She turns on her heel, treading quickly over the plush beige-colored carpeting with Sabrina and I at her back.
Wide-eyed, Sabrina turns to me, her fingers curved into claws as she laughs. “Well, a huge rowrrr to you then, Nancy. I wasn’t sure you had it in you.”
“I usually don’t,” I say, hissing back. “But God, when she said, ‘our Andrew,’ I just—”
“Don’t even mention it. I get it. Every woman within a fifty-mile radius of the estate is like that. They’ve watched Drew grow up—lusting for him the entire time. Young and old. All the women wanted him. And then the second he turned eighteen—Pew! He was out of here. Leaving hearts all over the town broken into pieces.”
I nod, for once, understanding.
I could imagine that Andrew was nothing like the stuffy, overly-Abercrombied youth that rode around here in their daddy’s BMWs, believing the world belonged to them.
No, not Andrew.
Not the man I’d grown to know.
The Andrew with the love of leather, tattoos and God-awful Elvis music.
Andrew with the surprising big brain as large as his biceps. Andrew with his nonchalant swagger, sharp tongue and surprisingly soft hands.
Hands I shouldn’t be thinking about now.
Hands I’m finding harder and harder to keep off my mind.
I rub my arms, shaking remnants of the ice (and my desire) off my coat, as Sabrina and I enter into the private fitting area.
Andrew’s younger sister leans in closer. “We’re going to get you fitted in no time. I know that most brides are assholes when it comes to dressing their bridesmaids, but not Hannah. Thank God.”
“Bridesmaid?” My heart sinks into my stomach. “But I—”
“Oh, don’t worry. Hanna opted for a peachy, pink color that would be perfect for your skin tone.” She brushes her fingertips along my bob. “And your hair. Gosh, it’s beautiful. Is that the real color?”
Self-conscious, my hands fly to the damp strands, stroking. “Uh, yes, yes, it is, actually.”
“Gorgeous.” Sabrina surveys me. “And with those green eyes? I can see why Drew had to put a ring on it. You’re perfect.”
Stop blushing.
Control yourself. Control yourself. Control yourself, I tell myself.
I wave Sabrina off. “Okay, are you trying to make me crawl into my coat just to hide my face?”
“No,” she grins big and wide. “I just like to give compliments where they’re deserved.”
Jennifer stops, beckoning us to sit on an elegant, pleated couch that is more luxurious than my mattress.
Her grin wavers.
“So, what can I do for you ladies today?”
Sabrina sits up straight. “We’ll just be needing another bridesmaid’s dress here for the lovely Miss Nancy Anderson.”
The store employee nods, her tone deferential. “But of course. I’ll just grab our seamstress and we’ll be right out.”
She turns, heading out into a large hallway on the other side of the store, and she isn’t gone a second before Sabrina turns to me.
“Good. I thought she’d never leave. Now we can get to the good stuff…”
“The good stuff?”
“Sure. The good stuff. Like where did you and Andrew meet? Where are you from? Was it hate at first sight with my brother or was that just me? I swear I didn’t like his ass from the womb.” She taps my knee. “He’s so lucky I got over that.”
“Um…” I scramble for words, not knowing where to start. Luckily, Sabrina helps out.
The brunette removes her jacket, motioning for me to get comfortable, and to my surprise, I do, settling on the couch as if I belong.
“Well, we met at my bar. Andrew was a bartender. And I was his boss. Well, I was a bartender and then I became manager and part-owner.”
“Part-owner?” The brunette cocks both brows. “Aren’t you awfully young to be a bar owner? What are you, my age? Twenty-three? Twenty-four?”
“Twenty-four…” I shake my head. “Though, sometimes I feel twice that age.”
“You would have to. Being a business owner. Being responsible for all of those people’s livelihoods? Their lives?” She shudders, one manicured hand swiping at her forehead. She slumps. “I couldn’t do it.”
“I—um, I had no choice. My father passed and he left the bar to me.”
“Oh, my God. You poor thing.” She fawns over me like a mother, and I find myself shockingly comfortable talking to the exuberant brunette who listens expectantly. “And what about your mother? She didn’t want to help?”
This is the part.
The part I hate most.
The part where I explain that my mother couldn’t help, wouldn’t help.
Because she died when I was seven. And the man I once believed was my father chose to grieve with booze, women and gambling.
I was ten when I officially started caring for myself—learning to cook and sew and mend clothes all on my own while my so-called father spent his days, his nights and his money elsewhere.
Yup, this is the part.
This is the part I hate sharing most with people.
So, I don’t.
I do what Andrew has taught me to do…
I lie.
I mention that my mother peacefully passed—though there was nothing peaceful about it. And then I paint the picture of a doting father that didn’t exist, eventually leading up to the point almost a year ago where he passed by a heart attack, not mentioning that we hadn’t spoken in years before that.
Not mentioning that the heart attack was brought on by a deadly mixture of alcohol, indifference and a broken heart.
I tell the lie to Sabrina.
All without my pulse pounding. Without my face flushing.
And I wish I felt better about it.
She leans in to inquire more when Jennifer the Jealous comes back, that peachy pink bridesmaid’s dress draped over her shoulder.
And holy oh my God.
It’s beautiful.
But not just beautiful…
It’s sexy…made of a woven chiffon that falls off the shoulder to reveal a sweetheart neckline and short sleeves.
I stand to my feet, unaware that I’m even there, until Sabrina stands beside me.
“Holy fuck-me-on-a-stick, that’s gorgeous.”
Jennifer beams. “Isn’t it? We had this style in stock and ready for Hannah, but none
