Wicked Heart (21 page)

I’m packing up on Friday evening when I see her approaching with an expression of suppressed excitement. Right away, I’m nervous.

“Hey, you,” she says, and takes both of my hands. “What are you up to tonight?”

“I was going to finish up some work, then head home. Why?”

She looks like she’s about to burst out of her skin. “Well, there’s a super-exclusive bridal boutique in the garment district I’ve been dying to visit, and they’ve
offered to give me private access tonight to try on some gowns. Since we haven’t been able to spend much time together this week, I thought you might like to come. You know, girls’
night out. There’ll be champagne.”

“Well, uh . . . who else is going?”

“Just the camera crew. The producers are dying to get shots of me in wedding dresses. You know how it is.” She squeezes my hands and bounces on her toes. “Please come. I
don’t have any other female friends in New York. You’d save me from being a total loser trying on dresses by myself. Pleeeease?”

She bats her eyelashes, and I can’t help but laugh. Even though the absolute last thing I want to do in my spare time is help Angel become the world’s most gorgeous bride, the guilt
I feel for avoiding her all week wells up, and I can’t seem to refuse. “Okay, sure. I’d love to come.”

“Oh, yay!” She does a little jumpy clap. It’s so adorable, I hate her. And then I hate myself for being a bitch.

“I’m just going to freshen up,” she says. “I’ll meet you downstairs in ten minutes, okay?”

“Great.”

As I’m packing up the rest of the production table, Josh appears beside me.

“Sounds like you’re in for a fun evening. Leave this. I’ll finish packing up for you.” He gives me a sympathetic smile and slings my bag over my shoulder before grabbing
my phone off the table. “Want me to text Quinn and tell him you’ll be late for line practice?”

“Yes, please.” Josh is the one person who knows about my nightly visits to Liam’s apartment, and even though I haven’t said anything about dyslexia, I know he suspects
something like that.

“Should I tell him the reason you’ll be late?”

I frown. “Yes. Why?”

He gives a one-shoulder shrug. “Just not sure how he’d feel about his ex picking out wedding dresses for his woman.”

“I’m barely his ex. Anyway, he was the one who told me it’s impossible to say no to Angel. It is, by the way.”

He chuckles. “Oh, believe me, I know. She asked me to sing for her the other day, and I did.”

“What? But you never sing. I mean, I’ve heard you in the shower, but that’s it.”

“I told you, the woman has me wrapped around her finger. It’s both hot and annoying.” He taps on the phone. “Okay, so ‘Gone wedding-dress shopping with Angel. Be
over later.’ Want me to include anything provocative? Broken-heart emoticon, perhaps? Jealous green-face?” He gives me an innocent look, and I give him my best glare. He looks back down
at the phone. “Hmmm, not sure there’s a shriveled-balls emoticon, but I’ll do my best.”

I smile. “Just send the message, Josh.”

He finishes and presses “send” before handing the phone back to me. “So, you told me not to be worried when you started running lines with Quinn every night, even though I
think you’re playing with fire. Are you also going to tell me not to worry about going wedding-dress shopping with your arch nemesis? Because honestly, my Spidey sense is tingling, and not in
a good way.”

I look up at him. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Oh, I don’t know. You crumble into an emotional heap and confess your undying love for her future husband?”

“Hmmm. I
was
planning on doing that, but now that you’ve said it out loud, it doesn’t seem like such a good idea. Maybe I’ll rethink.” I kiss him on the
cheek. “See you later.”

“Yes, you will.” He gives me a tentative thumbs-up.

I give him my “I seriously need to get drunk” signal, and head downstairs to meet Angel.

This should be fun. And when I say “fun,” I mean incredibly uncomfortable, with just a touch of impending doom.

Angel twirls in what must be her twelfth dress. They all look amazing on her; it’s annoying as hell. I’ve given up trying to pick a favorite. The camera crews shoot
her from all angles and sometimes the producer gets her to do specific poses. I don’t know much about television production, but I smell a montage.

I refill my champagnes glass and sigh. This is so screwed up on so many levels, it’s making my head pound. Helping Angel pick out the dress she’s going to wear to marry the man of my
dreams is messing with me, big-time. And yet, because she’s such a lovely person, I’m torn between hating her guts and loving her like the sister I never had.

