Page 4 of Poisonous Kiss
“Well, I, uh, guess I need to get started planning,” I say to the men. “Weddings don’t plan themselves.”
I lift a thumb over my shoulder and then sprint back up the stairs. I need to come up with a plan quickly on how to get out of my current predicament. There’s no way I can marry this man. I’ve been given a small amount of leeway, and I need to make every second count. I am allowed to pick my flowers, the colors, and my dress, so I have some room to come up with an elaborate plan. They can’t know what I’m planning, I have to act like I’m just going with the flow so whatever my plan is has to be discreet.
“Think, Briar, think,” I say to myself as I pace my room. I worry my lip between my teeth as I continue to wear a path into the carpet below me. I take a deep breath and steady myself. A plan will come to me, it always does.
“One thing at a time, Briar. Chill.”
First thing I need to do, pick the colors and flowers.
I have been talkingto vendors all day. Who knew colors could be so complicated to choose? I selected a deep pallet that consisted of blues, purples, pinks, and peach. For flowers, I want hydrangeas, roses, lavender, carnations, and anemones. I also specifically asked for twinberry honeysuckle to be included in every arrangement, including my bouquet. I also wanted Ezra to wear it in his boutonniere. If he were to have groomsmen, they need to have the same. Thankfully, when my dad was too busy trying to become number one on the list, I was busy learning more about random subjects. In my free time, I love to watch YouTube videos about nature and plants that have a deadly-looking counterpart. Twinberry honeysuckle looks almost identical to the belladonna flower, which happens to be very toxic when eaten. I will get Maxx to get some for me, and I can sneak it into the wedding. I will place a couple of the poisonous berries onto his plate when he’s not paying attention, and if he questions it, I can play it off like some of the twinberries must have come off.
Once he eats them, “BOOM!” I accidentally scream out loud.
The wedding planners around me all stop what they are doing and stare at me. I didn’t mean to say that out loud.
“Sorry…” I say and quickly run from the ballroom.
This is my next step to freedom! I can trash the fingerprint; I don’t need it. Once I’m married to Ezra, I will be entitled to a portion of his money, and I can leave this city once and for all.
All I have to do is pick my wedding dress, walk down the aisle, and do it within six days. This should be a piece of cake.
“Okay, here goes nothing,”I say as I walk into the bridal salon.
There are hundreds of dresses hanging side by side down the walls. In the back, there are white stalls that I can only assume are changing rooms. There are chairs placed in front of each of these stalls for family and friends to sit. I don’t have any friends since my dad was always so paranoid, and my limited family all sucks, so I’m here by myself today. Ezra did call ahead and block it out though, so I have the entire place to myself for four hours and an unlimited budget. I’m not too worried about finding the perfect dress, since my husband will be dead the same night. I’ll have plenty of opportunities to find a better one with my forever.
“What sort of style are you looking for?” the associate asks.
I turn around to face her. “Um, I’m not sure. I’m thinking A-line with chiffon on the bodice and off-the-shoulder sleeves.”
“Okay, I may have something for you. How about you walk around and see if anything else catches your eye?”
“Okay. Oh, and I want it to be black.”
“Black?” the salesperson asks.
“Yep! It’s my day and I want the dress to be black.”
Little does she know that I will also be witnessing my husband’s death on our wedding day, so black just seems fitting.
The store has zero black dresses, so I’ll have to get it custom made before the wedding. Given I’m getting married in a fewshort days, that means I’ll have to spend more of my future husband’s money to get exactly what I want.
The associate pulls out all the stops, and I try on a dress just like described. An A-line dress with off-the-shoulder sleeves. The chiffon bodice complements the completely rhinestone skirt. From my waistline to the bottom of the train is covered in little jewels. Too bad it’ll be wasted on him.
“It’s perfect!” I exclaim. “We can get it by the wedding?”
“Yes, at the price negotiated.”
Twenty-five thousand dollars seems way too much for a dress, but it’s not my money, so I really don’t give a fuck.
The last thing I have to do is show up to the wedding.
CHAPTER 3
Ezra
“How much for amotherfuckin’ wedding dress!” my father yells from this home office.
“Twenty-five k,” I say matter-of-factly.
