by Finn, Emilia
Until you look closer.
Security cameras are set up under the eaves of the porch, and there’s another above the garage door… and when I look extra close, I see that the peephole in the front door isn’t a peep at all, but a tiny camera.
So I wave, then gently shake the box I hold in my hands. “Flower delivery.”
The door swings open and reveals an exact Jess-replica, but she’s not pregnant, and she’s not wearing white.
“You’re Laine?”
“I am!” Jess’ twin ushers me through the door and pulls me in for a gentle hug. She wears aqua, which practically makes her skin and eyes sparkle. She has a beautiful tan, despite the fact winter has only just ended, and the kind of smile that speaks of true happiness. “And you’re Abby Rosa, the flower chick. You look stunning, by the way.”
“Aw, thank you.” I feel the blush burn my cheeks.
Jess invited me to her wedding – she practically demanded I come – so I’ve delivered her table arrangements to the function center, set them up, delivered a box of boutonnières to Kane, and now here I am, my last stop before the ceremony takes place.
I was planning on coming in black pants and a cream blouse. I’d spent an hour ironing loose curls into my hair, and playing with a little rouge on my cheeks, but as I attempted to leave the shop, Nadia practically tackled me to the floor and demanded we try again.
So now I’m wearing a navy blue gown that stretches to the floor, with flowers embroidered into the skirt and midriff. The tiniest section between skirt and top shows my pale stomach, but because it’s literally less than an inch wide, Nadia refused to entertain my complaints about showing too much skin.
The loose curls remain in my hair, but now it’s tied up into a ponytail, and Nadia added a little extra makeup around my eyes, so I ‘look like a grownup for the night’.
I feel like a princess… but also a fake. This isn’t me, and it kind of bothers me that I feel pretty. I should feel pretty when I’m dressed down too, right? I should be comfortable in my skin.
But I’m not. I haven’t been since I entered puberty and my body did its own thing, rather than fill out like all the other girls’ in my school.
It bothers me that I let Spencer Serrano influence my outfit choice today.
“Come on in.” Laine holds my hand and drags me through the simple home.
It’s not extravagant, just as it’s not a secret-lair-type setup. It’s… just a home, built somewhere around the sixties or seventies, with high ceilings, picture rails on the walls, and a long, leather sofa not a lot different from Nix’s.
Women race around the room; the women I saw at the Checkmate office yesterday, and others I don’t recognize. Laine and I move through the living room and past happy women who finish pulling on their outfits. Most of them wear silver, which complements the peonies I’ve brought today, so Laine has the honor of being unique in her aqua, sweetheart-necklined gown.
I recognize Sophia, the brunette ballet dancer who dates Kane’s brother. I recognize the other woman from the office, the one who likes to draw. I don’t recognize a blonde woman who wears fire engine red high heels beneath her gown, but I do recognize another blonde who walks around like a drill sergeant, holding a binder and pen, snapping orders at anyone who stands still for more than a second.
It’s like they’re going on a mission that could be deadly… but in heels and pretty dresses.
Laine leads me through the kitchen and up a staircase, only to stop at the top of the hall and knock.
“You decent, Jessie?”
“She’s fine.” The door swings open and reveals the male equivalent of the twins.
Blond and blue, tall and fit, the man I know as Luc Lenaghan smiles at Laine, then his eyes stop on me and light up.
“Abby. Come on in.” He pulls me into a gentle hug, but it’s fast and barely there, as I hold the boxed flowers in front of my body and try to minimize the touching.
I’ve been conditioned for so long to minimize human contact, so I save it all for my family, because they know best and how to do it without hurting me.
Stepping into the room, I stop a few feet in and let my anxiety drop from my shoulders when I’m faced with a stunning bride.
She’s so insanely pregnant, I’m tempted to measure how far out her belly stretches, and then compare it with her height. She’s not carrying just one Bishop, but two, but despite how tired her eyes are, her smile is amazing.
Her dress is form-fitting, and the sleeves stretch right down to her wrists and end in a V, so a tiny loop of material twirls around her middle fingers. I might feel like a princess in my dress, but she looks like one. The gown follows the lines of her body, so I know her exact shape beneath the white lace. The bust shows a little cleavage, but it’s tasteful in the most magical way. Lace is tight over her hips and bottom, then flares out from her thighs like a mermaid’s tail would. Her normally straight hair is half up, and loose curls dangle to the middle of her back.
When she turns to set something on the end of the bed to free up her hands, I have to hold my breath and my envy when I see that the fabric is sheer and stretches right down to the small of her back.
She’s wearing a backless dress, without it truly being backless.
“I’m so jealous of you right now,” I blurt out. “You look amazing.”
It might be the babies making her emotional, or perhaps the fact it’s her wedding day. Maybe it’s both, but she steps forward with sparkling eyes that look almost on the verge of crying, and pulls me into a hug made awkward because of her belly.
“Thank you so much.” She pulls back and looks into my eyes. “I’m so happy you decided to come. You look beautiful.”
“Of course I came. This is my job.”
