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twenty

MIRA

I know I’m in trouble when, halfway through the week, I’ve yet to sleep straight through the night.

Not a single time. The only time I come close is when Griffin FaceTimes me before bed, so I can’t even lie to myself and claim it’s not at least partially because I’ve grown so used to feeling him beside me.

Never before have I needed another human being in bed with me in order to fall asleep or stay asleep, and, not for the first time since I woke up married to my brother’s best friend, I wish I hadn’t pushed all my girlfriends away for stupid Jared.

I could really use someone to talk to about all of this with.

Someone who doesn’t know my brother or isn’t engaged to him.

I consider calling my mom, but Camila Graves wants me to find Mr. Right as much as I do, so I have a feeling she’d deafen me with an excited scream, then demand to know when we’re giving her grandbabies.

Probably not the most helpful or productive conversation.

Isla has asked me, Lexi, and her two best friends to go wedding dress shopping with her today, so I could try to find a roundabout way of bringing all of this up, but after some of the looks Isla has given Griffin and me, it seems likely she would figure it out.

Suffering in silence, it is.

Parking the G-Wagon isn’t as easy as parking my little Toyota, but I love her heated seats, top-notch sound system, and smooth ride. What I don’t love is the curious look it earns from Isla when I pull into the spot beside her car just as she’s climbing out.

“Hey, Mir. Is that Griffin’s car?” My future sister-in-law stands on the sidewalk with an unreadable expression on her face as I climb out of Gertie. Which is what I’ve named the car. Because, obviously, all cars should have names.

“Hey.” I wrap the redhead in a hug before we head into the bridal shop. “Yeah. Artax died, so Griffin’s letting me use his car while they’re on the road. I’m hoping to hear some news about my car from the mechanic soon.”

“Really? Huh.” Isla smiles and waves at her best friends, Jess and Nevaeh, who are already enjoying mimosas and laughing about something in some plush white leather chairs toward the back of the shop. “That’s nice of him.”

Not loving the emphasis she puts on the word nice , I shrug, playing it off. “Yep. Pretty sure Griffin would give anyone the shirt off his back if they needed it. He’s a good guy like that.”

“He is. But he also loves that car. Maddox has tried to get Griffin to let him drive it a few times, and Griff always says no. That he doesn’t trust Maddox’s giant feet not to press down on the wrong pedal and crash his baby into a wall or something.”

That has me snorting out a laugh because I’m sure that pisses my brother right off, but it’s also a hilarious mental image. “Well, I suppose he’s letting me drive it because I don’t have oversized ogre feet.”

Isla chuckles at my use of her nickname for my brother and shakes her head as we join her friends. The little bell on the door jingles a few seconds later, and Lexi steps in. “Right. I’m sure that’s it.”

“Babes!” Nevaeh rises from her seat and drags Isla into a crushing hug, which Jess joins.

“You’re getting married!” They hop a few times, holding on to each other and doing one of those excited, high-pitched screams. It sends another pang of regret through my chest that I torpedoed my friendships in Chicago before moving back to Minneapolis.

“How many mimosas do you think they’ve had already?” Lexi asks as she comes to a stop beside me. We’ve been texting more and more, and I think she and I could end up being close, which is soothing.

“At least two,” I answer. “Should we grab one so we’re not left behind?”

She nods, grinning. “Absolutely.”

“Eh, I like it, but I don’t think it’s The One ,” Jess says as Isla flounces out of the dressing room in a frothy, tulle wedding gown.

Lexi’s eyes narrow as she studies it. “It’s kind of a lot.”

Isla glances my way, and I shrug, going for sisterly honesty. “You look like a cupcake. Or one of those cakes where they shove a Barbie into the top, so it looks like she’s wearing a frosting-covered gown.”

My future sister-in-law giggles, checking herself out in the mirror. “Yeah, I do kinda look like that, don’t I?”

“Next,” Nev proclaims, and Isla nods. We all chuckle as she struggles to make her way back to the dressing room, weighed down with far too much tulle.

We’ve been here for an hour already, and Isla has tried on at least a dozen gowns. She has liked a few, and a couple received enthusiastic reactions from the peanut gallery, but none of them have brought tears to Isla’s eyes—or ours—so the search continues.

As she changes, my eyes wander around the bridal shop, lingering on beautiful beaded gowns and fairy tale dresses with flowers and vines embroidered down lace sleeves and full skirts.

My mind keeps recalling the photo I found in my suitcase when we got home from Las Vegas of Griffin and me, smiling and drunk, at the little twenty-four-hour chapel where we got married.

My dress is far too sexy for a wedding, my hair is a bit disheveled, and the veil I rented as part of the Enchanted Graceland package is slightly askew.

Griffin isn’t wearing a tux or even a suit jacket.

The sleeves of his dress shirt are rolled up nearly to his elbows, and the top two buttons are undone.

I can’t help imagining what we would look like if I had been wearing a beautiful dress, and he had been wearing a fancy suit or a formal tux. A little pang of something that feels an awful lot like want spears through my chest, and I rub absently at my sternum.

