I shrugged. “None taken.”
The bellhop, sensing a break in Evelyn’s diatribe, politely butted in. “Excuse me, ma’am? Would you like to check in now?”
“She’s in my room,” Evelyn answered for me. “Jacqueline Frye. She’s part of the Grey-Delacourt wedding block.” She relieved the bellhop of my suitcase. “I’ll take that.”
With empty hands, the bellhop wasn’t sure what to do with himself. I shot him an apologetic glance and handed him a tip then hurried to catch up with Evelyn as she strolled across the lobby. At the elevators, she hammered the up button.
“We have the entire fourteenth floor to ourselves,” Evelyn explained. “Courtesy of Ned’s mother. Not quite a courtesy since she isn’t paying for our stay, but she insisted on keeping the family together.”
As we stepped inside the ornate elevator, I noticed a button missing. “No thirteenth floor?”
“Marie said that’s not uncommon here,” Evelyn answered. “Building managers and owners figure no one wants to stay on an unlucky floor, or they’re superstitious themselves. A thirteenth floor is bad for business, so it’s usually reserved for mechanical means or gets skipped altogether.”
“But there’s still a thirteenth floor,” I insisted, “even if everyone ignores its existence.”
Evelyn shrugged. “Don’t ask me to explain how the human brain asks for comfort. Here we are.”
The elevator dinged and spat us out on the fourteenth floor. Evelyn rolled my suitcase to the first room on the right hand side and flashed her key card.
“Wait a second,” I said, hesitating. “Are we sharing a room with your sister?”
“Hell no.” She beckoned me inside. “The only reason I slept in her room last night was because she dreamt she walked down the aisle in a gown made of toilet paper. She woke up screaming.”
“Guess it was a night for bad dreams.”
“You too?” she asked, setting my suitcase on a stand. “I thought your nightmares went away.”
“They did,” I said. “But they came back when you left. Being alone makes me nervous, I guess.”
Evelyn gave me a short side hug. “You’re not alone anymore.”
Once she stepped aside, I finally got my first look at our shared room. As expected, the level of opulence far exceeded my expectations. The walls and ceiling were painted matte black, creating a nightly effect even with the sun streaming in through the grand windows. The furniture, in contrast, was bright-white and trimmed in gold. The decor resembled the height of chic during the 1920s. I felt as though Jay Gatsby might come strolling in at any moment.
“Where’s the bed?” I asked.
“Upstairs?”
“Upstairs—”
Evelyn pointed to a thin staircase that led into a loft section of the suite. I gasped as I trotted up the steps. The loft featured an enormous king-sized bed with a curved headboard that cradled its occupants like a bassinet. On the other side of a sliding door, a freestanding bathtub with claw feet begged for someone to make use of it. Art Deco light fixtures framed the twin sinks and mirrors. A luscious black rug decorated the floor.
Evelyn, wearing a grin, appeared in the mirror. “Go on. I know how much you love nice bathrooms.”
I folded myself over the edge of the tub. “This place is so dreamy! Don’t tell Marie, but her future mother-in-law has impeccable taste. What’s the schedule for today? Do I have time for a bath?”
Evelyn checked the slim gold watch on her wrist. Whether she liked it or not, she matched the slick decor around her. “We have an hour and a half until we need to meet the others for a fitting. Have at it.”
Dancing happily, I turned on the water and filled the tub.
“Absolutely not.”
Evelyn’s frown curved so deeply that the corners of her lips were in danger of hitting the floor. A form-fitting green dress hugged the subtle curve of her hips but left her shoulders bare. It was perhaps the most feminine thing I’d ever seen her wear, and though she looked absolutely marvelous, her discomfort took center stage.
“Why not?” Marie demanded. The hardest part of the fitting was over. Marie’s extravagant wedding dress—lacy, long-sleeved, and with a train long enough to trip a dragon—had been tailored to her exact shape. Like Evelyn, her height questioned the legality of her presence in the airspace above, but Marie’s figure was as slender as a length of thread. Her personality, appropriately, was as sharp as a needle. “It’s what all the other bridesmaids are wearing.”
The private room in the dress shop shrank as Evelyn’s embarrassment morphed into a dull rage. When the woman attending us appeared with a tray of filled champagne flutes, Evelyn seized two and drained them both. In the trio of mirrors surrounding her, I watched the dress stretch as her back flexed. The seams strained, and the zipper threatened to burst.
Evelyn wiped her mouth and set the empty glasses on the tray. “You said I could wear a suit.”
“I don’t remember that.” Marie picked at her nails. “You’ll stick out like a sore thumb in a suit. Penelope will never allow it.”
Penelope, I had quickly learned, was Ned’s mother. Each time Marie said her name, about twice per minute, her upper lip curled.
“If you dislike Penelope so much, what’s the harm in letting Evelyn wear what she wants?” I ventured.
Marie’s sharp gaze flickered to me. “She can’t wear a suit. It’s too—”
“Too what?” Evelyn snapped.
Marie pursed her lips.
“Jack, get me out of this.”
I hurried to Evelyn’s side, unzipped the dress, and held her hand for balance as she shimmied out of it. The fabric crumpled to the floor like dirty bed sheets until the seamstress darted over to pick it up.
Evelyn stood, half-naked, in front of her sister. Free of the dress, her confidence returned. “If you want me in your wedding, I’m wearing pants. That’s the deal.”
Sandra Grey, Evelyn and Marie’s mother, emerged from an adjacent fitting room, boldly grasping a glass of merlot despite wearing her cream-colored mother-of-the-bride skirt and suit top. The seamstress gave a defeated sigh.
“Enough bickering,” Sandra said. “Marie, you know
