He pulls his hands away, revealing a strapless gown artfully displayed on the coverlet, with a pair of matching silk gloves, a belt, and high-heeled shoes in precisely the same shade of shocking pink.
I stare at the dress, hands over my mouth.
“You didn’t . . .” I whisper.
“It’s not the real one,” Miles says, quickly. “I mean, I’ll buy that for you if you want, but it’s so old it would fall apart if you tried to wear it. I had a replica made. It’s all peau d’ange silk, just like the original, and look, the lining’s black satin. The palms of the gloves are even suede, just like in the film.”
“How on earth did you remember?” I say.
Three years ago, I told Miles that my dream dress was the one Marilyn Monroe wore in Gentlemen Prefer Blondes. I used to watch that movie all the time with my abuela.
I’ve never mentioned it since.
“I remember everything you say to me,” Miles tells me, his expression serious.
It’s true—Miles never forgets. He never misses details. He never fails to come through.
“How do you do it?” I say, shaking my head at him.
“I do it because you matter to me,” Miles says. “I wouldn’t forget about you any more than I’d forget about breathing.”
I can’t breathe right now. My chest is too tight. The dress is so beautiful. It’s a dream come to life—something I never expected to actually touch and hold.
“Put it on,” he says.
The silk is smooth and cool as water running over my skin. I pull on the dress, turning so Miles can zip the back, carefully navigating the oversized bow at the waist.
I step into the shoes, don the gloves, and stand before the full-length mirror so we can both admire the effect.
The pink silk blazes against my skin. The dress fits me to the millimeter.
“How in the fuck did you get my measurements!” I cry.
Miles just laughs. “That was the easy part,” he says.
I snap a picture of myself so I can send it to Chay. She texts me back immediately, in all caps, so I can almost hear her screech of delight:
THAT IS THE HOTTEST YOU’VE EVER LOOKED! What a perfect wedding present for me ;)
Miles laughs reading it.
“I thought it was more a gift to myself, but I’m glad Chay’s happy.”
I grab his face between my hands and kiss him.
“I’m happy,” I tell him. “Extremely happy.”
We take the elevator down to the reception. Miles looks irresistible in a cream-colored suit with his dark curls freshly washed and his face clean-shaven. I’m already counting the minutes until we can go back up to our room.
We’re seated amongst a profusion of peonies, dahlias, and overblown roses, in brilliant shades of fuchsia, orange, and crimson.
Anna and Leo sit directly in front of us, Leo grinning brighter than I’ve ever seen. The reason is obvious—his hand rests on Anna’s belly, which stretches the limits of her tight black dress.
“How was the flight over?” I ask her, squeezing her shoulder in sympathy.
“Miserable,” she says. “One of these babies is a real fucking asshole.”
“Maybe both of them!” Leo says, with undisguised excitement.
Even as I watch, the side of Anna’s belly visibly distends with a well-aimed kick.
“I don’t know if they’re gonna let me back on the plane,” Anna says. “I’m so big that I look like I’m due tomorrow.”
“I think Cat actually is due tomorrow,” I say.
“I wish she could have come,” Anna says. “And I envy her only having to push one baby out.”
“Yeah, but she’ll have to go through the whole thing again if she wants another,” Leo says. “This is like a two-for-one deal on the pregnancy.”
“Easy for you to say!” Anna says, smacking him on the shoulder.
Leo just grins and pulls her close.
“Sorry babygirl. Twins on both sides of our family — it was pretty much guaranteed to happen.”
Cara Wilk drops down in the seat next to her sister, panting slightly.
“Oh good, we’re not late!” she says. “I broke a heel on my shoe.”
“Don’t worry,” Hedeon says, sitting down next to her. “Those sandals are even prettier.”
He puts his arm around Cara’s shoulder so she can snuggle against his chest.
I can’t help smiling, seeing that Hedeon has matched his tie to Cara’s pale blue dress.
Hedeon moved to Chicago so he can see Cara over the summers when she comes home from Kingmakers. He’s been working with Leo and the rest of the Gallos. Well—the rest of them except for my husband.
Miles and I are perfectly happy in Los Angeles. We’ve been developing a TV show for Netflix—my version of The Sopranos, centered around teenagers from mafia families.
“Just don’t put anything in the script that will get us in trouble,” Miles told me.
“You mean, don’t call their high school Kingmakers and put it on a secret island?” I teased him.
“Well . . .” he raised an eyebrow. “It does make for a good setting . . .”
I love working with Miles. Our strengths and weaknesses perfectly complement each other. His ambition is boundless, and he’ll do anything to reach our goals. I’m the rudder that helps steer him away from some of his more fantastical ideas toward those that might actually work.
“Oh!” Cara gasps. “Here she comes!”
In true Chay fashion, she walks down the aisle to the pounding refrains of some German rock band I’ve never heard of.
Her father is wearing his leather Night Wolves jacket over a pair of artfully-distressed jeans and studded boots. He holds Chay’s arm, grinning broadly.
Ozzy steps up to the altar to wait for her. He’s dressed in plaid pants, combat boots, and a sleeveless suit jacket that shows the tattoos running down his arms. An oversized orange peony protrudes from his buttonhole. His mohawk has been spiked up to its most astronomical heights. He looks dazzled, utterly stunned at the sight of his bride.
No one can outshine Chay tonight. She’s got the bouffant of Texas beauty queen, the makeup of an 80s hair band, and a dress that trails ten yards behind her. The layers and layers of exploding tulle are dyed in descending sunset colors: fuchsia, salmon, tangerine, scarlet, indigo, and purple.
She practically runs down the aisle to Ozzy.
Ozzy’s dad performs the ceremony. He keeps it short and simple.
“Ozzy was in love with Chay from the moment he laid eyes on her. Chay took a little more convincing.”
We all laugh.
“But I think it’s clear to see that no couple could be more excited to finally tie the knot. Ozzy, you’re damn lucky to have this girl. And Chay, no one will ever be more devoted to you than my son. I know the two of you will never be bored together. And god help anyone who stands in your way!”
Before he can give the order, Ozzy seizes Chay, bends her backward, and kisses her as if he’s waited years to do it.
We all whistle and cheer, Caleb Griffin throwing handfuls of rainbow-colored petals on the couple as he’d been instructed to do as the flower boy.
Right at that moment, I feel my phone buzzing in my handbag.