Page 21 of Second Chance Ex
“Mai Tai,” Madison says with an excited smile.
I briefly rack my brain with what color a Mai Tai is, but I come up completely blank. And I suddenly want a cocktail.
She presents a book of fabric swatches. “It’s this beautiful dusty, bronzed pink.”
Thankfully, it’s a hell of a lot nicer thanTuscan sunset. I nod, glancing from the color, back up to Heather, dubiously eyeing the cut of the dress. And I know this isn’t all about me, but I can’t help but wonder how the hell my d-cups are even going to stay put in that thing. I’m going to need to tape the life out of my tits or face a serious threat of a nip slip, mid-walk down the aisle.
“Go try yours on so they can start pinning it,” Madison says, slapping her hand on my thigh.
With my self-doubt piquing in the worst possible way, I knock back the remainder of my wine and heave myself up, following the brunette through to my very own cubicle in the row of dressing rooms that line the far wall. Inside, I’m met with three walls of strategically placed and rudely unforgiving mirrors. I glance dubiously at the dress hanging from its hook.
The associate smiles at me, her dark eyes doing a slow assessment of my body. “Do you need any help?”
I look down at myself, at my ripped mom jeans and pink and white button-down combo, shaking my head. I know for a fact that my underwear is not right for a dress like this, but it’ll have to do. With a sigh, I manage a smile, and the associate leaves me to it, pulling the silky white curtain across to give me some privacy.
Almost twenty minutes, and another glass of wine later, I’ve been poked and prodded to within an inch of my life. Studied and subsequently criticized from every angle. Talked about in hushed tones like I’m not even here. All while standing on the platform, dressed in a gown that is at least a size too small and shows off every lump and bump. Not a great way to spend an evening, if I’m honest.
I understand the aesthetic Madison is trying for, but this dress is not it for me. And, although I know it’s her wedding so who cares what I look like, I can’t help but feel like an actual potato. The brunette sales associate looks me up and down, her gaze merciless as it lingers a little too long on my hips where the satin is so tight, I’m scared with one wrong move it’s going to burst open like an overstuffed sausage casing. Madison’s staring horrified at the unflattering straps of my nude bra on full display.
“We’ll take it up a few inches, let it out a little at the hips,” Viv, the in-house dressmaker says, staring warily at the dress as if the seams are about to give up their fight at any moment.
Her kind eyes lift to meet mine then and she offers a slightly sympathetic smile, as if she can tell precisely how much I do not want to be in this very dress at the moment. “With a spray tan, some double-sided tape,and a pair of control tops, it’ll be perfect,” she whispers, patting me on my arm.
Madison hops up from the chaise, eyes raking up and down my ill-fitting dress as she approaches cautiously.
“Vivienne is a whiz when it comes to making women look beautiful, P,” she says, winking at the glamorous woman with pink hair and killer cheekbones. “Don’t worry. On the day, you’ll be much more put together with your hair and makeup done. You’ll lookperfect.”
I can’t help but wonder if that was some sort of thinly veiled dig about the current state of my hair and my makeup-free face. And frankly, I’d kill for another glass of wine, anything to drown my sorrows, but I don’t want to risk causing a scene. Instead, I turn, looking at myself in the mirror opposite where I’m standing on the podium, and for a moment, I’m a little taken aback. But it’s not the ill-fitting cut of the dress, or the unflattering straps of my bra, or even the ugly color. What’s confronting the most is that the last time I wore a gown like this was the first time my heart had been broken. And I suddenly feel really, really sick.
Istare at myself in the mirror on the back of my bedroom door, shocked by just how good I look. I’veneverlooked like this before. The long silver dress skims my curves, giving off a hint of the generous swell of my breasts in a way that is both sexy and classy and typicallynotme. My hair is left long, set in glossy waves that cascade down my back. My makeup is subtle and luminous. For the first time in my eighteen years, I actually feel beautiful. But as I glance down at my phone, reading Joey’s last text message for the nth time, my heart sinks and tears sting at the back of my eyes, threatening to release and ruin my makeup.
Joey: I’m sorry, baby. I promise, I’m trying so hard to get there.
I take a deep, trembling breath, trying to control my emotions.
It was sent four hours ago. I’ve triedcalling him, but my call either rings out or goes straight to messages. A confusing battle of emotion wars deep inside me. I’m angry, because he promised he would be here. We’ve been planning this for months. It’s my senior prom, for chrissake. Even in shitty traffic, the drive from Fresno doesn’t take this long. Where the hell is he? My anger subsides only to make way for worry to surge through me because this isn’t like Joey. What if something’s wrong? What if he’s been in an accident?
I place a hand against my chest, feeling just how hard my heart is beating. I take a few breaths, trying desperately to placate my anxiety. I’m sure he’s fine. He’s probably just been held up. Maybe he has a flat and he’s waiting for Triple A in an out of service area.Oh God, please be okay, Joey.
I’m pulled from my thoughts by a gentle knock on my bedroom door, and I square my shoulders, lift my chin a little higher and take a deep breath. “Come in.”
The door slowly opens and my father’s head pokes in. I don’t miss the way his eyes light up at the sight of me, the way his lips curve into a proud-father smile, the way he pushes his glasses up his nose as if to get a better look at me. He clears his throat. I can tell he’s emotional, but he’s trying not to show it. I offer him a small smile in return, one I know doesn’t reach my eyes.
“Maddy and Ryan are here, Prue Bear.”
I release a resigned sigh, looking down at my phone one last time before tucking it into my small red satin purse. With one last look at myself in the mirror, I smooth down the front of my dress and turn, following my father.
Downstairs, in the den, my mother is gushing overRyan and Madison, taking photos of them with her fifteen-year-old digital camera. I smile as I walk down the two steps and into the sunken room, but I can’t help but feel a pang of jealousy in my chest at the sight of Ryan looking handsome in his tux, standing with his arm around Madison’s waist, both of them beaming at one another.
Ryan got back into town yesterday from Los Angeles. My boyfriend couldn’t even get here in time from fucking Fresno. I try so hard not to give my emotions away, but then my eyes drop to the beautiful corsage adorning Madison’s wrist, and those pesky tears are back with a vengeance. I force myself to look away.I don’t have a corsage.
“Oh my God, P, you look smoking hot!” Madison rushes toward me, grabbing my hand and spinning me around.
I blink back my tears, forcing a smile.
“No word from Joey, sweetie?” Mom asks, the unintentional pity in her voice like nails down a chalkboard.
I shake my head, swallowing back my emotion.
