Page 41 of Sugar
Olivia cackles in the back seat.
Layla winks, turning the dial to raise the volume as they both sing along, the outside sun-warmed air blowing in through the open windows. It helps ease away a bit more of the gnawing stress I’ve been carrying around these past few months, but I still can’t help the low hum of anxiety that vibrates through me. As pleasant as both of these girls are to be around, it nags at me that our makeshift friendship is just as forced and calculated as my sham of an engagement to Kasey.
I’m thankful for it, of course; it certainly helps sell our new family dynamic to anyone looking. But buried deep in my soul is a long-standing ache forrealfriends, forrealconnection with people I can trust with all the good and the bad in my life.
We eventually make it to the mall in Williamson County, forcing an intermission on the Layla and Olivia karaoke show. Inside, three stories of shops sprawl out from the elevator banks at the center. We make a quick stop in the food court on the first floor for fresh soft pretzels.
“God, I love these,” Olivia mumbles around a large bite.
“Luna should really consider adding these to her menu,” Layla agrees, studying the coarse salt scattered along hers.
“I’m sure she would,” I muse, tossing a ripped piece into my mouth. Cinnamon sugar coats my tongue as I sigh out in pleasure from this unexpected snack.
We make quick work of finishing them off before dumping the paper liners they were served to us in, and then head for the ritzy department store on the far east wing of the third floor. It’s certainly no bridal shop, but I have no doubt it’ll deliver.
It helps that I honestly couldn’t care less what I wear to this wedding. Finding a dress today is just something to check off the ever-growing list of tasks to complete so Kasey and I can seal the deal on this whole thing. Still, I don’t have the heart to tell the girls how little I care. Even knowing that it’s a ruse to save the ranch, they’re eager than ever to be a part of the bridal traditions.
Layla leads us into the store, cutting a direct line for the dress section that sits between activewear and intimates. She saunters right up to a blonde woman in a smart blue pantsuit and declares, “We’re here for the best wedding dress options you have!”
The woman’s gaze scans over us as she absently strokes at the French twist pulling her hair tight behind her head. “Oh,” she says, a bit startled. “I’m afraid we don’t offer any bridal lines here.”
“Do you have anything white?” I ask.
“Um . . . yes, I believe so?—”
“Perfect.” Layla nods. “We’ll try one of everything, please.”
The saleswoman looks at her for a long moment, and then sweeps a glance around the store. Other than an older woman studying a pair of kitten heels with intense interest and two teenage girls giggling at the thongs, there doesn’t seem to be anyone else here. The woman shrugs, eyes sparking. “I’ve always wanted to work with brides,” she says.
Twenty minutes later, the woman—Elaine—bursts into the dressing room with a wide smile and a trio of glass flutes on a tray filled with bubbling golden liquid. “Normally we only break this out for really high-end customers who are here to spend some serious money,” she reveals in a hushed whisper, “but it’s been so long since we’ve opened a bottle and I just figuredto hell with it!”
Layla beams, clapping her hands. “We love champagne!”
“It wouldn’t be a bridal fitting without a proper toast,” Elaine points out. She holds the tray out between us in offering. Layla and Olivia don’t skip a beat as they each reach for a glass.
Dread curls tight inside of me. “Oh,” I say, flustered. “I actually don’t drink.”
Three sets of eyes narrow on me. “You don’t drink?” Olivia asks, brows pinched tight.
“Not really.” I shake my head. “I mean, sometimes, I guess. But I’ve been trying to cut back, you know?”
Layla looks unconvinced. “Not even one teensybridal fittingglass?”
“I’m good,” I assure her.
“Okay! No big deal.” Elaine waves a hand like it’s nothing, though I can tell she’s a bit perturbed with my resistance after going through the trouble of bending the rules. “One of you two can have this extra glass,” she says, setting the tray with the single remaining flute on the side table next to Olivia. “I’vegrabbed every dress we have that’s white, and a couple that are ivory. There’s even one that’s averysubtle light pink!”
“Thank you, Elaine,” I say sincerely. “You’ve really gone above and beyond for us.”
She smiles. “I did my best with sizing but can grab you something different if needed. I’ll be a holler away if you need anything!” She disappears back around the corner to tend to her station.
“Well,” Olivia says, holding up her drink. “Cheers to saying yes to a dress!”
Layla matches the motion and lifts her glass too. She looks right at me. “Cheers to the beautiful bride!”
I take that as my cue to stand and get this over with. “I’ll go try on the first one.”
“Make sure to show us,” Olivia calls out as I shut the stall door.