Is it any wonder I’m well on my way to being stinking drunk?

“I think I like this one the best,” Angel says as she studies herself in the mirror and sways in blush-colored chiffon. She’s a little drunk, too.

“That’s what you’ve said about the last ten dresses, princess.”

“And it’s been true every time.” She turns to the sales assistant. “How much is this one?”

The dark-haired woman gives her an almost-warm smile. “It’s a little more than the others you’ve been looking at. This one’s a hundred thousand, Miss Bell.”

“The
fuck
?” Everyone looks at me, and I’m a little surprised to have said that out loud. I wave my hand and laugh. “Sorry. Just . . . wow. Lotta money. I could
buy a whole lotta cheese with that. Hell, an entire cheese factory.”

“We don’t pretend our gowns are cheap,” the snooty assistant says. “But the women who shop here want something extraordinary for their big day, and they’re willing
to pay for it. I’m sure when you get to this point, you might view it as a worthwhile investment.”

I take another mouthful of champagne. I’m betting I’m never going to think a hundred grand for a dress you wear once is a worthwhile investment. Besides, at this point, I doubt
I’ll ever need a gown. I’m twenty-five and single with zero prospects on the horizon. Oh, and did I mention that the love of my life is marrying someone else?

Weddings in general can bite me. This wedding in particular can die in a fire.

I down the rest of my champagne in two mouthfuls and stagger over to the racks of dresses. There’s got to be something that Angel looks terrible in, and goddammit, I aim to find it.

“I’m filling up your glass, okay?” Angel says, and her words are starting to slur. When I glance over at her, she’s drinking straight from the bottle and trying to hide
it from the disapproving sales assistant. It makes me giggle. Why can’t she be a bitch so I can hate her? Stupid likable woman.

I push through the dresses, and to my dismay, they’re all gorgeous. I’m about to give up when a flash of pale green catches my eye. I pull out the dress to get a better look.

Oh, my God.

It’s one of the most hideous dresses I’ve ever seen. The color is the least of its problems. The green by itself wouldn’t look too bad, but the designer has clearly tried to
make this dress into a couture version of
The Secret Garden
. There are flowers of all colors and styles stitched onto the bodice, and farther down on the skirt, there are even butterflies,
bees, and dragonflies.

What the hell were they thinking? Any bride who wore this would be a laughingstock.

“Oh, Angeeel!”

She totters over. “You have something for me to try?”

I hold the dress out to her. “What do you think?”

She looks it over, then squints at something on the skirt. “Wait, is that . . . is that a frog?”

I look down. “Oh, wow. It so is. This dress is
perfect
!”

Angel shrugs and takes it from me. “If you like it, I’ll try it. The color’s really pretty.”

She disappears with the assistant into the dressing room, so I take my seat again and grab my champagne. If I just keep drinking, I can ignore my growing sense of guilt. One of the cameras
hovers around me as if to say,
“I see what you’re doing. Every petty, bitchy move.”

I want to swat it like a fly.

Angel emerges in the nightmare dress, and I almost cry with relief that finally, she looks bad in something. Well, that’s not true. She still looks perfect, but that dress is
diabolical.

She tilts her head and studies it. “Hmmm. I don’t know. Do you think it’s too much?”

“No way,” I say. “It’s unbelievable! Just so . . .
unique
. No one has ever had a dress like this. People will be talking about it for months.”

That’s true. That dress will hit every single worst-dressed list known to man. Possibly more.

Angel twirls and giggles. The camera follows her.

I pour myself more champagne and drink away my feelings.

“Miss Bell?” the sales assistant says as she goes over to Angel. “Would you like to try something else? Or have you made your decision?”

“Just give me a minute,” Angel says, and stumbles over to me. “I’m thinking.” She flops down next to me on the white leather chaise, and we’re both enveloped
in acres of silk and flowers. “So? Verdict? You like this one? It’s sooooo twirly.”

“You looked amazing in all of them, but this one? It has a frog, Angel. A
frog
. None of the others had a frog.”

She beams. “Right? There aren’t enough frogs at weddings. I should totally wear this dress. See? I knew you’d help find me the perfect one. You’re the best.” She
lies down and puts her head into my lap. “This dress is the bomb.”

Could I actually do it? Let her wear this abomination as punishment for marrying the man who should be mine?

