her, not wanting to make her feel bad. “And if I’d been given more than twenty-four hours’ notice, I probably would have not eaten my weight in donuts over the last few months.”
“No, you don’t like it. I can try to fix it,” Brea insisted.
“Showtime in twenty!” Gunnar said, sticking his head through the door.
“It’s fine. It just needs a little accessorizing,” Gran said, rummaging around in her bag. “Lucky for you gals, I brought all my best jewels!” She draped chunky costume jewelry around my neck and glittering bracelets on my wrists.
“Gran, I don’t think I need all this.”
“Nonsense,” she said, arranging a patchy white fake fur stole complete with the head of a fox onto my shoulders.
“And my prized possession,” she said, pinning a plastic beauty pageant tiara on my head. “I beat out Stella Lynn to win the Ms. Smoked Eel pageant in sixty-three.”
I inspected my reflection in the mirror.
“I look insane.”
“You look magnificent! See, Brea?” she told my friend. “Your dress is perfect with a little frosting.”
“That’s not exactly how I envisioned it,” Brea said dubiously as Ivy pushed me to the door.
“No time,” the wedding planner said. “Wedding is starting.”
I hobbled to the elevator, trying not to trip on the long skirt. Brea had designed the dress for someone wearing four-inch heels. However, I was not a heel girl—I needed flats, preferably tennis shoes or combat boots.
“Kick step, kick step!” Brea instructed as we hurried off the elevator to the ceremony space. She had fistfuls of the dress in her hands to keep it from trailing on the ground.
There were three other brides waiting in the holding area. They were giggling and snapping pictures of each other. They looked fresh and happy and in love. Meanwhile, I looked like a cupcake decorated by a five-year-old girl with a scissors-and-princess obsession, with bags under my eyes from the early-morning start and the stress of trying to put together a wedding for a bunch of strangers.
Under my elaborate updo and plastic crown, my scalp itched, and now my eye was twitching from listening to the brides squeal and talk about their future husbands.
“I just hope he’s rich!” one girl drawled. I froze. That voice.
“I don’t even care if he’s that good-looking. He better have money.”
I backed away slowly to the door, hoping my former-friend-turned-traitor hadn’t recognized me under all the makeup. That is until I tripped on the train of the dress, falling backward into one of the elaborate flower arrangements.
The brides shrieked and laughed as I fell to the floor with a crash, drenched in water and flower petals.
“Watch the equipment!” one of the producers complained as I dragged myself off of the ground, dress sopping wet.
“Sorry.”
“Grace is such a klutz. You should have seen her at this party in college,” Linneah said. “She was trying to rush the same sorority as me and totally face-planted into a cake. Clearly she hasn’t changed a bit.”
“And neither have you, Linneah,” I remarked, wringing out the dress. I didn’t know much about fabric, but I was pretty sure that the silk was ruined. Brea was going to kill me.
“Please!” Linneah tossed the bouncy ringlets softly framing her face. “I’ve only grown more amazing, and now I’m going to be married to the best man in the competition. I told the matchmakers that I wanted a man with money and a nice house.”
I hope she ends up with a sociopathic billionaire.
“Ladies, places!” Gunnar said giddily. “It’s happening! You’re going to get married.”
The three other brides screamed and jumped up and down, holding hands. I tried to adjust the plastic crown on my head.
Gunnar frowned at me. “You can’t, uh—” He pointed to the group of squealing, happy brides.
“No,” I said, picking up the sopping dress in one hand and my bouquet in the other hand. “I cannot.”
Loud organ music blared as the first bride was announced. The grooms had to face forward so that the first time the couple saw each other was standing together at the altar.
I watched as bride after bride sailed down the aisle to stand next to their future fake husband. My stomach churned as couple after couple were invited to look upon their new spouse. There was lots of giggling and blushing and murmurs of, “You’re so beautiful!” and “I can’t wait to marry you.”
Then it was my turn.
Is that guy wearing a kilt? I thought as I walked down the aisle.
Doesn’t matter. Just survive. The Svensson brother knows the deal.