Page 8 of Her Ex's Father
The clack of heels has us both turning around. Mom stands in the balcony doorway, her eyes critically running down my robed body. “Madeline, why aren’t you dressed yet? People are arriving.”
I open my mouth, but she half-turns away. “Yes. Well, I don’t care if the roads aren’t passable yet—surely there’s a plow company you can pay to take care of that! The county? Why would the county care, if we’re clearing their roadsforthem?”
She disappears and the sound of a heavy door closing echoes in the large suite. Stella and I walk back inside, leaving the doors open to let the chill spring air in. It’s refreshing; assuring me that this isnot,in fact, a nightmare, but my real life.
“Deliveries to Canada?” I ask.
She nods, biting her lip. Lately my parents don’t tell me anything about the business. Once, I thought they’d have to pry event planning from my cold, dead hands. Turns out all it took is a sharp-eyed, rude woman from Massachusetts who they’re paying twice what I was making. She took over my office overnight, literally, and I’ve felt unmoored ever since.
“Come on, she’s right. We should get you in your dress.”
I sigh, watching nervously as Stella removes the delicate wrapping around my wedding dress.
It’s stunning. And I hate it.
Well, I hate that it’s being wasted onthis.My marriage to Derrick Bronson.
The breathtaking dress exudes elegance and drama. The off-the-shoulder straps perfectly compliment a corset bodice, made to hug my waist and slim curves. It shimmers like the snow outside. The underskirt is sleek, fitted, with a high slit on the thigh, and the flowing overskirt of soft tulle cascades to the ground. It’s romantic, modern, edgy, and elegant.
“Damn,” Stella murmurs.
“Better get this over with,” I sigh, shucking off the robe.
It takes the better part of fifteen minutes and a shoehorn, but eventually I’ve managed to wedge myself into the gorgeous creation. Seeing it in the massive gold-framed mirror is too much; tears start to roll down my cheeks and Stella rushes to my side.
“Oh, Mad.”
“I—I’m fine,” I huff, dabbing at my cheeks carefully. “I just… I don’t know. It’s stupid,” the words come out in a whisper, despite the fact that we’re completely alone. “I just thought I’d get a chance atreallove.”
Stella snorts. “Well, we both know weddings aren’t just a one-time thing, right?”
Thatstartles me out of my grief. I gasp, giving her a small shove as she cackles. “Stella! Quiet, someone might hear you!”
My sister’s mischievous grin makes it impossible not to crack a smile.
“Okay, come on,” she laughs. “We don’t have much longer to get this right. But—Maddie, listen—think of the positives. Derrick travels a lot, right?”
Hesitant, I nod, and it hits me that he lied at the engagement party about not liking flying. He has a reputation for traveling pretty much nonstop.
“Okay, so he’ll almost never be here, right? You can live your life without him.”
“And do what exactly?” I ask, smoothing down the skirt of the dress to self-soothe.
“… I don’t know. Take up skiing?”
“Oh,as if.”
But my sister has managed to brighten the mood, and in the last short hour before I’m due to walk down the aisle, we’re joking and chatting. Gossiping about who will show, who will be jealous of this extravagant wedding, how much wine I’ll have to drink to get through Derrick’s inevitable fumbling later tonight.
“You sure you’ll remember what to do?” she quips, referencing my chronic single-ness.
“Hey, just because I haven’t dated doesn’t mean I’ve been celibate.”
Knelt at my feet to buckle the beautiful, delicate shoes, Stella gasps and stares up at me. “What!? Who?”
The heat of embarrassment flashes across my cheeks. “Remember last summer we had that ranch hand, Raphael, helping out with breaking in the new stallions?”
Stella fake-swoons at the memory of the handsome Italian who barely spoke English as I laugh. There’s a light knock on the door, and we both shut upfast.
