Page 11 of Love and Other Trials
Impending doom filled her stomach. “No. I talked to Mari specifically about my cottage because I wanted my bloodhound to be comfortable. He likes his space.”
Dax put a comforting hand to her back as raucous laughter reached her ears from the lodge area tucked around the back. She knew that sound. Her sisters were still up. Probably on their second bottle of tequila.
“It seems your sister, Tiffany, moved into your cottage when it was ready.” He glanced up, a frozen smile on his face. “I wasn’t on duty yet, so I’m not sure?—”
“That’s all right.” She could feel acid already boiling in her stomach. “I’ll talk to her.”
She took off for the lodge’s entrance, holding Sherlock’s leash. Part of her wished Jeffrey were here because he’d rage at the Three Tornadoes for her. She wasn’t usually the type to rage. It wasn’t her style. Besides, it never worked. “I’m so sorry, buddy. I know you’re tired.”
The dog gave her a mournful gaze, trotting alongside her.
Dax matched their strides. “Anything I can do here?”
“Find some garlic?” Her joke fell flat as she stopped in her tracks. “I’ll figure it out. Go on to bed.”
“No, not until you’re settled. I’ve got your luggage.”
“Really. I’m fine. You can leave it in the lobby and get to bed.”
“Elizabeth.I’ll see you to your door.”
A strained laugh emerged from her throat. “If you insist.Stephan.”
“I do.”
A part of her wanted to take his hand and sail off into the sunset, because that’s what Elizabeth and Stephan would do.
Another round of naughty laughter interrupted her reverie, so she started toward the doorway. She’d chosen the resort for its homey luxury as much as its convenience—the whole place was available for rental for the wedding. Her sister was supposed to take her second plunge into marital bliss here, but now it was all in jeopardy.
They had one hundred and fifty guests coming to the wedding…
Suddenly she felt like she was under the rubble of an earthquake after her exit had caved in, and she didn’t know the way out. When she reached the entrance, her gaze landed on her three sisters, clustered together on the buff-colored U-shaped sofas in their usual Lululemon yoga outfits. Two empty bottles of tequila—gold and silver—lay in the center alongside half-drunk cocktail glasses. The silver bottle was new. Everyone else seemed to have gone to bed, and Ariel wondered if Dax was relieved Rob wasn’t there.
“Ariel!”
Tiffany’s scream lit off two more piercing squeals from Terry and Tricia, who were on their feet immediately, rushing after their older sister. She braced herself as Tiffany plowed into her and wrapped her up in a tight hug, all sweetness amidst the smells of fading perfume and hair spray.
“Oh, thank God! We weresoworried about you. Where have you been? It’s after three in the morning. I texted you and Dax. Why didn’t you text us back?” She gave Dax a flinty look even as Terry and Tricia grabbed Ariel and bussed her cheeks. That was normally how Deverell women greeted others. They didn't hug or kiss—they did both.
“What happened to your hair?” Terry cried out, blasting her with waves of tequila.
Tricia gave a bloodcurdling cry as she pressed her hands to her oval face.“You cut it!”
Tiffany stopped staring Dax down and swung her head to look at Ariel. “What did you do?”
Three unified sisterly cries pierced her ears and kicked off a soulful howl from Sherlock.
“How could you cut your hair beforemy wedding?” Tiffany raged, eyes bulging out like a possessed doll’s. “You’ll spoil my pictures.”
Goodness. She’d anticipated the drama, but not after three in the morning. Certainly not after what Dax had told her. Didn’t Tiffany realize how much trouble she’d caused?
“It was unavoidable. If I could have done anything else, I would have, so let’s make the most of it, shall we?”
“Make the most of it!” From the look of it, Tiffany’s head was about to start spinning around. “But I want everything to beperfect.You knew that, Ariel.”
“We’ll have to get her extensions—or a wig.” Terry’s face screwed up in horror as she touched Ariel’s short curls, making her want to swat at her sister.
“Yes!” Tricia agreed, eyeing her like a new decorating challenge. “A wig. Maybe something Marilyn Monroe-like.”
