“Yeeeah,” she says with a thoughtful frown.
Good. She doesn’t seem completely sold on these gowns either.
“Maybe you can try those blue ones?” Isabella points to the much more blingy gown that Fiona indicated earlier. The whole chest part of that dress is embroidered with crystals, the bodice short and the skirt flaring out. And the best part—it has elegant wide straps, perfect for hiding supportive bra straps.
Everyone looks at Fiona, including the sales clerk. She nods weakly.
“Last one, Fiona,” Isabella promises. She’s in the country for a week and a half, this is the only day all four of her bridesmaids can be in the same place at the same time. “The dresses just look different when you’re all wearing them as a group.”
Fiona nods again and turns her head in our direction. And that’s when it happens. Green projectile vomit like in The Exorcist but instead of avocado, we get showered with chunky celery. The spray doesn’t discriminate—all our red gowns get splashed like at a Nickelodeon award show. The last of Fiona’s puke drips down on her own dress.
“Oh, crap. I’m so sorry!” Fiona bawls, finally losing it.
“Holy fuck, Fiona,” I snap, totally over this bridesmaids’ duties bullshit. I just got spewed on. Everyone else is still looking at her slack-jawed, stunned.
“I’m sorry. It’s the—I’m, I’m pregnaaant!” She follows this confession with a sob that sounds like she’s got other things she’s regretting than just spoiling our expensive outfits. “I just found out a couple of weeks ago. I’m due in January. But I can still walk down the aisle for your big day, Bels.” She pegs the bride with hopeful eyes, begging not to be kicked out of the bridal party.
“That’s…um, great, Fiona! Baby number four,” Isabella says, the only one not puked on. Her eyes wander over to the carnage on our outfits, and the sales assistant who is shaking her head like she’s in denial.
Fiona sniffs loudly and we all hold our breath wondering if our ex-classmate’s going to add another bodily fluid to the gown.
“Yeah,” Mia, Penny and I say less enthusiastically. The smell is pushing me close to adding to the mess, and Princess Penny is not bothering to hide the disgust on her face.
“Um, excuse me,” we hear, making us all turn to the sales assistant who is looking directly at Isabella. “You’re going to have to pay for those dresses.”
Chapter 17
The arrangement for this bridal party bonding weekend is: Penny and I are sharing a room, Keats and Blake are roommates, and the lovebirds get their own double. Mia and Fiona couldn’t come because of kid duties. And Byron’s other groomsmen are doctors who are busy saving lives this weekend.
Penny and I got here as soon as we could after ducking out of work early. Even then, our four companions were already in the lobby ready to race down the dunes on wooden boards when we entered the hotel, so we went there straight before checking in.
“Ugh. I don’t do nature.” Penny closes the curtain to our magnificent view. “What time do you have on you?”
Penny refuses to wear a watch on principle—something to do with avoiding stress and the rat race. Which is fine, except, she keeps asking for the time.
“Almost seven.”
“Good. I’m starving. We’re all supposed to meet at the restaurant downstairs, right? You ready?”
“I’ll change first.”
“You look fine.” She heads for the door.
“I’ll meet you there.” Until this afternoon, I hadn’t seen Keats since the engagement party last Saturday. I’d had no contact with him at all—not unless you count social media and the couple of photos he was tagged in during the week. I’d been too scared to call him in case Isabella was around him at the time, and he for some reason obviously hadn’t felt the need to see me or talk to me either. Bastard.
Why do I want to bother primping myself again? Oh yes, the best revenge—living well.
Penny stops and turns around to face me. “Who are you dressing up for?”
“What?” I ask with practised, feigned indifference.
“Keats or his friend?”
“Neither. Can’t someone freshen up without it meaning something?”
“Whatever, chick.” She sounds unconvinced but uninterested. “But if you’re dressing up, I am, too. I can’t be the only troll at the table—no way. And Keats’ friend’s pretty cute, hey—too bad he’s a giant. Can you imagine sex with someone who’s almost half a metre taller than you?” She goes quiet, her eyes glazing over as she seems to imagine just that. “Nah, it’s not going to work…” Penny sounds disappointed. “Yeah, you can have him, chick. He’s not too tall for you.”
“Blake’s engaged,” I point out on my way to the bathroom.
“Hm. Not my type anyway.” Penny digs out her Chanel make-up bag from her tiny Louis Vuitton luggage. They both look real—probably a present from her rich parents. She pulls out a very practical-looking white bra. Its lack of lace or design makes it look severe and reminiscent of underwear I imagine grandmas wear. “But as long as I perve at him from a distance, he doesn’t seem freakishly tall.”
When we reach the beachfront restaurant, our companions are already seated at a round, el fresco table with a glass of something cold in front of each person. Isabella is in a pair of khaki short shorts and a long sleeve knit top. Her legs look long despite being just 5’2”. Her low cut Cons add to her relaxed look. The guys are in long sleeve sports jerseys, jeans and sneakers. Shit. I’m overdressed in a pink sarong with giant yellow hibiscus flowers on it like a halter-neck dress, finished off with a pink cardigan.
Byron has his left arm over Isabella’s shoulders, and she has the fingers of her opposite hand entwined with his. There are two free seats beside her. To Byron’s right, are Blake and Keats respectively. It takes a lot of will power not to satisfy my curiosity and stare at Keats.
Isabella smiles when she sees Penny and me
