, but…” I wave off the end of that sentence and finish with, “Marriage is compromise, you know? The sooner I get used to that, the better!”

Four sets of eyebrows draw together and that’s it. I’ve hit my limit on silent concern. I don’t know what they’re holding back, but the fact that not one of the strong, say-what-you-mean women in front of me will clue me in is driving me rose-petal-pink crazy.

“I think I need to go for a walk.”

“A walk?” Mom steps forward. “The wedding starts in an hour, Charlie…otte.”

“I won’t be gone long. Promise.”

I swoop up my skirts and swish through the doors, my heels a sharp staccato against the tile floor. I did not want to get married in a church. I wanted to get married at The Hutton Hotel, barefoot on the beach at sunset. Davis was firmly against the idea. He said he didn’t want the humidity and wind to wreak havoc on everyone’s hair, but I think it had more to do with Nick being a Hutton. Never mind that my brother and best friend are about to officially take over the hotels. Or that stuffy and formal just isn’t my thing.

But out of respect for Davis’s feelings and the fact that stuffy and formal is very much his thing, we compromised. The wedding is being held here where we can meet his standard of elegance and structure, and the reception will be at The Hut, where I can dance barefoot with my family and friends.

Speaking of barefoot…

I bend to slip off my shoes, bracing my hand against a wall for balance. Footsteps sound around a corner.

“Does Charlotte know?”

My ears perk up at the sound of my name. That’s Aaron McClain, Davis’s best man.

“Of course Charlotte doesn’t know,” hisses Davis. “I’m not an idiot.”

I freeze, one heel off, one heel on, still braced against the wall. What don’t I know and why don’t I know it?

Aaron huffs in disgust. “You’re making some pretty fucked up choices lately. How am I supposed to know where the stupidity stops and where it starts?”

“It stops at ruining the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” Davis replies.

A smile tugs at my lips and I place my free hand to my heart. He shouldn’t be keeping secrets, and we’ll get to the bottom of that in t-minus ten seconds, but hearing my fiancé call me the best thing that’s ever happened to him is exactly what I need to soothe my nerves.

“Are you talking about Charlotte?” The disbelief in Aaron’s voice is a tad annoying. “She’s the best thing that ever happened to you.”

“Yes, you moron. Charlotte.”

That’s right, baby! Stick up for me! There’s the safety and security I need!

“She’s hot,” Davis continues. “She’s smart. She’s funny. She catches everyone’s attention when she walks into a room.”

I lean my head against the wall like it’s his shoulder.

---