Page 17 of Stolen for Keeps
“Actually?” Sheryn repeated.
The truth was, I’d never been a girly girl like her growing up. She’d played dress-up in sparkly gowns, hosted tea parties with stuffed animals, and had a collection of glitter nail polishes that could blind a person under the right lighting. Me? I’d been the kid climbing trees, chasing stray cats, and running around in scuffed sneakers.
I traced my fingers over the fabric, the silk slipping between them like water. It wasn’t over-the-top. It wasn’t some frilly nightmare that would make me feel like a fraud. It was elegant and sleek, with just enough shimmer to make me feel like I belonged in something beautiful for once.
I cleared my throat. “Yeah. It’s…nice.”
Sheryn smirked. “Nice?Nice?Trystunning, show-stopping, absolute perfection.”
I simply pulled her in, giving her a small peck on the cheek.
The fitting went smoothly and miraculously, considering the tent at The Lazy Moose was a swirling mess of satin, lace, and half-empty champagne flutes. It was spacious enough not to feel suffocating, but between the racks of dresses, the full-length mirrors, and the whirlwind energy of bridesmaids in various states of undress, chaos still had a foothold.
Everyone looked stunning. Even me, I had to admit.
The seamstress moved efficiently, pinning, tucking, and adjusting. She doubled as the stylist, too, because the second she finished tweaking the last gown, she turned her attention to hair.
I barely had time to brace myself before she untied my ponytail, which had suffered the unfortunate combination of a ski mask, a getaway, and adrenaline-soaked sweat.
She combed through the wreckage, frowning slightly but saying nothing. Instead, she experimented with a few styles, pinning and twisting before stepping back to assess.
“French twist would suit you best,” she declared, nodding as if the matter was settled.
Ah. If only Katy were here.
“Alright, that’s settled then,” Sheryn announced.
The other bridesmaids stripped effortlessly out of their gowns.
Then there was me.
I reached for the zipper and tugged. Nothing.
I tried again. Still stuck.
I twisted awkwardly, my arms flailing. Because, of course, this was happening. Worse still, there was no sign of the seamstress.
“Okay, we gotta run,” Sheryn cut in, unaware, already gathering her things. “The restaurant messed up the menu, so we need to pick up a few things.”
Zara glanced over. “You good?”
I waved her off. “Go! I’ll be fine. Just moving a little slow.”
Zara smiled, hesitant but kind. Maybe she didn’t want to embarrass me, or act like I’d forgotten how to move in a dress after prison. Whatever the reason, she kept quiet and followed Sheryn toward the tent’s exit. And just like that, I was alone.
The past few days had been a whirlwind of prison, freedom, my second heist, the wedding prep, and Sheryn’s relentless energy. The real world was overwhelming as hell. But so far? I was still standing.
Now, if only I could figure out how to get out of this damn dress.
4
NOAH
Helping with wedding prep wasn’t exactly in my wheelhouse, but here I was, hauling boxes, setting up chairs, and trying hard not to get in anyone’s way.
Elia wasn’t much better. We both stared at lists and instructions as if they were written in some ancient code, leaning entirely on Claire to keep us in line. Lucky for him, I’d banned him from anything physical, which meant he got the out-in-the-world jobs like talking to people, making calls, and handling logistics. Besides, he knew this town inside and out, and let’s be real, no one was handing the important tasks to the new guy just yet.
“Noah, could you take Dylan for a bit?” Claire called out, her tablet in one hand, a bouquet in the other, and Dylan strapped to her chest in a baby carrier. As usual, Bobo the husky stuck close to her side.
