Page 9 of Free

The designer called them a ‘whimsical play on puff sleeves and fairy wings.’

I call them ‘in the way.’

“There’s just a lot of fabric, you know? And I’m not a big person. Even in these giant ass heels, it’s like it’s devouring me.” I lift the endless layers of silk, lace, and tulle to show my badass, blood red Jimmy Choos that match the badass, blood red bridesmaids’ dresses I chose for my friends.

Another worried glance passes between them like a psychic game of telephone they don’t know I can see through the mirror.

“That has to be wedding day nerves talking,” says Mina. “You could get married in a paper bag and it’d be trending the next day. Not that I’m calling your dress a paper bag. It’s stunning. You’re stunning. Oh geeze. There goes my foot into my mouth again.”

“Mina’s right,” Ivy says with a firm nod and a gentle smile. “That dress isn’t owning you. You’re owning it.”

Angela’s wide grin doesn’t match her worried posture. “Davis is going to pass out when he sees you walking down the aisle.”

Davis Chaplin.

My fiancé.

The man who will be my husband in just a few short hours.

Ivy puts a hand on my arm, her knowing eyes searching mine through the mirror. “This sounds bigger than wedding day nerves. Do you need to talk? Is something bothering you?”

Is something bothering me? Like about how I’m getting married in an hour and the only thing on my mind all day—all week really—has been Nick Hutton?

That day at the pier, when we finally gave a name to what we’d been feeling all those years, me watching him walk into the airport, thinking he was the man I’d eventually marry. I honestly thought all I had to do was wait six months for him to get home and we’d walk merrily into the sunset together.

Instead, he had that accident—that terrible, terrible accident…

More than anything, I can’t get my mind off the day I saw him at the hospital. Me, sleep deprived from worry, desperate to finally have him back. To touch his skin, hold his hand and trulyknowthat he was alive. That this was real and he’d really come home.

And Nick, withdrawn, sullen, a stranger taking the place of someone I thought loved me.

After that first day, he never let me visit again. Assuming that was the trauma talking, I showed up day after day but nothing changed. He wouldn’t see me. Wouldn’t talk to me. Wouldn’t answer my calls or texts. The letter I had Angela deliver went unanswered.

I had no choice but to come to an uncomfortable conclusion… I didn’t mean as much to him as he did to me.

When things got real, I wasn’t worth keeping around.

Which shouldn’t matter because I’m about to marry someone who loves me the way Nick couldn’t. I’m desperate to get him out of my head.

Maybe talking to Ivy about it would help.

“I—”

The doors burst open and my stepmom glides through in a swish of flowing skirts, beachy blonde waves, and the gentle jangle of bracelets. “There’s my beautiful girl! Oh, Charlie! You’re stunning.”

“It’s Charlotte now, Momma.” The response is automatic. No one can remember I’m going by my full name now. I swear, I correct someone at least once an hour.

“I know, I know.” She grabs my face and squishes my cheeks before pressing a kiss to my forehead. “Be patient with me. I can’t get used to the change.”

“You and me both,” I say with a grimace, “I thought becoming Charlie Chaplin was hilarious, but you know how Davis gets.”

The first name isn’t the problem,whispers a familiar voice in the back of my head while everyone in the room concedes my point with sage nods.It’s the wrong last name. That’s the problem.

I push the voice aside.

Refreshing my smile, I glance up to find my four most favorite women in the whole world watching me with concern.

Angela Cooper, my brother’s wife and my absolute best friend, bouncing her beautiful baby girl, her red hair swooping and curling into an intricate updo.

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