Love Triangle Six Books of Torn Desire - Willow Winters Page 0,426

say things like that, it’s nice to know someone thinks I’m beautiful.” The large velvet curtain closes behind her, her words ringing in the air.

I’m on the verge of asking what she means by that, why Wes doesn’t tell her she’s beautiful every day, every minute, every second, but decide against it. This is already difficult enough on her, on both of us. The last thing I need is to make it worse. Now, more than ever, Brooklyn needs my support, to smile and laugh. If my dad were still alive, he’d tell me as much.

“Hey, Brooklyn?” I call out.

“Yeah?”

“Why don’t cannibals eat clowns?”

Her laugh fills the room, the sweet melody as refreshing as hearing birds chirping on that first warm day after a long winter. “I don’t know, Drew. Why don’t cannibals eat clowns?”

I pause, remembering my father’s assertion that the art to telling jokes is in the delivery.

“You don’t want to blow your wad too early, Drew,” he would say in his thick Boston accent. “Get to the punchline too soon and you’ll waste the opportunity to make someone smile. There’s no greater feeling in the world than seeing someone’s entire disposition brighten and know you’re the reason for it. Never forget that. Anyone can buy flowers or jewelry, but making someone happy by words alone… There’s no greater gift.”

A warmth fills me as my father’s voice sounds as clear as day in my head. It’s like he’s here with me, standing over my shoulder, encouraging me. I wonder what he would think about this situation, if he would approve of Brooklyn’s marriage to Wes. If he would want me to tell her the truth of that summer. When he was still alive, he was like a second father to her. Would he side with Gigi, as he was prone to do? I’ll never know.

Refocusing my attention on the curtain, I imagine Brooklyn standing in front of the mirror, holding whatever monstrosity of a dress she’s trying on first, uncertainty in her expression. “Because they taste funny.”

It doesn’t matter that my view of her is blocked, I can feel Brooklyn’s smile fill the room. “Good one. Your father would be proud. You used to hate his jokes.”

“Perhaps.” I shrug. “Maybe I never appreciated their purpose.” I lower my voice, my tone becoming sincere. “I do now.”

Silence settles between us once more, but this time, it’s even more pronounced. The space isn’t just devoid of conversation. There’s no more rustling of fabric as she tries on the dress she’s supposed to wear on the happiest day of her life. The only sound is dull background chatter coming from the reception area.

“Hey, Drew?” she whispers.

“Yeah?”

“Can you tell me another joke?”

“Anything for you.” With a smile, I wrack my brain for yet another one of my father’s notorious jokes the regulars of the café flocked to hear, regardless of the fact they heard them all before. “How do you make a tissue dance?”

“I don’t know. How do you make a tissue dance?”

“You put a little boogie in it.”

She laughs again, this time with less life, more sadness, as if she’s barely keeping it together. After a moment, she blows out a heavy sigh. “Okay. Here goes nothing. You ready to see?”

“I’m on pins and needles.”

“Promise not to laugh?”

“I’d never laugh at you.”

“Okay.”

The curtain pulls back and Brooklyn steps out, wearing an extravagant white gown. It has a sweetheart neckline, the sleeves set off her shoulders. The satin fabric hugs her curves, then flares out at her hips into a flowing skirt, complete with a long train. Jewels dot the dress, picking up the light every time she takes a step, making her look like a princess out of a fairy tale. It’s stunning, a dress many women would fawn over, but from how stiff she’s walking, it’s obvious she’s uncomfortable. She doesn’t give off the appearance of a woman overjoyed to be trying on a wedding dress. Her expression is more of a woman being led to the gallows in a pair of handcuffs.

“It’s bad, isn’t it?” She scrunches her nose, looking down at it.

“You look beautiful, Brook,” I assure her. “And I’m sure you’ll look beautiful in every single one of these dresses.”

“But…” She lifts a brow, sensing there’s more.

“But you’re not glowing.”

“Am I supposed to glow? It’s only a dress I’ll wear for a few hours of my life.”

“True, but shouldn’t they be the most important few hours?”

She looks away, shrugging.

“Close your eyes, Brook.”

She shifts her gaze back to