My heart twists at his thoughtfulness. “But that was the first dress,” I explain.
“I know,” he says, as Evan reaches over and grabs a large box off the floor. He sets it on the table, and I look between the two men with curiosity. “Go ahead,” Damien urges. “Open it. I think you’ll find the necklace appropriate, after all.”
Wary, I pull off the lid, and find myself gazing down at my beautiful, missing wedding dress.
“How—?”
“I have a few friends who have a unique ability to track down internationally shipped items that have gone missing,” Evan says.
“Oh.” I glance at Damien, wondering if that means what I think it does. But his face reveals nothing. To be honest, I really don’t care how or where he found my dress. I’m just glad it’s arrived.
“Alyssa’s coming to the house in the morning. She’ll take care of any alterations on-site,” Damien adds, and I lean over and kiss him impulsively, this man who takes such exceptionally good care of me.
“Thank you,” I say to Damien, then turn to include Evan. “Thank you both. You saved me.”
A sense of relief sweeps over me, and for the first time since I started this wedding planning thing, I feel truly stress-free. It feels nice.
I reach out and hold tight to Damien’s hand. This, I think, is the only thing that’s important.
The party continues until well into the night, and it’s almost two by the time we get home. I’m about to strip and fall into bed when I realize that I’ve missed a call. I put the phone on speaker and listen as the message plays.
“Hi, Nikki, this is Lauren with the flowers for tomorrow. I just wanted to let you know that we’re all set. It was last minute, but we were happy to make the change.”
I frown and glance at Damien, who looks as confused as I feel.
“So we’ll be there in the morning to set up, this time with the lilies and gardenias. And we’re sending a selection over to Sally, too, for the cake. Thanks again, and we can’t wait to see you tomorrow. Congratulations again to you and Damien.”
The call ends, and I stare at the phone like it is a serpent.
What the fuck?
What the bloody fuck?
“She switched them,” I say. “My mother actually fucked with my wedding.” I meet Damien’s gaze. I know mine is angry. His is murderous. Not because of the flowers—I sincerely doubt he cares about sunflowers versus gardenias—but because of what that woman has done to me over and over and over.
“It’s like she’s reaching out from Texas and twisting the knife. Like there is no pleasure in her life unless she’s screwing with me.”
I stalk around the bedroom, trying to get my head together. I feel cold and angry and out of control. Whatever pleasure I’d felt when Damien and Evan presented me with my wedding dress has been swept away. It’s as if this wedding will never truly be my own. And now I either have to endure a wedding with my mother’s stamp upon it, or I have to spend my wedding day sorting out this mess.
“Dammit,” I howl.
“It will be okay,” Damien says, pulling me into his arms.
“I know it’ll be okay. It’s not like we’re talking about curing cancer. But that’s not the point. She just went and turned the whole thing around on me.”
“And at the end of the day, we’ll still be married,” he says reasonably.
I am in too bitchy a mood to listen to reason, but it’s still there. Inescapable and true and hanging in the air between us.
I stalk around the room a bit more, while Damien eyes me with trepidation, as if I’m a bomb about to go off.
Smart man.
Finally, the bubbling anger cools, leaving calm calculation.
I feel the prickle of an idea, and slowly it grows. After a few more laps around the room, I stop in front of Damien.
“I can fix this,” I say.
“What do you mean?”
“I can howl and complain that she fucked up my wedding. Or I can turn it around on its ear, flip my mother the bird, and say that she didn’t fuck up my wedding, she did me a favor.”