“Good luck out there.” She was already turning her laptop back on, writing down notes. “Although you won’t need it.”
“Yeah.” I was backing slowly away, trying to catch her eye. When she finally looked up, I gave her a snappy, double-finger-guns move that was absolutely the dorkiest fucking thing I had ever done.
“Are you okay?” She looked confused.
“Just loosening up,” I said, rolling out my shoulders. “You, um… I mean… you can say no to this, but I’ll be working on Mateo’s bike for a bit on Saturday night. You could swing by, meet him, talk concert stuff. We could… hang out.”
It was time for a hole to open and swallow me up.
“Sure,” she said. “And I’ll text you tomorrow as I’m getting things done for the show.”
“Right,” I said. “The show.”
She was already on the move, sticking notes on the wall. I was dizzy again, and I didn’t want to go. I needed to say something.
I cleared my throat. She turned toward me. “For the record, and I mean this as your friend, but the guy who ends up marrying you will be the lucky one. Any man who says differently is a fucking fool.”
She leaned one shoulder against the wall, looking vulnerable for all of a second. “That was very kind of you to say.”
“I don’t lie.” I shrugged. “I meant every word.”
And then I left, before I did what I really wanted to do—take two big strides and kiss her senseless.
But I couldn’t do that because her next first kiss needed to be from a man who could mean something to her.
And that wasn’t me.
17
Fiona
Roxy walked down the sidewalk toward me with the serious trepidation of someone about to diffuse a bomb. I’d kept our wedding dress shopping location a secret, although I had sent her a message, asking her to mentally prepare to look like a cupcake on her special day.
I stood in front of the plate glass window with my arms crossed and a smirk on my face. “Ready, cupcake?”
She held up a single finger as she got closer. “I will try on one single cupcake dress because of my deep and devoted love for you.”
“Aw, Roc.”
“I’m serious.” She still hadn’t seen the name of the place yet, and it was giving me the giggles. “Wait, what’s wrong with you? You didn’t call a bridal reality show, did you? Are there fucking camera crews waiting for me to say yes to the dress?”
I shook my head and pointed to the sign above my head that read The Black Veil. “It’s a gothic bridal shop.”
I stepped aside—the mannequin in the window wore a sleek black wedding dress with red lace. She looked at the sign, then at the dress, then at me.
And then she leapt into my arms.
“I would never put you in a white dress,” I said, squeezing her back. “You made me swear a blood oath when we were teenagers.”
She was quiet, and when I pulled back, she was wiping a stray tear. As soon as I noticed, she glared at me affectionately. “Don’t get mushy.”
“Never,” I said somberly.
“This is a big deal, I guess.”
“Getting married?” I laughed. “Of course, it is. But don’t worry, I’ll protect your secret.”
She reached into her bag and brought out a tiny bottle of whiskey. “To celebrate, right?”
I felt a twinge in my belly because I’d missed a good amount of quality time with Roxy to pursue dating last year’s crop of useless men. And as soon as The Red Room concert was over, I knew it was time to get back out there again, contract in hand. But I wanted to find more of that balance, wanted to figure out how I could prioritize chasing my own joy while spending time with family. Max had spoken fondly of keeping his relationships easy, but the more I sat with that concept last night, the more I realized that wasn’t what I wanted when it came to my family.
Those thoughts had me calling my sister this morning, inquiring about her availability for some last-minute wedding dress shopping tonight. Luck was in our favor—Roxy hadn’t booked any clients, and my last meeting wrapped up at 6:00.
“Sharing a bottle of whiskey while shopping for a wedding dress Morticia Addams would wear is certainly on brand for the Quinn family,” I mused. I ducked my head, catching her eye again. “Are you a little nervous?”
She chewed on her lip. “Nervous, but in a good way. I guess getting married to Edward hasn’t really seemed real until now. I’m so happy you’re here, Fi.”
I smiled and tugged her inside, where we were greeted by a team of shoppers that looked exactly like Roxy. After a flurry of frenzied questions and measurements, I was planted on a red velvet chair in front of a sea of mirrors. My sister stood in the dressing room, already knocking back the whiskey bottle.
I took out a pad of paper, a pen, and my camera. A slew of dresses began to arrive for Roxy’s approval, each more unconventional than the last.
“Edward is going to, how can I say this, shit himself when he sees you,” I said, wincing at a black dress with a high, Victorian-style collar. When the tables were turned, Roxy would be escorting me as I found the perfect white, cupcake-style dress that made me feel like the princess I’d always wanted to be on my wedding day.
I can up my game, princess. Five, six, seven orgasms. You give me the number, and I’ll provide the climax.
“Fi, you okay?”
“Oh yeah,” I said, fanning my face. “Just a little—holy hell that’s a lot of funeral-looking lace.”
“It’s so beautiful,” she sighed.
I hid a smile as I sketched out the system I’d devised for keeping track of Roxy’s dress choices. Then I set up my camera. Edward’s relationship with his wealthy, somewhat-royal family in England was cool at best and strained at worst. Imagining their reactions to Roxy in a black dress would be my chosen daydream the next time I was stuck in a meeting with an aggravating client.
The bottle of whiskey sailed towards me. I caught it, took a quick shot, then placed it carefully on the ground. The liquor burned down my throat, and I smiled at the pleasant feeling.
“How’s it going with the benefit show?” she called over the dressing room door. There was a lot of rustling, and some mumbled curses.
I stood up, wandering over to a short rack of gauzy veils in different colors. “Great so far,” I called back. “I spoke with my one friend who works in tenant and housing rights, but she only told me what I already suspected to be true.”
“Pop has to pay, huh?”
“He sure does,” I said. “But things are in full motion for us to raise the funding he’ll need. And I’m having a lot of fun. Max and Pop are handling the bands, Mom and Dad are headlining of course—and fucking thrilled about it.”
“Oh, I know,” she said. “I’ve gotten a couple calls already, talking about what a brave bad-ass you are.”
My fingers stilled. They had always emphasized my and Roxy’s bravery growing up, which I loved. Bravery seemed like such a powerful concept as a kid, although I’d translated a lot of mine into color-coordinated wall calendars. Hearing them say that now made me feel less like they were secretly disappointed I was a corporate drone. “They’ll crush their set, bring the house down. It’s going to be a victorious night. We sold seventy-five of the 350 tickets the first day.”