Call Me Crazy (Bellamy Creek #3) - Melanie Harlow Page 0,28
you. You guys know exactly how to push each other’s buttons.”
“It’s not that.”
“Then what is it? What did she say?” Cole stopped painting and faced me.
“We’re writing each other’s vows—don’t ask, it was my stupid idea, which I now regret—and when I warned her not to go overboard, she said something like, ‘What if this is the only wedding either one of us ever has? Don’t we deserve to hear nice things about ourselves?’”
Cole nodded slowly. “Okay.”
“And it just made me, I don’t know, sad or something. She’s throwing away her one chance to hear someone say why he wants to spend his life with her on me.”
“So say nice things about her.”
I frowned. He didn’t get it. “But I won’t mean them.”
“So? It’s what she wants.”
“Something about it doesn’t feel right,” I insisted stubbornly.
Cole started to laugh. “Moretti, you are marrying this girl on Friday afternoon. Not because you love her, but so that you can inherit your family business. And you’re worried about the three-minute vows?”
“When you put it that way, I guess it does sound kind of stupid,” I admitted.
“I don’t think it’s stupid that you don’t want to say things you don’t mean—I think it’s admirable. But realistically, you are faking this relationship. It always involved a measure of dishonesty, right?”
“Right.”
“And you’re not lying to Bianca.”
“No. We’re open about everything. We know exactly what we’re getting into.” Although lately, I wasn’t positive that last bit was true. The ground felt a little less firm beneath us.
“Then you have to trust each other. She chose this too, after all. She picked you to have a child with.” He lowered his voice, glancing over his shoulder toward the kitchen. “That’s a big fucking deal.”
“Yeah.” I was silent for a moment, still staring at the roller in the paint tray. “Did you tell Cheyenne?”
“I did. I don’t keep big stuff from her. I hope that was okay.”
“It’s fine.” I swallowed hard. “Does she think it’s crazy?”
“Yes. But she’s weirdly happy about it.” He laughed, scratching his head. “I think she just likes weddings.”
“This one should be interesting.” I closed my eyes. “I cannot imagine what Bianca is going to make me say about her during those vows.”
Cole laughed. “What are you going to make her say about you?”
“I have no fucking idea.” Shaking my head, I started to laugh. “But don’t worry, I’ll make it good.”
Six
Bianca
“That’s it. That’s the one,” my mother said, dabbing at her eyes when I stepped out of the dressing room at the bridal shop late Wednesday afternoon.
“Mom, you’ve said that about every dress she’s tried on so far,” my sister pointed out. They were seated next to each other on a pink velvet settee, watching me study myself in a three-paneled mirror.
“I kind of like this one,” I said, turning to check out the back. It was ivory lace, knee-length and full-skirted, with an illusion neckline revealing a sweetheart bodice, and short lace cap sleeves trimmed with scalloped edges. The fitted waist was emphasized with a satin ribbon belt, and the billowing lace skirts were also trimmed with a scalloped edge. It had a slightly vintage feel that I loved—it actually reminded me of something Lucy Ricardo might have worn, which made me laugh to myself. Best of all, it wasn’t too expensive or too long, which was basically a miracle at my height.
“That’s a great choice for a bride your size,” said the saleswoman, whose name tag read Anita.
“Sorry I’m late!” Blair Dempsey, a friend from my book club who was recently married to Enzo’s friend Griffin, rushed into the shop. I’d asked her to come because she had beautiful taste, and I wanted a non-family opinion. She stopped short when she saw me and put her hands over her mouth. “Oh my God.”
“What do you think?” I turned to face her.
“I love it.” She clasped her hands over her heart. “It’s sweet, it’s elegant, it’s fun, it suits your personality.” She nodded. “It’s perfect.”
“I like it too.” I faced the mirror again. “But is it too formal?”
“Not at all,” Blair said confidently.
“Honey, this is your wedding dress,” my mother said. “It should be formal.”
“But I’m getting married at City Hall, Mom. And my reception is at the Bulldog Pub. We’ll be eating sliders and fries and drinking boxed wine.”
“And it’s going to be amazing,” Blair said, coming closer to me. She studied my reflection in the mirror. “It doesn’t even need to be altered, which is a sure sign from the universe.”