“What you can feel is our girl’s pre-wedding hormones gone crazy.”
I hug my pillow and grin so hard, pressing the pillow against my body and all the aching places, my nipples, between my legs, even my stomach, which is whirling. “I shall not apologize for lusting after my fiancé. Everybody else does it, and I get to do it for the rest of my life, which is pretty damn fine to me.”
The heat of our bodies. The pull is so strong between us, even in silence we seem to communicate.
I can’t wait to melt into the protectiveness of his arms.
How I feel wistful and relaxed when close to him. This comfort of being close—his presence so male, strong. Every fiber of my being aches. I let my mind drift off to our wedding night. The almond oil, sweet smelling and glistening, that I plan to wear on my skin. The La Perla bra and panties, perfect lace, perfectly see-through, that I plan to wear on my sexy parts . . .
I realize then that Gina is really withdrawn and unusually quiet. “What’s happened with Tahoe, Gina?” I ask softly.
“Nothing. We’re friends. We . . . I guess we talk. A lot.”
“What about?”
“Things.”
“Paul?”
“I told him about Paul.”
Disbelief widens my eyes. “You did! Babe, that’s huge for you! To open up like that to a guy.”
“He’s a friend. He’s a great listener, actually. But I don’t really want to talk about that now.” She spreads out my veil a little more. “How did you choose your wedding dress?” Gina then asks. “And the veil?”
“It’s as hard as choosing the groom, I bet,” Wynn says.
“Actually no. They both chose me. I was afraid of both . . . a little. But I’m sure he’s the one.” I point at my mom’s dress and my mother’s eyes instantly widen. “And that’s the one.”
“Really?” Mother asks.
“Really. I’m sure.”
“It’s a sexy dress, Mama,” Wynn gushes. “I wish my mom had that cleavage. Your Saint is going to think all devil thoughts while in church. Another benefit to . . . abstinence!”
“Abstinence!” they all cheer.
“Easy for you to say, but revenge will be sweet. I’ll be the one wrapping the chastity belts around you two before your wedding days.”
“Gina’s chastity belt is her mouth, she opens it and the guys run. Except Tahoe.”
Gina shoots Wynn a withering look. “He’s my bud. You two don’t get to talk evil about him.”
“Well, Gina, one day . . .” my always-optimistic mother says.
“It’s nice to imagine it, that it’s out there. Doing more is hard, though. I can imagine it, I can see it, and I like seeing it. I just don’t want to pull back the curtain with my name on it and find out I’m the one who picked the losing card. I’d rather . . . imagine there was something wonderful in store.”
“There could be,” Mother insists.
“Maybe. But right now, it’s enough to think that there could be. I’m not ready to find out that there isn’t.”
We’re tired enough to run out of talk but too wired to sleep. The girls propose watching a wedding movie. “My Best Friend’ s Wedding ? ” I ask as I scroll through the offerings on the hotel pay-per-view.
“You’ve seen that one a gazillion times. Let’s watch Steve Martin. This one is fun. Fun, Rachel. Really,” says Wynn.
“I don’t know. Father of the Bride . . . Mom?” I ask my mother uncertainly.
It’s a movie I’ve always shied away from simply because . . . well, my father isn’t here.
My mother wavers a little bit, an instant of worry on her face, but then she looks at my friends’ faces and the hopeful look I wear—a look that might say I want her to tell me I am strong enough to watch it. I’m happy, I’m older, I’m good.
“It’s a beautiful movie,” my mom finally says before she heads off to her room, to bed.
Pacified, I click the purchase button, cross the room, close the open windows, and settle in bed to watch it with my friends.
It starts perfect. Proposal. Funny, jealous dad. The parts where he is acting a little nutty and protective make the corners of my eyes start to leak. Soon, the dam breaks. And I’m a waterfall.
“Oh no!” Wynn pauses the movie. “Gina, look for My Best Friend ’s Wedding .”
Before she can hug me and I start getting truly emotional, I leap to my feet and hide in the bathroom, washing my face for a long time.
Wynn knocks. “You okay? Saint’s at the door.”
I look at my face, and thank goodness my eyes haven’t swelled up. Thanks, three minutes of cold water. I tie my hair in a bun and realize, with a little kick of adrenaline—he wants his kiss ! So I quickly wash my mouth with Scope.
