Page 113 of The Brickwall and the Bombshell

“The best day,” I tell her. “It’s all been so beautiful and went so smoothly.”

“I was worried something would go wrong, because it always does, but even my family and Owen’s family have seemed to find some common ground. I saw Owen’s sister, Emily, and Eleanor chatting like they’re old friends and you know Eleanor doesn’t like most people.”

We both laugh as we enter an office Everly had arranged for us to be able to use for this very purpose. Sophie’s dress she bought for the reception is hanging from a bookcase. It’s a creamy white with flowers embroidered along the bottom and puff sleeves. Perfectly Sophie.

I help her out of her wedding dress, stowing it away to take home for her later, along with all of her other belongings, since she and Owen will leave from here on their honeymoon.

When I turn around, she’s already mostly redressed, with her back to me so I can button up the delicate pearls that go down the bodice of the dress.

“This is going to be you one day,” Sophie says, glancing at me over her shoulder.

I let out a soft laugh. “I used to think it might not, but now, I can actually picture it.”

“That’s how life is,” she muses. “You’re just going about your business, trying to find your path, and then, out of nowhere, love just finds you and turns everything around.”

We hug, holding on a little tighter than normal.

“Get back out there before your husband starts beating down the door,” I tease, swatting her on her fine ass. “I’m going to run to the bathroom really quickly. Save me a dance.”

She blows me a kiss and I take off in the opposite direction toward the bathroom Mack was referring to earlier. All I can think about are his filthy words and I can’t wipe the grin off my face.

As I’m washing my hands, I look at myself in the mirror.

My cheeks are flushed from the wine and dancing.

My hair is hanging in loose curls, not quite as put together as it was a couple of hours ago. A second line parade in the French Quarter will take its toll on a girl’s hair.

But it’s my eyes I can’t get past.

I’ve always heard people talk about seeing people who are truly happy and how it changes their countenance. I see that reflected back at me in the mirror.

When I go to get a towel out of the dispenser to dry my hands, the door opens and I glance up to see another woman step inside. She’s taller than me, but her hair is about the same color as mine, pretty red lips, and a beautiful pale lavender dress.

“Hi,” I say, giving her a smile. “I love your dress.”

“Thank you,” she says, walking up beside me as she digs around in her purse. As she leans over the counter and begins powdering her nose, she glances at me through the mirror. “I love yours too. The wedding was beautiful, wasn’t it?”

I nod, still riding on the high from the day. “Yeah, it was. It was perfect.”

For a moment, the bathroom is quiet and just as I’m getting ready to make my exit, she asks, “You don’t remember me, do you?”

Turning toward her, I take her in—really looking at her. There is something familiar in her eyes, I can’t place where I might know her from. “Are you dating one of the players?”

She lets out a laugh, but it’s not playful or kind.

It’s cruel and condescending.

“I’m not trying to be rude,” I assure her. “But I’ve met so many people over the past few months, it’s hard to remember every face and name.”

When she turns to walk toward the door, I think I’ve offended her and she’s leaving, but then she stops, her hand on the wood as she presses it fully closed, engaging the lock.

“I wasn’t going to do this here.”

Do what?I think to myself, trying to stay one step ahead of this woman, but failing miserably.

“But you’ve really given me no choice,” she continues, turning her back against the door. “Greer, Greer, Greer… Gah, what am I going to do with you? You’re so obtuse it hurts and don’t even get me started on how much of a pain in my ass you’ve been the past few weeks.”

A chill seeps into my bones as I realize she knows my name.

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