When Stars Collide (Second Chance Romance #2) - Sara Furlong-Burr Page 0,40

shit, Kirsten won,” I said, throwing my hands up. “I guess there’s no reason for the rest of us to continue on. I’m not a second-place kind of girl.”

“Just put the damn dress on,” Elle groaned.

“Would you look at who’s becoming a bridezilla already?” I grabbed the first dress from the hook and carefully slid it over my head, down the curves of my body. It was a tad loose and entirely too long, like I was modeling a tent. I looked over to see Lilac also clearly uncomfortable in her floor-length, orange halter number, which hugged her body like shrink wrap. She tugged at the fabric every few seconds as though it was impeding her ability to breathe.

“Let’s see what we have here,” Agnes reappeared from behind the wall. “Oh, my.” Her eyes ran up and down each of our bodies, disapproval washing over her. “On a positive note, we now know which styles and fits aren’t going to work.”

Zinnia nodded like one of those annoying kids in class who always acted as if they were just about to make the same observation as the professor. “I completely agree, Agnes. Elle’s wedding deserves better than this.”

I shot a look at Elle, who just shrugged as if to say, “That’s Peony for you.”

Collectively, the three of us turned back around, stripped our dresses off, and selected the next dress in line. In my case, my next dress was short, much shorter than I would have expected a bridesmaid dress to be, with a plunging neckline. Without holding out much hope for a different outcome, I slipped on the new dress, gasping when I saw my reflection in the mirror.

“Would you look at that, I have legs, after all,” I gloated, turning to face Elle. With the way her face lit up, I knew this dress met with her most utmost of approvals.

“Holy crap, I’ll say you do.”

“Looks like we have a keeper here.” Agnes inspected me up and down. “Shorter dresses have a way of making shorter legs appear longer. Pair that with a pair of stilettos and you’ll look downright leggy.”

“Did you hear that, Elle? Someone called me leggy.”

“Hell most certainly has frozen over.”

It was my turn to flash her a discreet middle finger.

“How does it feel?” Agnes asked.

“Like I’m walking on air and all that other fairy tale nonsense.”

“And how does the bride feel about it?”

“I think she should marry that dress, because it’s perfect for her.”

“That settles it, we have our first dress.” Agnes clapped her hands together as I slipped out of the small chiffon number and threw my clothes back on.

“Wait, does that mean I won the Great Bridesmaid Dress Showdown of 2019?” I asked, walking back to the couch to join Elle.

“Winner, winner,” Elle agreed, handing me a glass of champagne.

“If you would have followed that up with ‘chicken dinner,’ I would have had no choice but to revoke my friendship.”

“And I wouldn’t have blamed you one bit.”

For the rest of the afternoon, I was able to do what I did best—sit back and contribute commentary, both where appropriate and where inappropriate, while Elle inspected and ultimately approved of each of the dresses that would be greeting her at the end of the aisle. Kirsten would be donning a tangerine halter dress, so as not to showcase breasts I would be all too willing to give up my first born to have, while Orchid selected a floor-length orange gown, just as elegant and sophisticated as the image she projected. But for as much grief as I’d given Elle, and everyone else I encountered for that matter, the fact was that I needed this day. I needed the peace, craved it with everything I had. And it was a good thing I was fortunate enough to have been able to bask in it, if only for a few hours. Because unbeknownst to me, those few hours were the calm before the storm.

*****

Elle dropped me off at Peter’s apartment shortly before midnight. As expected, he was already in bed. Trying to stay as quiet as possible, I shrugged off my jacket and hung it on the back of a chair, startled by the sight of Jackson standing right behind me when I turned back around.

“Oh, hey, little Peter.”

Note to self: Little Peter is not a good nickname.

“Hi,” he answered quietly.

“What are you still doing awake? Can’t sleep?”

He shook his head. “No, I was, but then I woke up thirsty and came in here to get a