Page 60
With that, he tucks me ever closer, delivers me to the passenger seat of his truck, and kisses a tear from my face before he straps me in to take me home.
Chapter 17
◼
Planning for a future—together.
December
“Your brother is really hot,” I murmur, dazed on the floor in August’s living room. Staring at the ceiling fan as it lies dormant all the way up there, I find myself involuntarily replaying Wynnter’s promise to my parents that he’d kill for me.
The implication that they better find suitors willing to die on my behalf because he’ll take out anyone who gets within a mile of me is unequivocally the hottest thing in the world.
August, lying beside me, whimpers. “Whyever would you assail me with these heinous, unsolicited comments? Whatever did I do to deserve such abuse?”
I shrug, craning to look at her laptop and all the dresses displayed on the screen. “I really don’t need anything that fancy.”
“Hush. You’re getting a wedding dress.”
“I bet I can find one at Goodwill. We live in a posh area. Lots of weddings happen here, lots of dresses get donated.”
August rolls her eyes toward me. “You’re a part of the posh people in this area, and you deserve a pretty dress to match your poshness. Besides, we’re going to use the same connection that got me my wedding dress. Alister’s planning to cover it as our wedding gift to you.”
Excuse me. I was part of the posh. Now, I am but a mild-mannered, upper middle-class lass who spends her days trotting after the love of her life and helping him with his odd jobs. Ignore the fact he’s almost a millionaire… We’re simply a jack and jill of all trades, and we eat our lunches in the Walmart parking lot, and we occasionally thrift on the weekends, because I find thrifting to be fascinating and Wynnter finds my fascination adorable. Just really, truly, ignore the fact he’s almost a millionaire… Please.
“Snowflakes,” August murmurs. “What if the lace is all snowflakes?”
I look back at the ceiling. “That sounds pretty…expensive.”
“It sure is. We’re doing it. Do you want a veil?”
Most of my wedding fantasies don’t happen at venues, with gowns. Most of them are swift, forced, little more than a snapshot so I don’t have to think about how my parents might look disapprovingly on in the midst of my daydreams.
If I let myself paint a proper wedding picture for once… “Yes,” I say. “I would like a veil.”
“Whoa,” August murmurs. “Look.”
I look. I gasp.
“Right?” she says.
Eyes wide, I stare at a veil speckled like snowfall. It cascades fully over an off-shoulder sweetheart bodice and down around a sheer pool of ballgown fabric. Snowflakes dot the skirt, completely and entirely winter. “Is…that terribly expensive?”
August hums, scrolls past a terribly expensive price, then chirps, “Nope! Let’s get your measurements in and make sure we have this ordered now so it’ll be done for Christmas, then if we still have time before Wynn’s done with work, we can start looking at floral arrangements.” She types while she’s talking. “You want the flowers to be purple, right?”
“Purple, peach, and pale greens.”
“Elegant Christmas. Posh Christmas.”
“I like to think of it more specifically as not a ‘Santa and Elves’ Christmas.” My phone buzzes, and I find out that the Winslow family group chat—which I’ve freshly been added to—has begun another burst of RSVPs. Aunts, uncles, cousins…so many people are excited to give up their personal Christmas plans and fly or drive across the country in order to be there for Wynnter. It’s beautiful to see. It’s so…family.
Meanwhile, I doubt that my parents will make time for the cake tasting tomorrow, even though it’s going to be twenty minutes from them, and I have negative amounts of hope that they’ll join us for the cookie decorating at Mr. and Mrs. Winslow’s in the evening. Wynn’s mom has already sent pictures of the bolstering gingerbread man army she’s been baking all day to the immediate family group chat, which I’ve also been freshly added to.
In all fairness, we only gave my parents the information yesterday.
It would be unreasonable to expect them to clear their schedules for everything.
But…well…I’m not even holding my breath that they’ll clear their schedules for the wedding itself.