All the things that happen to me physically when I see him are already poised to take over when I swing open the door, bend down to set the door stopper so I’m not shut out, and step outside.
His strong, deliciously unique energy envelops me like a cloak.
“The guys aren’t letting up anytime soon,” he explains to me softly when I just stand there and drink in the sight of him like a junkie.
He’s in lounge pants and a soft V-neck T-shirt, the fabric draping over his hard body and delineating every muscle. Between his lashes, his eyes are resting hungrily on me. As if he misses the sight of me.
“Neither are the girls.” I wipe my cheek again to make sure no tears remain.
He smiles wryly and props a shoulder on the wall, and then he studies me curiously, as if he can see the tears still on my cheeks. “Thought I’d claim my kiss before it felt like a good-morning one,” he says softly.
“It’s already morning anyway.” I grin up at him. “But I’ll give you a day kiss tomorrow in my wedding dress.”
His fingers curve under my chin. “So . . . which are you wearing?”
God, my heart is swooning inside. His bold, handsome face smiles warmly down at me. I can’t wait for him to see me in white. Walking up to him, ready and eager to become his wife.
“Do you want to picture me?” I probe, smiling happily as the look in his eyes tells me that he does. I’m smiling fully now, happiness spreading inside me. “You haven’t seen the one I’ll be wearing.”
His warm fingers curl around my jaw and he turns my head as if he means to kiss me, but instead, he just keeps smiling. “I can’t wait to make you my lady. Your smiles drive me crazy.”
“I missed you.”
His lips curl even higher, tenderly so. “Are you nervous?”
I nod. “But . . . excited.”
His chiseled face is still softened by his smile as he strokes his thumb from one edge of my smile to the other. “I overestimated myself thinking I could wait longer to marry you.”
I nod and stay quiet, feeling the weight of his gaze on me, which suddenly makes me feel like my heart just burst open. “We were watching Father of the Bride and I was bawling like a baby.” I duck my head into his shirt and start bawling again.
“Come here.” He presses me against the flat of his chest, and I fist a handful of shirt and speak into the fabric that smells clean and deliciously like him.
I hug my pillow and grin so hard, pressing the pillow against my body and all the aching places, my nipples, between my legs, even my stomach, which is whirling. “I shall not apologize for lusting after my fiancé. Everybody else does it, and I get to do it for the rest of my life, which is pretty damn fine to me.”
The heat of our bodies. The pull is so strong between us, even in silence we seem to communicate.
I can’t wait to melt into the protectiveness of his arms.
How I feel wistful and relaxed when close to him. This comfort of being close—his presence so male, strong. Every fiber of my being aches. I let my mind drift off to our wedding night. The almond oil, sweet smelling and glistening, that I plan to wear on my skin. The La Perla bra and panties, perfect lace, perfectly see-through, that I plan to wear on my sexy parts . . .
I realize then that Gina is really withdrawn and unusually quiet. “What’s happened with Tahoe, Gina?” I ask softly.
“Nothing. We’re friends. We . . . I guess we talk. A lot.”
“What about?”
“Things.”
“Paul?”
“I told him about Paul.”
Disbelief widens my eyes. “You did! Babe, that’s huge for you! To open up like that to a guy.”
“He’s a friend. He’s a great listener, actually. But I don’t really want to talk about that now.” She spreads out my veil a little more. “How did you choose your wedding dress?” Gina then asks. “And the veil?”
“It’s as hard as choosing the groom, I bet,” Wynn says.
“Actually no. They both chose me. I was afraid of both . . . a little. But I’m sure he’s the one.” I point at my mom’s dress and my mother’s eyes instantly widen. “And that’s the one.”
“Really?” Mother asks.
“Really. I’m sure.”
“It’s a sexy dress, Mama,” Wynn gushes. “I wish my mom had that cleavage. Your Saint is going to think all devil thoughts while in church. Another benefit to . . . abstinence!”
“Abstinence!” they all cheer.
“Easy for you to say, but revenge will be sweet. I’ll be the one wrapping the chastity belts around you two before your wedding days.”
“Gina’s chastity belt is her mouth, she opens it and the guys run. Except Tahoe.”
