Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 121054 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 605(@200wpm)___ 484(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121054 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 605(@200wpm)___ 484(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
“Just send my mom,” I called, and Shelby halted. She nodded to me, hit the button on her headset and said, “And the mother of the bride.” Then, she scurried off.
This must be what it’s like for Holli when she’s doing a runway show.
The door opened behind me, and I sighed in relief. I knew she wouldn’t just run off to the reception, if she thought she could be helpful. “Mom, could you get me out of this—” I began. Then, I glanced at the mirror.
Neil came through the door, his eyes meeting mine as he smirked at me in the reflection. A stab of nervous heat flared in my stomach as he walked slowly toward me. “You know, of all the predictions I’d made about your dress, I would never have thought you’d wear black.”
My stomach fell a little. “You didn’t like it.”
“I loved it.” He settled his hands on my waist and held my gaze in the mirror. He might as well have zapped me with electricity; just the touch of his hands through my dress sent zings down my spine. “The only problem was how much I wanted to tear it off of you.”
“I’m glad you restrained yourself.” At least in front of our guests. I wouldn’t have cared at all if he ripped the gown off me now.
Still looking into my eyes in our reflection, he lowered his mouth to the curve where my neck met my shoulder.
My knees wobbled. Breathlessly, I reminded him. “My mom is coming to help me with my dress.”
“I think I am capable of undressing my own wife,” he murmured against my neck. “And it would be my pleasure.”
The knock at the door was furious and insistent, as though someone had been knocking for hours. The sound of my mom loudly clearing her throat preceded, “Neil, get decent and get out of there. Sophie has to change.”
“Go,” I said, unhappy to break my optimistic bubble. I would have liked nothing more than a quick fuck or a long cuddle, but both would have to wait.
“Come in,” he called, looking down at me with a disappointed scowl. “I was just leaving.”
I stood on my tiptoes to kiss him, just as my mother and Marie shoved their way in. Marie held a curling iron over her head like a trophy won in grisly combat. Oh god, she’s killed the stylist.
“Right, let’s get all of this off,” Mom said, grabbing the back of my dress and deftly popping the tiny, silk-covered buttons. Neil left in a backward stroll. Our eye contact lingered. When he turned, I caught the flash of his half-smile before he closed the door behind him.
Mom tugged the bodice of the dress down. “You two have a whole honeymoon to fool around.”
“But we’ve also got a whole reception to wait through,” I reminded her.
She gave me a stern look in the mirror, and I just grinned back at her.
It was my day, I could pick at her a little.
* * * *
I’d changed into a figure-hugging column of pearlescent gold silk and black Chantilly lace that would be so much easier to move in and met Neil at the closed doors of the Grand Ballroom.
“Aren’t you supposed to be a bride?” he teased, slipping an arm around my waist. He spread his hand as if each finger reached out to touch as much of me as possible and appropriate. “You certainly don’t look virginal and blushing.”
I stepped into his embrace and smoothed my hands down the lapels of his jacket. “You realize that’s your fault, right? I was pure as the driven snow before I met you. Now, you look at me like I’m your dinner.”
Neil kissed my nose. “On that note, let’s go get some actual dinner, before I cannibalize one of our guests.”
The Grand Ballroom was lit far more brightly than the Terrace Room. “Somebody Loves You” by Betty Who played over the sound system as we entered, to the claps and cheers and obnoxious glass clinking to demand a kiss. From there, dinner was a blur. Not because I got wasted off the champagne toasts, I was just super high on endorphins. There were so many well wishers that I barely ate anything; there just didn’t seem time to get a bite. And, oh my god, the glass clinking. My mouth was always too busy to put food in it.
But we were on a schedule, as Shelby reminded us before she herded us off to cut the cake.
I might not get as excited over food as Holli does, but I understood her enthusiasm a bit better once I saw the cake. The inspiration photos and design sketches we’d seen hadn’t prepared me for the sheer size of the seven tiers of white fondant, or the delicacy of the gold-embossed lace. I was nervous about symbolically cutting into it, because I wasn’t sure that the whole thing wouldn’t just topple over on us. Luckily, the baker was on hand to point out the subtle lines pressed into the fondant that showed us where to cut. When Neil put his hand on mine over the handle of the knife, my heart fluttered. I don’t know what it was about a ceremony and a piece of paper—which, yes, I did sign—that made me feel nervous butterflies and full body shivers, like I was falling in love all over again.