Page 23 of Beachside Kisses With My Best Friend

“You look gorgeous as always.”

I glance over my shoulder. “But?”

“But it looks like something you’d wear to church or out to dinner, not to get married in.” Lucy takes the end of her hair and plays with it—a sure sign she’s got more to say but is nervous about doing so. “And look, obviously I’m not weirded out that you’re sort of eloping. I mean, Blake and I did. But that was different.” She sighs. “Mare…”

“Lucy, we’ve been over this.” I sit on the edge of the bed, careful not to wrinkle the skirt. “I know you’re worried about me, but marrying Jordan will be a win-win for all of us. You and Blake will get some alone time?—”

“Which is never something we wanted, you know.” She tugs on her hair, and ouch, how does that not hurt? “I hope you’re not doing this for us.”

“Of course not. But I was already thinking about moving out to give you guys some space.”

“That kills me. You know you’re my best friend.”

“I know. And I love you. I love my brother too. But you guys deserve to have your own place. You’re married now. And soon, I will be too.” I glance at the clock on my bedside table. Shoot. “In less than an hour, to be precise. I really need to decide what to wear.”

Of course, that’s me—Ms. Procrastination. Hopping back up, I head into my closet again, searching for something, anything, that will make me feel pretty.

My hand hovers over a green silk dress I usually reserve for Christmas parties. Wait. Why do I care about being pretty?

I don’t. I mean, not for Jordan’s sake. He’s seen me without a stitch of makeup and also with all of my makeup smudged from hours of crying. In flannel pants and a baggy shirt. He doesn’t care what I look like.

But I still find that I want to look nice.

Itisa wedding, after all—however fake and small and underwhelming it might be.

Lucy appears at the closet door, her presence startling me out of my thoughts. She leans against the door and pulls a white, zippered bag down from the rack. “What about your mom’s dress?” Her voice is soft, full of questions.

“No.” I shake my head vehemently, taking the dress from her hands and re-hanging it. “This isn’t that kind of wedding.” I didn’t wear my mom’s dress to my wedding with Donny either. Even though I’ve always loved it—a timeless A-line with delicate straps and a dropped waist—Donny chose my dress for our ceremony: a strapless gown that showed off more cleavage than I was really comfortable with.

And honestly? I’m grateful I didn’t waste Mom’s dress on him.

But wearing it to a fake wedding would be even worse.

I snatch the green dress off the rack and maneuver past Lucy into the bedroom, unhooking the back of the purple dress and shoving it to the ground before stepping into the silky hug of the green option. It’s got flowing sleeves that button at the wrists and an empire waist that makes me look taller than my five-two. I reach for the back zipper.

“Here.” Lucy zips me up. Then she puts her arms around me from behind—she’s got about eight or nine inches on me—and sets her nose against my hair. “I love you, you know. As a friend and a sister. I just don’t want to see anyone get hurt here.”

I hug her hands and then turn out of her embrace, pulling her hands into mine and looking deep into her blue eyes. “I know you love me. But I’m going to be fine. This is Jordan. He won’t hurt me.”

She chews her lip. “But willyouhurt him?”

“Of course not.” I bat away the words as I head for my dresser and stick in my favorite jingle bell earrings. “We made a solid agreement. Signed and everything. And I’m doing this to help him, remember?”

“I know, but Mare…I’m pretty sure the guy’s crazy about you.”

“You’re wrong.” Ihopeshe’s wrong. Because if Jordan really does care about me like that, then this whole thingwouldbe crazy. But I gave him time to back out—all weekend, in fact. He hasn’t.

“And you’re sure there’s no part of you that loves him?”

I whirl. “What? No! Not like that, anyway.”

She puts her hands up in defense. “Okay, okay. Like I said. I don’t want you to get hurt.” Lucy moves to the door. “I just hope you know what you’re doing.” Turning, she does a once-over on me. “That dress is killer, by the way. If Jordandidlove you, you’d make him keel over.” Then she flashes me her famous Lucy smile, and my sassy sister is back. “Sweet macaroni, you probably will either way.”

“Get out of here.” Laughing, I open the door and push her into the hallway. “You’re going to make us late if you aren’t dressed soon.”

She salutes me and hurries toward the master bedroom.

I slip on my black heels—which I never wear—and turn back to the mirror, exhaling as I smooth out the skirt and my hair, which Lucy helped me curl earlier. It falls in soft waves down my back, all the way nearly to my rear. Usually it just gets in my way, but today it feels like a safety blanket of sorts.

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