Gina shoots Wynn a withering look. “He’s my bud. You two don’t get to talk evil about him.”
“Well, Gina, one day . . .” my always-optimistic mother says.
“It’s nice to imagine it, that it’s out there. Doing more is hard, though. I can imagine it, I can see it, and I like seeing it. I just don’t want to pull back the curtain with my name on it and find out I’m the one who picked the losing card. I’d rather . . . imagine there was something wonderful in store.”
“There could be,” Mother insists.
“Maybe. But right now, it’s enough to think that there could be. I’m not ready to find out that there isn’t.”
We’re tired enough to run out of talk but too wired to sleep. The girls propose watching a wedding movie. “My Best Friend’ s Wedding ? ” I ask as I scroll through the offerings on the hotel pay-per-view.
“You’ve seen that one a gazillion times. Let’s watch Steve Martin. This one is fun. Fun, Rachel. Really,” says Wynn.
“I don’t know. Father of the Bride . . . Mom?” I ask my mother uncertainly.
It’s a movie I’ve always shied away from simply because . . . well, my father isn’t here.
My mother wavers a little bit, an instant of worry on her face, but then she looks at my friends’ faces and the hopeful look I wear—a look that might say I want her to tell me I am strong enough to watch it. I’m happy, I’m older, I’m good.
“It’s a beautiful movie,” my mom finally says before she heads off to her room, to bed.
Pacified, I click the purchase button, cross the room, close the open windows, and settle in bed to watch it with my friends.
It starts perfect. Proposal. Funny, jealous dad. The parts where he is acting a little nutty and protective make the corners of my eyes start to leak. Soon, the dam breaks. And I’m a waterfall.
“Oh no!” Wynn pauses the movie. “Gina, look for My Best Friend ’s Wedding .”
Before she can hug me and I start getting truly emotional, I leap to my feet and hide in the bathroom, washing my face for a long time.
Wynn knocks. “You okay? Saint’s at the door.”
I look at my face, and thank goodness my eyes haven’t swelled up. Thanks, three minutes of cold water. I tie my hair in a bun and realize, with a little kick of adrenaline—he wants his kiss ! So I quickly wash my mouth with Scope.
All the things that happen to me physically when I see him are already poised to take over when I swing open the door, bend down to set the door stopper so I’m not shut out, and step outside.
His strong, deliciously unique energy envelops me like a cloak.
“The guys aren’t letting up anytime soon,” he explains to me softly when I just stand there and drink in the sight of him like a junkie.
He’s in lounge pants and a soft V-neck T-shirt, the fabric draping over his hard body and delineating every muscle. Between his lashes, his eyes are resting hungrily on me. As if he misses the sight of me.
“Neither are the girls.” I wipe my cheek again to make sure no tears remain.
He smiles wryly and props a shoulder on the wall, and then he studies me curiously, as if he can see the tears still on my cheeks. “Thought I’d claim my kiss before it felt like a good-morning one,” he says softly.
“It’s already morning anyway.” I grin up at him. “But I’ll give you a day kiss tomorrow in my wedding dress.”
His fingers curve under my chin. “So . . . which are you wearing?”
God, my heart is swooning inside. His bold, handsome face smiles warmly down at me. I can’t wait for him to see me in white. Walking up to him, ready and eager to become his wife.
“Do you want to picture me?” I probe, smiling happily as the look in his eyes tells me that he does. I’m smiling fully now, happiness spreading inside me. “You haven’t seen the one I’ll be wearing.”
His warm fingers curl around my jaw and he turns my head as if he means to kiss me, but instead, he just keeps smiling. “I can’t wait to make you my lady. Your smiles drive me crazy.”
“I missed you.”
His lips curl even higher, tenderly so. “Are you nervous?”
I nod. “But . . . excited.”
His chiseled face is still softened by his smile as he strokes his thumb from one edge of my smile to the other. “I overestimated myself thinking I could wait longer to marry you.”
I nod and stay quiet, feeling the weight of his gaze on me, which suddenly makes me feel like my heart just burst open. “We were watching Father of the Bride and I was bawling like a baby.” I duck my head into his shirt and start bawling again.
“Come here.” He presses me against the flat of his chest, and I fist a handful of shirt and speak into the fabric that smells clean and deliciously like him.
