Total pages in book: 150
Estimated words: 142818 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142818 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
My grandmother was already shopping for our nursery and for her granddaughter.
Since it was going to be a real wedding, I wanted something specific. I didn’t want a traditional wedding dress. I did not want it to look like a shotgun wedding. Which was impossible since I was eight months pregnant. Sure, my slight frame hadn’t blown up that much, and every woman in the club had told me how lucky I was, how good I looked, but I was sure they were only saying it to make me feel better.
My tits were huge. My stomach wasn’t huge, but it was approaching that. Not that I wanted to hide it in a dress, but I didn’t want it looking like maternity bride.
For the millionth time, I wished Sariah was here. Not that my mom wasn’t wonderful … she was. But Sariah had a kind of magic when it came to fashion. She’d find exactly what I wanted even when I didn’t know exactly what I wanted. Something elegant, classy, sexy and not over the top. Something that complimented my bump but didn’t highlight it.
“I think we need to call it,” I sighed, wondering what could be so important that my best friend couldn’t help me shop for a dress a week before the fucking wedding.
Time was quickly running out. Even if Macy told me she could alter whatever we got in plenty of time. At this rate, I’d be walking down the aisle in sweatpants.
Not that there would be an aisle. We were having something at Mom and Swiss’s. Which suited me just fine. As long as we had family, the desert, and most importantly, Elden, I didn’t much care.
Mom glanced at her phone. “Okay,” she chirped, putting the dress back.
It was odd since she’d been intense about us searching every store for something ‘perfect.’
“Thank the fucking lord,” Colby muttered.
I shot him a glare.
“We’re never going to find anything,” I whined to my mother.
She put her arm around me. “I promise, we will.”
Though I didn’t think my mother would flat out lie to me, I thought she would also omit some things so she didn’t have to face the wrath of a bride who was eight months pregnant.
“How about we get a pretzel, huh?” she suggested warmly.
I pouted. “I don’t want a pretzel. I just want to go home.”
And I kept pouting and sulking the entire drive home, munching on a pretzel. Not exactly mature of me, but I was at the mercy of hormonal mood swings. And despite my reluctance to get married, I actually wanted to be Elden’s wife, very much. I may not have ever been the girl who fantasized about her wedding, but I did want it to be something special. And I wanted to look like a goddess.
Heaven knew my groom was going to look handsome as all hell no matter what.
The bastard.
Men should be the ones who got pregnant.
Then again, if they were, the species would be extinct within a generation.
I was much too deep in my thoughts to take notice of where we were going until we pulled up at Mom and Swiss’s instead of our place.
“What are we doing here?” I asked as Sariah skipped out of the front door.
Skipped. As if the bitch hadn’t just stood me up on our ill-fated shopping trip.
She opened the door to the car. “What is going on?” I demanded.
She only grinned wider at the irritation in my face. “Be revealed, soon, it will,” she said in her best Yoda impression.
I rolled my eyes but let her pull me out of the car, knowing fighting Sariah was futile.
There was soft music playing in the house, and all of the Old Ladies were in the kitchen.
“What is going on?” I repeated.
All of the women smiled. Each of them was dressed to the nines, their hair and makeup done.
I recognized Marilyn, Freya’s best friend, situated at the dining table, a plethora of beauty products laid out in front of her.
“Sit,” Sariah demanded.
I frowned at her. “Not until you tell me what’s going on.”
Her eyes danced with happiness. That was now I noticed that my friend was all dolled up too. Her clothes were casual … as casual as Sariah got, that is. But her chocolate locks were wound in braids, flowers scattered through them. Her makeup was subtle, light pink blush glowing on her cheeks and long eyelashes that had to be fake but looked natural.
“You’re getting married today, duh!”
That did not help. “I can’t be married today,” I snapped. “I don’t have a dress.”
“You have a best friend who should be getting her bachelor’s degree in style and fashion instead of psychology,” she shook her head. “What, you think I’d let you get a dress off the fucking rack from a department store?” She shuddered then pointed to the chair. “Sit your ass down. Let Marilyn make you more radiant. We will bring you non-alcoholic champagne, which I think should be illegal, but your over-the-top fiancé would likely scalp me or something if I dared to give you a sip of champagne, even the French stuff.” She rolled her eyes. “And I really like my hair today, so…” She pointed to the chair.