My Big Fat Fake Honeymoon - Lauren Landish Page 0,16
goes. I toss it to the floor, done with it and glad my solo fashion show has been hijacked or else I would’ve been looking a mess in Aruba.
“I cannot go shopping. I don’t have time. What I have in my closet has to work.” Even as I say it, I consider hitting the mall one more time.
Archie sighs, his cattiness disappearing as he snaps his fingers and flips into work mode. “Give me the list.” This is the other reason we love him. He is the most organized person I’ve ever met, and that includes Courtney, who is a planner extraordinaire.
I hand Archie my tablet, and he reads aloud while we listen like he’s telling a bedtime story. “Day one—travel. That includes drive, flight, and check-in. Show me what you have.”
The order is sharp, and Courtney holds up soft joggers and a slim tank top, while Violet picks up a lightweight wrap for the cool airplane. I add, “I’ll wear my slip-on sneakers for TSA.”
He taps the screen. Day by day, he works through my trip agenda, from clothes that can get dirty while I create on-site, clothes that can be seen while I’m setting up, and then moving into the fun stuff for my downtime. I’m planning to make the most of this opportunity and balance work and play, so I’ll need shorts, swimsuits, and yoga clothes.
“Let me see your swimsuit.”
Violet holds it up, the straps thick and the bottoms modest. It’s my suit for the pool when I’m going to swim and don’t want anything falling out.
Even Courtney laughs this time. “Seriously, Abs. That looks like a mom-suit designed to lock and load the girls for serious mission work.” She takes it upon herself to dig through my dresser drawer for something else, but I’m fighting for this one.
“Give me that. High-rise bottoms are hot right now. I’ll show you,” I argue, grabbing the suit from Violet. Not shy in front of my sisters and not having the right parts for Archie, I strip and pull the suit on.
In the mirror, I pose as I turn left and right. “See? Adorbs!” It is, I’m certain of it. The green bottoms are high waisted, but the sides scrunch up into little ties that highlight my thighs, and the top is halter-cut to create cleavage while keeping my breasts secure.
But when I look up, I see the reflection of three sets of dubious eyes behind me. “What?”
Archie rolls his eyes. “Imma let you two tell her because I’m not sure she can handle my degree of truth.”
Oh, shit! Is it that bad? So bad that Archie, of all people, is biting his tongue—literally, his pink tongue is poking from between his teeth—so he doesn’t hurt my feelings?
Violet comes to stand behind me, her eyes pinched with whatever she’s about to unleash on me. “I want you to understand . . . you have a great ass. It’s not you. But this suit?” She glances down to my butt sadly. “It makes you look like your ass is two feet tall. Abs, the waistband is like two inches from the tie in the middle of your back.”
I spin, trying to see what she’s talking about, but despite all my yoga classes, I can’t look at my own backside.
Violet’s not done.
She bends down, getting more up close and personal with my ass than most of my lovers have, and holds her hands up, a good two feet apart behind me. “This is the waist, and this is where your butt meets your thigh. Do you want your ass to look this big?”
Well, shit. I might not be able to see behind me, but the answer to that question is always no. “Fine. I guess I can get a suit there. If I even have time to sneak away to the beach.”
Nerves are kicking back in. This event is going to be huge, both in scale and in importance, and it’s way more serious than how my ass looks. The turn in my mood must show on my face because suddenly, my mimosa is shoved into my hand. When I don’t immediately drink, Violet lifts it for me.
“It’ll be fine, Abi. You know this. We know this. Claire Johnson knows this. It’s why she hired you, because she knows you can manage to bring your creative vision to life for her wedding.”
“Mmmhmm.” I nod robotically.
Courtney comes to my other side, boxing me in. “Tell me about the flowers. What flowers are you