What I should have done, what would have cemented my position in the group of Old Ladies, was to cuss them out and punch the loudest, mouthiest bitch right in the face.
Why hadn’t I done that? That’s the question I was asking myself. It wasn't just about being exhausted after killing my father, although that was certainly part of it. It was bigger than that. I kept having the nagging thought that maybe, just maybe, I wasn't meant to fit into this club. Maybe this life just wasn't for me.
Who could blame me, right? I'd been raised around this kind of shit. I'd shot the man I'd known as my father.
The same man who'd left me more money than I could ever spend.
Could anyone blame me if I was having second thoughts about marrying Blaze and going to law school, when I could pack up and escape to my own private island somewhere, lay in the beach and drink margaritas every day for the rest of my life?
I smoothed the fabric on the dress, patting it down around my hips.
God, it was horrible. I couldn’t picture myself wearing this. Of course, I hadn’t exactly told Blaze that the clubhouse wedding wasn’t where I wanted to get married, either.
“Oh, it’s perfect. I love it,” Kate said as I exited the fitting room. “What do you think?”
I hate it.
I needed to tell her I hated it and tell Blaze I didn’t want a wedding at the clubhouse. I considered my words carefully. I resolved to tell her what I thought of it. I didn't. "It’s fantastic,” I said. “But I think I need to look at a few more, before I make a decision.”
“It’s perfect,” Kate gushed. “Oh, I knew you’d go for something just like I wore when I got married. You’re so much like me it’s uncanny.”
My heart sank. I couldn’t bring myself to tell her I hated it, not when I knew the other Old Ladies thought I was a huge snob. Kate hadn’t been among the ones talking shit about me, but our friendship hadn’t exactly developed yet. And now she thought I was just like her? Besides, they had to have some kind of return policy, right? I could just get it and come back later and return it.
“Yes,” I said. “It’s perfect.”
“Hey there.” Blaze shut the door behind him and sauntered over to where I sat on the sofa, smelling of grease and leather. “How’s my favorite bride?”
He bent down toward me, and I kissed him lightly on the mouth. “I hope I’m your only bride,” I said.
“Did you make bread?” Blaze pulled away from me, sniffing the air as he headed toward the kitchen. “You keep that shit up, and you’ll be my only bride. Guaranteed.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I needed to take my mind off of dress shopping.”
“Oh, God,” Blaze said. “Do I want to know?” He slathered butter on a slice and bit off a chunk.
I rolled my eyes. “It wasn’t horrible exactly,” I said, my voice trailing off.
Blaze laughed and wiped the corners of his mouth. “I know what that tone means.”
“Do you want to see the dress?”
“Are you going to model it for me?” Blaze asked. “I’m not supposed to see that shit before the wedding, am I?”
I gave him my best “Are you kidding?” look. “I’ll show it to you and you can tell me what you think.”
Blaze slid his arm around my waist and cupped my ass cheek, squeezing. “I can tell you what I think right now, without even seeing it.” He pressed his growing erection against my leg.
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Shut up,” I said, punching him on the arm. “I’m going to show it to you.”
When I came back from the bedroom, wearing the dress, Blaze wrinkled his forehead. “Uh...yeah.” I thought his voice went nearly an octave higher at the end. “No, it’s uh...you know...it’s a dress and...it’s white...and, I mean….You look hot?”
I giggled at his obvious discomfort. “It’s horrible, isn’t it?”
“Uh,” Blaze said. “Do you think it’s horrible?”
“This isn’t a trick question,” I said.
“I’m worried I’m walking into a trap here,” Blaze said. "Are you going to ask me if you look fat?"
I laughed. “No trap. Now, honest opinion.”
“It’s really bad. It looks like something you’d wear to dance down at the Purple Rose,” he said, referring to a popular local strip joint.
“I completely look like a stripper,” I agreed. “But Kate liked it, and I couldn’t tell her no.”
“You’re going to take it back, right?” Blaze asked.
“Of course,” I said. “I need to get something more my style.” I summoned the courage to tell him that I not only wanted to get a new dress, but I also was having doubts about the whole clubhouse wedding. And that I was feeling out of place and out of sorts in general. But Blaze stepped forward, his hand at the nape of my neck, and brought his mouth down heavy on mine.
When he released me, he whispered in my ear. “You don’t have to take that dress back quite yet, do you?”
“Is the stripper wedding dress turning you on?” I asked.