Not Until You

by Corinne Michaels

  She rolls her eyes. “Same shit.”

  I slide the dresses on the racks, trying to find the ugliest one I can. I’m not a nice bride. I’m the bride. I want to be the only thing anyone at the wedding looks at. I’m also vain enough to admit it. So, I’m going to be that dick friend who finds the bridesmaid dresses that look like tents.

  And then I find a gem. “Here!” I lift it up.

  “Are you serious?” Heather’s eyes go wide.

  “Kristin! Danni!” I call the others over. “I found it!”

  They both head over, and Kristin gasps. “What the hell is that?”

  “Your dress! Isn’t it great?”

  Danielle still hasn’t moved.

  “They’re something.” Kristin damn near gags.

  I smile, knowing they hate it. I feel like there are very few things in this world a girl can do to payback her friends. When Danielle got married, we were young and really freaking broke, so we got some weird-ass dresses that she said we could wear again—lie.

  Then Heather’s first wedding was a theme. A fucking theme. No one, other than her, thought it was cute to make us dress as though we were in some Victorian era with some weird vest thing that smooshed our boobs up into our throats. No one. But we did it. I stood next to her, looking like a total idiot, and smiled.

  Kristin was the only one who really didn’t make us suffer. She picked out a simple style and let us wear whatever color we wanted. Something about a rainbow symbolizing love or whatever. I feel bad for making her suffer—just kidding, no I don’t.

  This dress is a mix of a tablecloth and a quilt. It’s going to look awful, and I don’t care even a bit.

  “Hopefully, they’ll be able to order them if they’re out.”

  “Oh, yeah, hopefully,” Heather says and then makes a horrified face.

  Danielle finally speaks. “You’re serious? Like this isn’t one of those Nicole does some crazy thing, we laugh, and then we move on to the real dress?”

  “Nope. I’m dead ass serious.”

  “Why do you hate us?” Danni asks.

  “I don’t hate you, babe.” My hand grabs her arm. “I just want you to be uglier than me, that’s all.”

  “Oh my fucking God!” Heather yells. “You’re an asshole.”

  “No, I’m the bride. And you”—I point my finger at her—“of all the people in this group, you get the least amount of say here.”

  “Me? What the hell did I do?”

  “You made us look like fucking milkmaids at your wedding. So you can shut up, smile, and wear whatever shit I pick out.”

  Danielle and Kristin nod in agreement. “Seriously . . .” Danielle laughs. “I burned that dress in our firepit.”

  “I was young!”

  “And we looked ridiculous!” I yell back.

  “It was cute,” Heather defends with her arms crossed over her chest.

  Danielle snorts. “It was beyond stupid.”

  We all start laughing. “Well, so was my marriage to Matt. I guess it’s fitting.”

  “Can’t argue with that.” I shrug.

  “Back to Bridezilla over here.” Kristin gets our attention. “I know what your motive is here, Lord Evil, but do you, the queen of design, want ugly photos? Because we’re going to be in the photos, and I assure you that, no matter how much fun you’re having at our expense right now, it won’t be so funny on your wall.”

  I think about that for a second, but I’m not so sure. I’m really fucking evil at times. There may be a time I regret it, but I really don’t think I will. In twenty years, I can see me looking up at it and laughing at how much fun it was to put them through a sliver of the hell they put me through.

  “Nope. I’m pretty sure it’ll be just as funny then,” I tell her and wave to the clerk. “Miss? Can we get these online if you don’t have enough here?”

  Revenge is a dish best served with ugly bridesmaid dresses.

  “It’s almost time,” Dad says as he enters the dressing room area. “Are you ready?”

  I had no intentions of letting him walk me down the aisle. None. However, my mother’s need for status and decorum demanded it. I was totally fine making the walk all by my damn self, just like I’ve done most of my life.

  The idea of him acting like a father and “giving me away” is comical. He has never been much of a father to me.

  Again, I gave Esther the reins, and I must allow her to lead the horse.

  “Sure, Dad.”

  “So, you really want to do this?”

  “Umm . . .”

  “I’m just saying, marriage and Dupree don’t exactly go hand in hand. Now is the last chance to back out.”

  He can’t be fucking serious. “Really, Dad?”

  “Did you guys do a prenup?”

  “Daddy!” I yell. “Seriously, it’s my wedding day. We’re not having this conversation.”

  He shrugs as though he has no idea why I could be irritated. “I just want to make sure you’re protected from this guy.”

  I roll my eyes. Callum has about ten times more money than I do, owns two companies, and is far more established in the business world. My father is ridiculous. If someone looked at this from the outside, it would look like I trapped Callum instead of the other way around.

  I mean . . . I would totally jump to that conclusion.

  “You never gave a shit about me before, why now?”

  His head jerks back. “What the hell are you talking about? You’re my daughter.”

  “Yes. I am, but it’s not like we have a relationship. Now you’re suddenly concerned about my marriage and financial future?”

  My dad’s face pales. “I’m really sorry you think that way, Nicole. I’ve always loved you. I just didn’t know that you didn’t know that.”

  Do not cry now. Do not cry now.

