Chapter 40

“Okay,” Fiona says, studying me in the last dress. She holds up the beaded Oscar de la Renta that was our other top choice, an incredible off–white beaded silk that fell heavily to the floor and made a fantastic shushing sound as I walked.

“This one?” She indicates the Oscar, “or that?” She gestures towards the incredibly romantic Caroline Herrera dress that hugs my waist with a tight bodice, the off–shoulder sleeves flowing down in to the flowing charmeuse of the skirt, which sweeps behind me in a five–foot train.

“This one,” I say, a little breathless, staring at myself in the mirror. I had never really been the kind of girl who dreamed about her

wedding before, but in a dress like this? I am actually starting to

feel like a bride.

“Oh thank god,” Fiona says, wiping a tear from her eye. “That was my favorite too. If you’d picked the Oscar, you’d have broken my

heart.”

I laugh a little as she picks up her phone, texting someone. I

realize, suddenly, that she’s messaging Kent – telling him to come down for final approval.

When the door opens, I turn to face him, biting my lip, wondering, passively, if he’ll approve.

Chapter 40

He’s looking down at his phone as he walks into the room but,

the room from us,

dead in

2/3

the bottom of my belly. Does he not like

right choice?

rove over my form. I turn to him, running my hands across

his eyes snap back to my own and his mouth slams shut. He takes a step forward,

one step back-

is totally animal, that of prey flinching back

it, registers my fear,

Fiona for a

putting his hands into

mask, though, this

be the

goods.

and I am

him, aware, in some part of me, that

position, then, trying out

Chapter 40

that my thighs rub together beneath the skirt of my

3/3

flash to my legs, my thighs, and I see a muscle flicker in his cheek

Fiona says, her arms folded, her eyes flashing between us. “I guess you like it,

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