“Oh,” The Beave says, clasping her hands in front of her. “You’re attuned to the social ladder?”
“Of course. How do you think I became a billionaire?” Breaker asks with a wink, and I know, deep in my bones, that it absolutely pained him to say that. If you should know one thing about Breaker, it’s that he is not one to flaunt his money, ever, so for him to mention he’s a billionaire in front of The Beave, that just goes to show that he’s being the best friend that I need at this moment.
“Well, that would be lovely then. I will take you up on your generous offer,” The Beave says before turning and heading down the aisle. I guess that’s it. Fine by me.
Pinching his side, I joke, “Dropping the billionaire title just like that?”
He chuckles under his breath and whispers, “Got her to send me the list, didn’t it? We can look it over together. Bring your red pen.”
“I’ll bring multiple. There will be a slashing. The gore might not happen at the wedding, but it sure as hell will happen over the guest list.”
The Beave turns on her heel and says, “Now, are you Catholic, Ophelia?”
“Uh, that would be a no.” I itch the spot where the veil clip is digging into my scalp.
The Beave’s brows crease. “I believe Brian told me you were.”
I shake my head. “Nope, not a Catholic. I actually don’t really have a religion at all.”
“How could you not have a religion?” she asks in disgust. “Who on earth do you thank for everything in your life before you go to bed?”
“Uh . . . my parents?” I ask.
She sneers. “Well, that just won’t do.” She snaps her finger to her assistant and says, “Phone.” Her assistant quickly offers The Beave her phone, and I watch as she taps away on it. She lifts it up to her ear, and while she waits, I feel her gaze look me up and down, her perusal purely judgmental and meant to put me in my place. “Father Joseph, yes, it’s Mrs. Beaver, how are you? Good. I have a slight problem. Brian’s fiancée just informed me she’s not Catholic. Yes, I know . . .” She pauses. “Uh-huh. Well, what if I offer a large donation to the parish?” Her lips tug at the side. “Yes, very large.”
Is she bribing the priest? Good God. Isn’t there something terribly wrong about that? Doesn’t that grant you a fresh ticket to hell—if you believe in that?
“That’s great. Thank you.” She hangs up and hands her phone back to her assistant. “Problem diverted. Father Joseph will take care of it.”
“What does that mean?” I ask.
“Best not ask questions, Ophelia. You’ve already done enough with your lack of faith.”
Isn’t she precious?
“Don’t Brian and Lia have to take pre-cana classes?” Breaker asks. “And doesn’t that require to be done six months before the wedding?”
“Like I said, best we do not probe with questions. What needs to be done will be done, so let’s drop it.” That sounds very . . . god-like. She gestures to the altar. “Now, if you would please walk down the aisle so I can see how the veil looks in this space. We have asked for the walls to be re-painted before the wedding a bright white as well as the carpet to be replaced since it’s quite dingy, but this is the example of opulence we expect when it comes to wedding pictures. Of course, your dress will have a minimum of a twelve-foot train so it can descend the stairs along with the veil.”
On unsteady feet, I start walking down the aisle. “Twelve feet?” I ask. “That seems like a lot of fabric.”
“Lovely observation, dear.” She watches me as I slowly, and I mean slowly, take one step at a time. She gestures toward my glasses. “Did Brian talk to you about laser eye surgery? We can’t have you wearing glasses on the wedding day.”
I pause as my hand rises to my purple glasses. “Why not?”
“Glasses glare in pictures. Do you really think I want pictures of my son marrying a woman who looks like she has one eye because of the glare? No. Plus, he doesn’t care for your glasses anyway. He called them childish. I believe he was going to talk to you about Lasik surgery. I have a doctor who can get you in this week.” She snaps her finger again. “Book an appointment for Ophelia to go visit with Dr. Rosenblad.”
“I don’t want Lasik surgery. It freaks me out,” I say.
“Ophelia”—The Beave pins me with a glare—“there is a time and a place to act like a child or act like an adult. Please remember your age.” She brushes past us and heads down the aisle while calling out to her assistant to take notes on flower arrangement placement.
I just stand there, stunned.
Brian said my glasses were childish?
I thought he always liked them. I didn’t think there was anything that he didn’t like about me. But knowing that he doesn’t like them, that . . . wow, that hurts.
Insecurity quickly chokes me as my throat grows tight with embarrassment.
“Hey,” Breaker whispers as he slips his arm around me. When I don’t look at him right away, he tugs on me and forces me to meet his eyes. “Your glasses are fucking awesome,” he says quietly, his mouth close to my ear. “Besides your heart, your honesty, and your sauciness, your glasses are one of my favorite things about you.”
“Breaker.” I shake my head, but then he grips my chin, holding me still.
“Not only are they a direct depiction of your personality, but they make the beautiful, light green flecks in your eyes stand out even more. It’s already sometimes impossible to look away from them, but when they’re highlighted so exquisitely, you can’t help but be captivated.”
I glance away, but he forces me to look at him again. “I’m so embarrassed,” I say.
“The only people in this scenario who should be embarrassed are The Beave for saying such a demeaning thing to you and Brian for even thinking that your glasses are unflattering.” His thumb caresses my cheek, and he quietly adds, “You’re gorgeous, Lia. The glasses accentuate just how gorgeous you are.”
“Th-Thank you,” I say as his words penetrate the sorrow swirling around me.
I glance up at him, expecting a reassuring smile, but instead, I’m greeted by a deep gaze of seriousness. And for a moment, we stand there, staring at each other, his sweet compliment resting between us.
He’s told me I’m beautiful before.
He’s even told me I look hot.
But it’s always felt like what a best friend would say.
But this moment, it feels entirely different.
I want to dive deeper into his statement.
I want to see if there is more emotion behind it or if I’m the one who is only feeling this way, but just as I open my mouth, his phone rings in his pocket, freeing us both from the trance we were in.
“Uh, I’m going to grab this,” he says awkwardly. “Excuse me.” He blinks a few times, almost as if he’s trying to get his head on straight, and then pulls his phone out and answers it. “Uh, hey, Birdy.” Birdy? She’s calling him? “No, it’s okay. What’s going on?” He glances at me and then says, “No, I don’t think I have any plans tonight.”