Angel sighs and looks up at the ceiling. “I can’t wait to marry Liam. He’s going to look so incredible in his tux. Everyone who’s anyone in Hollywood will be there. It
will be the wedding I’ve always dreamed about. He’ll be my Prince Charming and I’ll be his princess, and for once, Daddy will be proud of me instead of my dumb, perfect
sister.” She looks up at me. “Tell me about your dream wedding.”

I stroke her hair away from her face. “I don’t have one.”

“Aw, come on. Every little girl has a wedding fantasy.”

“Not me. I guess I’m just not the romantic type.”

Her face softens. “Elissa.” She looks at me like I’ve just told her I’m dying. “Have you never looked at a man and just thought,
‘Yeah, I’d like to
wake up with you for the rest of my life?’ ”

I look down at the bubbles in my glass. “Once.”

“Is this the man Josh mentioned the other night at dinner? The one who got away?” I squirm, really uncomfortable with this line of questioning. “Are you sure there’s no
chance you two will get back together?”

I laugh. It sounds high-pitched and wrong. Tinged with hysteria. “I’m sure. He’s with someone else. And she’s . . .” I take a breath. “She’s beautiful,
and loving, and funny . . . and I should be happy he’s found someone so incredible, but I’m not. I’m selfish and still wish he was mine.” I take a mouthful of champagne, but
swallowing it requires effort.

Angel sits up and puts her arms around me. “Elissa, I’m so sorry.”

I clench my jaw and refuse to cry. “It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not. I don’t care how beautiful and loving his new woman is, that guy was an idiot for letting you go.”

I laugh again. It sounds more like a sob. I hug Angel and push the sadness down. No matter what happened in the past, she’s about to have her dream wedding, and she deserves my
support.

I pull back and give her a smile. “Maybe you shouldn’t wear the frog dress. I don’t think the world is ready for that much awesome.”

“No?”

“No. Go with the blush-colored one. You looked stunning in that. Liam isn’t going to know what to do with himself when he sees you walking down the aisle in it.”

She closes her eyes and sighs. “I loved that one, too. It’s perfect.” She’s quiet for a few moments, then says, “Speaking of Liam, what do you think of
him?”

“Uh . . . what do you mean?”

“I mean, you guys have known each other for a while. What do you think about him? As a man?” The alcohol is really taking its toll on her now. Me, too. I have to be careful about
what’s about to come out of my mouth.

“Well, I . . . I think Liam is talented. Committed. Professional.”
Most of the time.

“Oh, screw ‘professional.’ Do you think he’s hot?” She giggles, and a fierce blush starts in my cheeks and crawls down my neck.

“I really don’t think it’s appropriate for me to comment.”

“Aw, come on, Elissa.” She pours more champagne. “He’s gorgeous, right? I mean, annoyingly beautiful. Whatever angle you look at him from, he’s perfect. Just admit
it—I won’t be mad. I like it when other women find him hot. Is that weird?”

She’s so drunk, her honesty makes me laugh. “Yeah, that’s a little weird. Most women don’t like it when their men are lusted after.”

“But you don’t understand,” she says, and the last word comes out “unnerstan.” She continues, “I have something everyone wants, and that makes me powerful.
Even my dad thinks so, and he never used to take any notice of me before I hooked up with Liam. Now, I’m the apple of his eye because Angeliam is a hot commodity, and my sister hasn’t
even got a boyfriend. Get it?”

“Not really.”

She waves her hand. “Doesn’t matter. Just say you think he’s hot. Do it for me.”

I sigh as she refills my glass with more champagne. “Okay, fine. He’s very handsome.”

She pokes her finger at me. “Not handsome.
Hot
.”

“Yes, he’s hot.”

“Fucking hot. Like, molten-lava hot.”

She’s so serious, it makes me laugh. “Oh, my God, fine. Yes, Angel, your fiancé is the hottest man I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

“Good!”

“He’s a perfect specimen of manhood.”

“Keep going!”

“If he wasn’t engaged to you, I would ride him like the sexy love stallion he is.”

“Yeah, ya would!”

“I would fuck him ten ways from Sunday.”

“And he’d love it!”

“I would climb him like a tree and bang him like a screen door in a hurricane!”

Her face drops in an instant, and she looks at me with a hurt expression. “Okay, that’s too far.”