pretty specific, but I feel you. No alcohol for me, ma’am.” She gave a jaunty salute. “I mean, no alcohol for me, Miss Bridezilla, sir.”
“Ha-ha.” Harlow morphed from fire-breathing dragon to fairytale princess in an instant, twirling in a circle. “Now, stop messing around and tell me how amazing I look. And don’t hesitate to use words like exquisite and magical.”
The hair at her temples had been pulled back, the rest hanging to her elbows in waves so dark they glimmered blue in the light. The gown had capped sleeves and a straight bustline with cinched-in waist and pleats that flowed all the way to the floor, covering the sensible flats she’d chosen based on West’s advice. “You look...exquisitely magical.”
“Magically exquisite,” Brook Lynn said with a nod.
“My scars aren’t hideous?” Self-conscious, Harlow smoothed a hand over the multitude of jagged pink lines running between her breasts, courtesy of an attack she’d miraculously survived as a teenage girl.
“Are you kidding? Those scars make you look badass.” Jessie Kay curled a few more pieces of hair, adding, “I’m bummed my skin is so flawless.”
Harlow snorted. “Yes, let’s shed a tear for you.”
Jessie Kay gave her sister the stink eye. “You better not be like this for your wedding. I won’t survive two of you.”
Brook Lynn held up her well-manicured hands, all innocence.
“Well.” She glanced at a wristwatch she wasn’t wearing, doing her best impression of West. “We’ve got twenty minutes before the festivities kick off. Need anything?”
Harlow’s hands returned to her stomach, the color draining from her cheeks in a hurry. “Yes. Beck.”
Blinking, certain she’d misheard, she fired off a quick “Excuse me?” Heck. Deck. Neck. Certainly not Beck. “Grooms aren’t supposed to see—”
“I need Beck.” Harlow stomped her foot. “Now.”
“Have you changed your mind?” Brook Lynn asked. “If so, we’ll—”
“No, no. Nothing like that.” Harlow launched into a quick pace, marching back and forth through the room. “I just... I need to see him. He hates change, and this is the biggest one of all, and I need to talk to him before I totally—flip—out. Okay? All right?”
“This isn’t that big a change, honey. Not really.” Who would have guessed Jessie Kay would be a voice of reason in a situation like this? Or any situation. “You guys live together already.”
“Beck!” she insisted. “Beck, Beck, Beck.”
“Temper tantrums are not attractive.” Jessie Kay shared a concerned look with her sister, who nodded. “All right. One Beck coming up.” As fast as her heels would allow, she made her way back to the sanctuary.
She purposely avoided West’s general direction, focusing only on the groom. “Harlow has decided to throw millions of years’ worth of tradition out the window. She wants to see you without delay. Are you wearing a cup? I’d wear a cup. Good luck.”
He’d been in the middle of a conversation with Jase, and like Harlow, he quickly paled. “Is something wrong?” He didn’t stick around for an answer, rushing past Jessie Kay without actually judging the distance between them, almost knocking her over.
As she stumbled, West flew over and latched on to her wrist to help steady her. The contact nearly buckled her knees. His hands were calloused, his fingers firm. His strength was unparalleled and his skin hot enough to burn. Electric tingles rushed through her, the world around her fading until they were the only two people in existence.
Fighting for every breath, she stared up at him. His gaze dropped to her lips and narrowed, his focus savagely carnal and primal in its possessiveness, as if he saw nothing else, either—wanted nothing and no one else ever. But as he slowly lowered his arm and stepped away from her, the world snapped back into focus.
The bastard brought a date.
Right. She cleared her throat, embarrassed by the force of her reaction to him. “Thanks.”
A muscle jumped in his jaw. A sign of anger? “May I speak with you privately?”
Uh... “Why?”
“Please.”
What the what now? Had Lincoln West actually said the word please to her? Her? “Whatever you have to say to me—” an insult, no doubt “—can wait. You should return to your flavor of the year.” Opting for honesty, she grudgingly added, “You guys look good together.”
The muscle jumped again, harder, faster. “You think we look good together?”
“Very much so.” Two perfect people. “I’m not being sarcastic, if that’s what you’re getting at. Who is she?”
“Monica Gentry. Fitness guru based in the city.”
Well. That explained the sense of familiarity. And the body. Jessie Kay had once briefly considered thinking about exercising along with Monica’s video. Then she’d found a bag of Kit Kat Minis and the insane idea went back to hell where it belonged. “She’s a good choice for you. Beautiful. Successful. Driven. And despite what you think about me, despite the animosity between us, I want you happy. I know! I’m as shocked as you are.”
And she didn’t want him happy just because he’d had a crappy childhood, she realized. He was a part of her family, for better or worse. A girl made exceptions for family. Even the douche bags.
His eyes narrowed to tiny slits. “We’re going to speak privately, Jessie Kay, whether you agree or not. The only decision you need to make is whether or not you’ll walk out of this room. I’m more than willing to carry you.”
A girl also had the right to smack family. “You’re just going to tell me to change my hideous dress, and I’m going to tell you I’m fixing to cancel your birth certificate.”
When Harlow had told her to wear whatever she wanted, Jessie Kay had done just that, creating a blood red, off-the-shoulder, pencil-skirt dress that molded to her curves like a second skin...made from leftover material for drapes.
Scarlett O’Hara has nothing on me!
Jessie Kay was proud of her work, but she wasn’t blind to its flaws. Years had passed since she’d sewn anything, and her skills were rusty.
West gave her another once—twice—over as fire smoldered in his eyes. “Why would I tell you to change?” His voice dipped, nothing but smoke and gravel as he added, “You and that dress are a fantasy come true.”
Uh, what the what now? Had Lincoln West just called her a fantasy?
Almost can’t process...
“Maybe you should take me to the ER. I’m pretty sure I just had a brain aneurism.” She rubbed her temples. “I’m hallucinating.”
“Hallucinating isn’t a symptom, funny girl.” He ran his tongue over his teeth, snatched her hand and while Monica called