She purses her lips, but her smile slips through. “I mean, of course you were going to deliver the flowers. But you dressed up, which means you’re coming to the whole wedding. You work so hard, I’m glad you decided to dress up and come out. You deserve a little fun.”
“I’m actually kind of excited.” Surprisingly, that’s not a lie. “I haven’t worn a dress like this in years, so this will be fun. I’ll still be in bed by ten,” I laugh. “But a nice meal, good music, the potential to see a live birth on the dance floor…” I giggle when she growls, then gently tap the lid of her flower box. “Wanna see?”
“Yes!” Emergency twin birth forgotten, Jess claps her hands and turns to perch on the end of her bed.
Her dress rides up just a little as she sits, which shows off a pair of heels much higher than mine, and the perfect pedicure that I doubt she can even see. She grunts when Laine sits beside her and holds her hand, but her eyes light up when I pull the lid off and present the bouquet I spent half the day creating.
“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.” She fans her face, and tries to stop the way her lips quiver. “I love them so much. They’re a freakin’ masterpiece, Abby! It’s like art.”
I smile, because sometimes I think of my work as art, too.
I cover the few feet separating us, and gently pass her the arrangement. Just as predicted, the second she has them, she buries her nose in the bunch and cries.
Laine holds her sister close and rests her head on Jess’ shoulder. When their brother sits down on Jess’ other side, I grab my phone and snap a picture.
Because the creation of human doesn’t get much better than this.
They’re all such beautiful people, the kind we see in the movies and magazines and swear can’t possibly exist. Twin girls, and their male counterpart. Icy blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and one of them is carrying her own set of twins, just to do her part and provide the world with more beautiful people.
Luc whispers things into Jess’ ear that remind me of my brothers. Always so protective, so loving. His little sister’s tears are not from sadness, but he still comforts her. He still does his duty and makes it so she doesn’t cry anymore.
I take picture after picture like a
total paparazzi stalker, then I hit ‘forward,’ and send the whole bunch to the email address Jess provided me with months ago. They’re for her, and once she walks down the aisle and I won’t run the risk of spoiling Kane’s first chance of seeing her, I’ll send them to him, too.
If I ever meet a man that looks at me the way Kane looks at Jess, and if I ever have the chance to look as beautiful as Jess does right now, I would hope somebody was around to take the picture. And then I would hope that somebody sent the picture to my prince.
“Kane picked the peony for our flower,” Jess murmurs. Her tear-filled eyes come up and meet mine. “I gave him the choice, and that’s what he chose.”
“He chose well. Peonies are good luck for a couple.”
Her lips quiver as her eyes stray back to the bouquet. “I think we’re going to have a happy life together.”
“But not this year,” Laine jests. “Two babies are going to keep you awake soon. You’ll hate each other before the end of the month.”
Jess snickers and carefully wipes a hand under her nose. “I could never hate him. I dislike him a lot of the time. I want to hit him almost always. But my heart beats for him, guys. He’s perfect for me.”
“Alright, I’m done with this.” Luc bounds up from the bed and fixes his fancy suit jacket. “He’s a dude, and you’re my sister. I love you guys, but I don’t want the details.”
“She’s already pregnant.” I’m probably the shyest person I know, and my blush furiously burns my cheeks when Luc’s scandalized eyes come up to me. “I mean, we already know some of the details, right?”
“Abby!” Jess’ chest bounces with laughter, but then her laughter turns to grunts as she leverages her way back to her feet. “Let’s go, guys. I’m dressed, I’m ready, and I’ve peed, which means I have twenty minutes before I have to do it again. This dress was a terrible choice, by the way.”
“But it’s so beautiful,” I whisper. “I have never looked the way you look right now.”
Jess cups her chest. “Pregnancy boobs are a thing, Abby.” Then she cups her cheeks. “And the glow is real, too. The rest…” She shrugs. “Makeup and special effects. The dress was tailored to look amazing, the shoes make me look taller than I am, my hips are bigger because of Bishop.”
Luc’s skin turns a gentle shade of green. “Gross.”
“Besides, you look stunning, too.” She steps forward. “We’re all different pages in a book. We can’t all look the same, because that would be a boring-ass book. But we can all be beautiful in our own way. We can all tell our own story.”
“Jesus,” Luc groans. “Jessie’s getting all philosophical today. Let’s go.” He loops his arm in Jess’, but stops with a grin for me. “Did you bring Mitch?”
“No.” I laugh. “He doesn’t socialize. Like… ever.”
“You’re coming alone?” Laine asks.
I know her question is purely out of curiosity, but it makes me feel silly anyway. It’s prom all over again, but worse. Because my brother isn’t with me.
“Yup, but I’ll be working, remember? I’m just the help.”
“You are not,” Jess scowls. “I’ve already done the seating chart. You’re at table one. Don’t stress, you’ll be right by us.”
* * *
The ceremony is held at the massive, towered church in the center of town. The bells could be heard ringing from Jess’ home, so after I deliver the flowers and make sure there’s nothing more I can do for the bride, I follow the musical chimes and drive across town.
I have to park two blocks away, since cars spill out from this wedding as though the couple were royalty, but the sun is out and perfect, the birds sing and compete with the bells, and when I walk inside as quietly as I can manage and try my best not to be noticed, I do a happy little dance in my head when I see my work laid out along the sixty feet of church aisle.