None of that is how I pictured my first—and hopefully only—wedding to go.

I always imagined myself in a gown like this, with my family and friends surrounding me.

I imagined dating for a year or two before he’d get down on one knee with a stunning diamond in a little velvet box, and the look on my mom’s face when I’d show her the ring.

She’d cry and hug me before dragging my fiancé into the embrace.

Then we’d go shopping at a pretty shop like this one, where I’d spend hours trying on dresses before finding the perfect one.

“This one is so pretty, isn’t it?” Isla’s question pulls me from my thoughts as she walks out in a gorgeous gown.

It’s covered in beaded lace, has delicate straps that plunge into a deep neckline that somehow appears elegant rather than scandalous, and a skirt that flares out just enough to provide some drama without being overwhelming.

The train is modest and rustles as she walks.

It’s… exactly the kind of dress I would have chosen. For myself, that is.

My future sister-in-law looks absolutely stunning in it.

“I feel like I’m too short for it, though, don’t you think?” She does a little spin, and the beaded skirt twists around her. It restricts her movements just enough that she stumbles.

“You’re right,” Lexi agrees. “I love the shape of the top half, but I’m not sure the bottom half is quite right.”

Isla nods, then looks at me. “You know who would look absolutely stunning in this dress? Mira.”

“Ooooh, yes,” Jess says, appraising me. “She’s got the legs for it.”

“You should try it on,” Isla says. “It’s fun.”

Laughing them off, I wave a hand dismissively. “I don’t want to waste the salesgirl’s time.”

The woman who’s been helping us grins. “You wouldn’t be wasting my time. Besides, I get to help women play dress up all day. My job rocks. Come on, I’ll put you in the dressing room next to the bride.”

I hem and haw and try to get out of it, but everyone insists, so with a deep sigh, I strip down to my undies and step into the heavy dress. I don’t look in the mirror until the salesgirl zips me up before going back to Isla’s dressing room and helping her with her next gown.

Lifting my eyes, I gasp at my reflection.

Even though I’m wearing minimal makeup and my hair is braided to the side in one thick plait, I look…

ethereal. The dress hugs my curves in all the right ways, flaring out at my hips and plunging between my breasts.

The ivory color is soft and elegant against my more golden skin tone.

I look like a bride. A real one. Not a bride who rolled up to a little Vegas chapel after too many drinks with her friend and got married so they could see young Elvis.

The woman in the mirror is one I’ve dreamed of seeing for years, and something twists in my chest. Because I can’t help imagining myself walking down the aisle in this dress.

Can’t help imagining a flower-covered archway in an outdoor location somewhere with a petal-strewn aisle and a beaming groom waiting for me at the end.

And fuck me, because in the fantasy that takes hold of my mind, the groom isn’t some faceless future possibility.

He’s not Jared, not Mr. Fancy from the club all those weeks ago, when we celebrated Maddox and Isla getting back together.

No, the man waiting for me in my fantasy has shaggy golden hair, sparkling hazel eyes that catalog every ivory-covered inch of my body, and full lips that have kissed me senseless time and time again since we got home from Vegas.

Wearing this stunning dress and imagining the perfect wedding calls Griffin Wright to mind, and that scares the shit out of me for so many reasons.

“Come out, Mira,” the girls call. “You’ve been in there staring at yourself for ages. Is it bad?”

Clearing my throat, I open the door of the dressing room and walk out. Lexi’s eyes go wide as she takes me in, and Isla’s friends fall silent.

“So, no. Not bad. The opposite of bad,” Nev says to herself. Her beautiful umber eyes meet mine. “Mira, you look amazing.”

I open my mouth to protest when Isla walks out and everyone falls silent once again, my little moment of dress-up forgotten as the real star of the show floats onto the platform in front of the three-way mirror. She’s a vision in ivory silk and minimalist beading.

“Oh, Isla,” Lexi says on an exhalation. “You look absolutely stunning.”

Tears glitter in Isla’s blue eyes, and I feel them pooling in mine too. “I think… I think this is the one.” She looks my way, and her eyes widen as she takes me in, but I nod. This moment is about her, not me.

“I think you’re right. That dress was made for you.” My words come out choked and full of emotion.

Isla’s lips curve in a tremulous but vibrant smile. “I’m going to marry your brother in this dress.”

She looks so happy. After everything she’s been through, Isla Harding deserves all the happiness in the world.

And even though I’d love to punch her ex-fiancé in the dick for breaking up with her two weeks before their wedding, I’d also like to send him flowers and thank him for freeing this woman from what would undoubtedly have been a miserable marriage, and allowing her to meet my brother.

Because she’s everything he’s ever needed, and I couldn’t ask for a better sister.

“He’s going to cry like a baby,” I tell her, pulling her into a crushing hug. “He won’t be able to take his eyes off you.”

The same way I keep imagining Griffin wouldn’t be able to take his eyes off me.