“Can you please calm down?”
“No, Emily, I will not calm down. You have my head so fucked right now with this whole wedding thing that I don’t even know what to think.”
Pressing her fingers against her temples, she closed her eyes. “What do you want me to say, Olivia?”
“I want you to tell me again why you’re rushing into this. It’s still not registering quite right in my brain. I’ll be honest though. I give Dingleberry props for hounding you for a decision when he said he’d give you the time you needed. But, really, Emily…November? It’s the first damn week of September already.”
“I told you, Liv. Dillon’s the last grandchild to get married, and they don’t think his grandmother’s going to make it past six months. She’s pretty sick right now,” she replied, motioning for Olivia to help unbutton her. “His family wants her to see him get married.”
Olivia reluctantly stood up and padded her way over. “Right, because you should base your future on his ancient fossil grandmother that might croak an hour after the wedding.”
“That’s not the only reason, and you know it. Do you know how long the wait is to have a reception at the Waldorf Astoria? Three years, Olivia. Dillon’s parents have connections, and there was a cancellation. That was the available date, so we took it.”
Olivia helped her slide out from the dress. “I’m gonna say two more things whether you like it or not.”
“As I expected you would,” she sighed, reaching for an airy chiffon A-line gown from a hanger. It was something she’d chosen.
“One, there would’ve been nothing wrong with waiting three years to get into the Waldorf if that’s the time you needed to really think this through.” Emily went to speak, but was silenced by Olivia smashing her finger against her lips. She then placed her hands on Emily’s shoulders and stared deep into her unblinking green eyes. “And two, you failed to mention loving Dillon as one of your reasons, friend.”
Emily held her stare for a moment, turned around, and quietly stepped into the “un-mermaid”-looking dress, pulling it up over her body. “You know I love him.”
Olivia came up behind her and zipped the dress closed. They looked at one another through the reflection of the mirror. “I also know what happened between you and—”
“Don’t,” she quickly cut her off, feeling that all-too-familiar pang deep in her stomach.
Still standing behind her, Olivia leaned into her ear and whispered, “He’s miserable, Emily. Trevor told me he’s never seen him so out of it.”
Emily’s heart wrenched at the thought of Gavin feeling like that, but she couldn’t fall like this—not now, not with him. It wasn’t right. No matter how much she sugarcoated it, it was wrong.
“I don’t want to talk about this, Olivia,” she whispered, stepping down from the pedestal.
“And you’re miserable, too, Emily. I can see it. Ever since that night, you haven’t been the same.”
“I’m not miserable,” she breathed out, trying to unzip the dress. “I was drunk, and it was a bad choice. The whole thing was a bad choice.”
“Do you need help with that?” Olivia asked softly.
Noticeably flustered, she let out a sigh. “Yes, please.”
Once again, Olivia helped unzip the dress, her voice low. “Sometimes bad choices bring us to the right people, Emily.”
As her nails bit into the palms of her hands, those words sent a shiver from the tips of Emily’s toes straight up to the roots of her hair. Gavin generated a steady tidal wave of emotions from within her that were bigger and far more dangerous than anything she’d ever known. Confusion, hurt, pain, and feeling scared to death of him and herself just skimmed the surface of the storm brewing in her head.
It all ran through her mind in those seconds, but before the whole invasion of torment sank her right there in that room, another entered. This particular torment was swathed in a Valentino pants suit, her silk Hermès scarf swinging with every step she took in her stiletto heels.
“Donna,” Joan said to the bridal consultant, “I can take it from here.”
The middle-aged woman looked to Emily.
“I’m fine, Donna,” Emily smiled.” Thank you for your help.”
“You’re welcome, Miss Cooper. Just let me know if you need anything,” she replied and then exited the room.
“Oh, Emily, you’re really not considering that A-line, are you?” Joan asked with a sigh. “It’s so bland. Besides, you have a petite hourglass frame fit more for this Elie Saab,” she said, holding up a gown that Emily believed she would lose her lunch all over.
Olivia let out a melodramatic laugh. “Is this a joke? I wouldn’t allow her to be caught dead in that thing—let alone walk down the aisle if it’s with your son or not. She’ll look like a damn cockatoo.”
Turning around, Joan sent her a venomous glare. “You’ve never been one to hold your tongue very well, have you, Olivia?”
Olivia smiled but no hint of humor was evident in her voice. “Shocker.”
“Joan,” Emily said, reaching for the dress. Joan tore her glare from Olivia. “I love Elie Saab, just not this particular style.” Emily hung the mass of feathers back up and reached for a Monique Lhuillier gown she had tried on earlier. “I think this is the one I’m going with. I love the appliqué lacing and the scoop neck. The long sleeves are perfect for a winter wedding, too.”
Joan exhaled a breath. “That’s the one that made your hips look triple their size.”
With widened eyes, Emily’s mouth hung open and then snapped shut.
“Holy shit,” Olivia blurted out, her brows snapping down. “Emily, one, you’re too tiny to have hips that could ever look wide.” She shot Joan a murderous look and then turned back to Emily. “Two, I’m about to drop it like it’s hot.” She started to unclip her earrings and roll up her sleeves.
Joan’s eyes hardened.
“No,” Emily quickly interjected, rushing over to Olivia. “Just take a seat, Liv,” she said, her eyes pleading. Crossing her arms in annoyance, Olivia sank into a chair with a scowl in Joan’s direction. “Alright, I’ll try it on, but don’t you have to leave soon?”
Joan’s eyes flicked down to her watch as she inhaled sharply. “Jesus, I do,” she clipped as she grabbed for her purse. “Okay, so you’ll try on the Elie Saab then. I also showed Donna a trumpet style that would look just fabulous on you. Make sure you have her bring that one in.”
Nodding, Emily plastered a smile on her face.
“Excellent. I’ll call you later then,” Joan said. She set off at a brisk pace toward the door as she and Olivia traded vicious stares.
Olivia shot up from the chair. “You’re seriously not—”
“Trying that horrible thing on?” Emily interrupted with a laugh. Olivia started to laugh right along with her. “Forget about you not allowing me to be caught dead in it. I wouldn’t allow myself to be caught dead in it.”
Emily changed back into her pair of jeans, off-the-shoulder black sweater, and a pair of black Converse sneakers. She plucked her purse from the chair and made her way to the front desk. She notified Donna that the Monique Lhuillier gown was the one she was going with and handed the receptionist Dillon’s credit card to satisfy the down payment. After discussing and scheduling appointments for another few fittings for Emily, they also arranged for the boutique to take care of the Maid of Honor dress fitting for Emily’s sister since she lived out of state. Feeling overwhelmed by the enormity of it all, Emily was more than happy to get out of there.
“I’m starved,” Olivia said as they rocked out of the boutique and into the cool city air. “There’s a funky sushi bar not too far from here that serves up some pretty decent rolls. Wanna check it out?”
“I’m game.”
A few city blocks later, they approached the sushi restaurant. Before entering, Emily stopped and started digging in her purse.
With her hand on the door, Olivia asked, “What are you doing?”