  “You’ve always been distant. It felt like you only came around when it would piss Mom off.”

  He steps forward and pulls me into his arms. I can count on one hand how many times my father has hugged me. The first was when I was six and he told me he was leaving. I clung to him like a barnacle on the hull of a ship, refusing to come off no matter how hard he scraped. The second was when my dog died. I was totally inconsolable. The last time was when my grandma died, and again, I was a crying mess at the funeral. His mother was the sweetest woman. She was warm and loving. I never really understood how he came from her.

  Never was it really him who initiated it.

  “I never knew you felt that way.”

  “How could you not?” A tear forms, and I fan my face.

  He sighs. “I always thought it was you who felt angry with me for leaving when you were a little girl.”

  “Of course, I was angry, but I really just wanted you to come around more. For being married so many times, you really suck at knowing what women want.”

  My dad laughs a few times and shakes his head. “Maybe that’s why I keep losing them . . .”

  “Could be.”

  A knock on the door breaks up this weird moment. “Almost time,” Kristin says with a smile. “You ready?”

  “I’m ready.”

  “Last chance . . .” Dad says again.

  I roll my eyes and place my hand in the crook of his elbow. “Let’s go before I change my mind about letting you walk next to me.”

  He chuckles. “Well, you look beautiful.”

  “Thanks, Daddy.”

  “I’m proud of you.”

  I squeeze his arm a little. “I’m really happy.”

  “I’m glad. You look a lot like your mother did on our wedding day. Happy, full of hope, and practically glowing.”

  There must be some kind of cosmic thing happening because that almost sounded as if he was complimenting her.

  “Well, weddings can do that to her,” I try to joke it off because I’m slightly worried he’s been taken over by a ghost.

  “Yes, she sure does love her weddings,” he says as we exit the small room.
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  Nerves start to swirl inside me. I’m getting married to Callum today. I’m going to be a wife to someone. This man must be nuts for thinking this is a good idea. What if he has buyer’s remorse? What if he realizes I’m really a lot crazier than he knows at this point? What if all the things he thinks are cute now become annoying and he smothers me with a pillow? Or worse . . . I smother him.

  I don’t want to go to jail.

  We get to the door, and I’m shaking. My father places his hand over mine, which is a good thing since I’m pretty sure I’m about to lose the use of my legs.

  Fight or flight. Fight or flight.

  The doors open with me still standing here, and all the feelings that were swirling around me stop the minute I see him.

  He’s standing at the end of the blush-pink runner with thousands of petals all around. His back is to me, but his profile is clear.

  We start walking, and I look around in awe. There’s silk draping along the aisle chairs, and candles line the entire area.

  My mother insisted we get married around eight at night. She said there was nothing equivalent to sunset glow in photos, which I happen to know all too well.

  When we turn the corner, my heart begins to race. I no longer care about the beauty of the event, the sunset, or the linens. I don’t care about the people sitting in the chairs, smiling up at me. I couldn’t give two shits less about anything other than Callum.

  It’s so cliché because I always thought people were ridiculous when they said it.

  But I get it now that I’m here.

  Love is a fairy tale inside you. It lives there, telling the story of all that’s to come if you can just remember the words. Love is a living thing that we have to nurture when times are bad.

  I see that now.

  Because with Callum, it’s true love.

  “Mrs. Huxley, or can I call you Mom now?” I ask my new mother-in-law while we’re standing there for photos.

  “Mrs. Huxley is just fine.”

  She freaking hates me. Hates. Like with the fiery pits of hell kind of hate. Not only did I steal her perfect son but also I made him move to America.

  Me. It’s all me.

  It isn’t as if he hadn’t already had it planned before any of that. Nope. It’s me. The devil incarnate. I’ve given up trying to change her mind. I’m well aware that is never going to happen. For now, I’d settle for her just to tolerate me—for his sake.

  “Okay, then. I just wanted to see if maybe we can have a few photos together.”

  “What for?”

  So I can throw darts at them?

  “Well, I know Callum is really torn up about being away from you. I had offered to go to London,” I toss it in for good measure, “but he insisted this was where he really needed to be since Dovetail is now his. Plus, I just think it would be something nice he could put on his desk, don’t you think? He can see the two most important women in his life. It would really make him happy.”

  If I hadn’t used the Callum card, I’m one hundred percent sure she would’ve told me to fuck off in the politest way possible. She seems to be really good at that.

  “If you think Callum would like it, then I guess we can take one photo.”

  Gee, thanks.

  “Wonderful,” I say as though she just gave me a check for a million bucks.

  I wave to our photographer, and he rushes over. I explain that I’d like a few photos of me and his mother for Callum, and he takes us over to another spot on the grounds that has some beautiful scenery.

  She doesn’t say much, probably because she’s plotting my death, but whatever.

  I appreciate that she’s taking the photos, and this way, at least I can say that I tried.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Huxley.”

  “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for my child. Sacrificing one’s happiness is often a part of motherhood. Including having to get on a plane to come back to the one place that had caused me so much pain since you wouldn’t have the wedding in London, but for my son, I did it.”