My flowers adorn the end of every pew. They frame everyone in, and at the top of the aisle, massive urns overflow with my art and provide the perfect backdrop for the wedding photographer to capture the couple promising their forevers.
Love is in the air, and every single person in attendance today feels it just as surely as I can.
The pews are segregated, so the beautiful blonde people sit on one side. They include emergency responders — EMTs, but not Mitch, firefighters, but not Nixon — cops, school teachers, band members, and fighters.
And on the other side, tattoos.
It’s the best way I can describe it.
Of course, those on Jess’ side aren’t as bare-skinned as I am, but those on Kane’s side are more obvious about it. Those on the left have inked arms hidden by coat sleeves. Those on the right have tattoos everywhere, so not even their fancy suits can hide it.
But the most obvious of all these are the men who stand with Kane at the front.
The Bishop brothers stand side by side in handsome black suits and ties. Kane wears a white pocket square, where the rest wear silver. Hair has been combed and gelled, faces have been shaved. Jay Bishop, who looks eerily like his brother, just a less serious version, bounces on his toes and holds Kane down when the ceremony’s three p.m. start time ticks over to three-oh-five, and then three-ten.
I study each of the men standing with Kane, but my eyes invariably stray back to one in particular.
Of course they do. He’s the largest of them all, the widest, the only one besides Kane who radiates anything but happiness.
I felt his gaze the moment I walked in and sat down, but I’m far too terrified to meet his eyes. I’m a coward, I’ve been here for twenty minutes, and not once in that time have I looked further up than his collar.
Spencer’s glare makes me sweat. It makes me squirm, and that’s a strange sensation for me. His tattooed hands peek out from the end of his suit jacket. His thick thighs are almost strangled in black dress pants. Shiny black shoes look entirely too long, but he’s tall, so I guess clown feet are proportionate.
Spencer Serrano makes me nervous, because he’s the first male who isn’t my brother to ever look just a tiny bit closer at me, or act like he cares about my well-being.
Spencer doesn’t care about me, as such, but he cared about my strength, about my weight, about a man he suspected was toxic for me. While my brothers being on my case kind of annoys me now after so many years of hearing the same thing over and over, having a stranger say the same things feels, I guess, exciting and new.
And for the girl who spent so much of her life in a little bubble, so shielded by brothers and shyness that not a single guy has ever looked longer than a second, I haven’t been able to shake off my meeting with this man.
I have no doubt that, in his mind, I’m just a stupid little gnat who can’t stand up for herself. But in my mind, he’s the guy who cared enough to make sure I was okay, even if he did it in such a crude way, I thought I might be sick from nerves.
Church bells eventually give way to music, though I have no clue who signaled the organ player to begin. The atmosphere in the large church changes, and Kane’s dark eyes burn holes into the heavy wooden doors that will open and reveal his bride in just a moment.
It’d be just his luck if Jess went into labor on the way here.
Poor Kane looks so stressed.
The doors open a full twenty minutes after three, allowing the perfect, middle-of-the-afternoon sunlight to filter through and light the aisle for a half a dozen rows. The organ’s tune picks up in speed until bridesmaids in silver file past the guests, making their way to join the group at the top of the room.
A heavyset man in robes waits by a microphone. He carries a worn bible, tattered and loved, as the women move with sneaky grins and bright eyes.
Jess’ maid of honor enters in her aqua gown, and because I know who her boyfriend is, I cast a glance back to the front, and watch Angelo’s eyes eat her up until the beautiful blonde almost passes out from blushing. She’s one of the beautiful people, one of the elite who should never be shy, but she c
an’t help but drop her gaze to the floor. Her shoulders come up, and her hair curtains her face as the pressure of so many onlookers batters at her.
But she smiles.
The music changes again, giving the signal for everyone to stand.
I know I shouldn’t look away from the doors. I know I should be watching the bride, but I can’t seem to help myself. I take a quick peek at the bridal party with the excuse that I’m going to watch the groom’s expression as Jess walks in, but in reality, I stop on Spencer. Just one peek, one single second before I turn away, but I look too high, and my eyes are caught in his while he glares.
He’s not looking at the bride, either.
I swallow a solid lump in my throat and try to turn away.
I could call what Spencer is doing a stare. I could say he’s just curious, which would be understandable, considering I keep looking too. But stares are more about curiosity, right? Perhaps it’s a subliminal compliment about one’s hair or dress.
So, no, what Spencer is doing isn’t a stare, but feels much more like a glare.
And it is impossible to escape.
His eyes are dark, penetrating, and frankly, a little terrifying. He’s military, that much is certain. I’ve met many soldiers in my life, so the man he is, even the body he has, isn’t particularly scary for me. I have five older brothers, and not one of them is short or thin, so it’s not like big people intimidate me. But there’s something in his eyes that speaks of darkness, of pain, possibly of tragedy and the stuff nightmares are made of, and I think part of the reason it terrifies me — and in the same moment, intrigues me — is because there is only one other person in my world that has that same look in their eyes.