  I nod. “I hope you know that I feel the same about him and the baby.”

  You’d think she’d like me a little considering I am pregnant with her grandchild.

  “I guess time will tell, dear.” Her voice is filled with skepticism.

  I’m a pretty chill person, at least I’d like to think so, and I get that I’m no mother’s dream for their child, but I love Callum. I married the asshat, I am having his baby, and I told him to keep his three million bucks because I’d design his entire life for free. This should have garnered me at least a bit of trust from her. Should have.

  “I know you don’t know me,” I start off with my voice soft. “I know that I’m just some American girl who got pregnant, came to London, and then left without a word. There’s no denying I’m not your first choice.” She starts to cut me off, but I keep going. “I would just ask you to give me a chance. I love your son very much. I want to make him happy, and I know that he loves you, and it means a lot to us for you to accept me.”

  Mrs. Huxley takes a step forward. She places her hand on my cheek. “Bring him back to London and that would help.” Her hand drops, and I stand here stunned.

  Mothers. They always make me crazy.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Callum

  “May I have this dance, love?” I ask my beautiful wife.

  “Of course, husband.”

  I pull her to my side and walk to the center of the dance floor. Nicole has always been beautiful, but today, she’s exquisite.

  Nothing will ever compare to this moment.

  “I’m sorry your brother couldn’t be here,” she says as I hold her in my arms.

  I tried to hide it, but it bothers me. I didn’t have a best man who I grew up with. I’d always thought it would be him standing beside me. Although, he was there for the first wedding. Still, this wedding is different. Nicole is different.

  “I got to have Eli Walsh and Noah Frazier as my wedding party. I think I fared better than most.”

  “This is true. I mean . . . you’ll probably be on the cover of some tabloid since both of them were here.”

  “What I’ve always wanted in life . . .”

  “Still, I’m sorry that he didn’t come.”

  I appreciate that she feels that way. Nicole isn’t usually soft about these things. I almost expected her to call him a prick and an arsehole, but she seems sad about it. “Milo is who he is. I hope one day we can find a way to be close again.”

  “I hope so too.”

  “You know, we weren’t always this way. For a while, we were best friends. He was going to take a much higher leadership role in the company, but something happened and he just got almost resentful of anything I had. I thought maybe we’d get on, find a way to rebuild whatever bridge was torn down, but it never happened. Still, I can’t change it, all I can do is be happy I have you right now.”

  I have very little understanding of what caused the rift between us. I know he’s always hated that I was technically his boss.

  She nods. “Your mother seems to . . . you know . . . not be shooting death stares at me for the moment.”

  “She’ll warm to you.”

  Hopefully.

  Mum flew here last week, wanting to spend a bit of time with Nicole before the big day. I hoped the two women I love would get on, but I think Nicole scares Mum. She asked me several times if I was thinking straight, and then I put my foot down, explaining that Nicole was my choice.

  “At least our mothers seem to like each other,” she notes whilst looking over.

  “Yes, they’re getting on quite well.”

  Nicole laughs. “I’m going to be so sad when your accent fades and you’re saying things like, yo, yo what’s up?”

  I shake my head. “I don’t think I’ll ever say that.”

  “You never know. I can get my gangster on with the best of them.”

  “Good to know. So, I take it our child will be expos
ed to all kinds of music?”

  Her fingers play with the hair on my nape. “Absolutely. First, their uncle is Eli Walsh, so of course, they’ll know about boy bands. Then, we have you . . . who thinks rock is the only acceptable music, which is not true. I have to round him out with some DMX, Biggie, and 2Pac. It’s really important our kid be well versed in the rap genre.”

  I laugh at her reasoning. “Well, good thing the kids will also get some Kenny G, Prince, and Eric Clapton.”

  “Kids? As in plural?”

  “Yes. Kids.”

  I want many children. I want us to fill our home with toys, laughter, and the sound of little feet.

  Nicole laughs. “You’re on the one and done plan, honey.”

  “The what?”

  “One kid, and we’re done.”

  “We’ll discuss that at another time.”

  Her face tells me there really is no discussion left to have, but I’ll find my way to convince her.

  “Have you had a good day?” I ask as I twirl her around the dance floor.

  “It’s been the best. You?”

  “I’ve never been happier in my life, and it’s all because of you.”

  She smiles and then rests her head on my chest. “I love you, Cal.”

  “I love you, Nic.”

  Her eyes meet mine at the use of her nickname, and she giggles. “You know, I was totally going to let you put it in my butt, but now . . .”

  “I have all the plans in the world of doing it regardless. As my wife, I feel it’s only right.”

  “Do you?”

  I nod. “You promised to give me all of you.”

  “That I did. But remember, babe, you did the same.”

  What the hell does that mean?

  The sound of people clanging forks against their glasses fills the room, stopping me from asking her. Nicole smiles and looks up at me. “That means they want us to kiss.”

  “Kiss?”

  “Yes, so put your lips to mine,” she demands.

  Far be it from me to pass up the opportunity to kiss her. I don’t need others to ask for it, but this is one American custom I can get behind. If all I need to do is tap a glass, I can handle that.