by Amelia Mae
“True.”
“And two… Dylan chose you, so you have to believe it’s for a reason. You’re wonderful and special and kind, among many other good things. Even if you can’t see why someone would choose you, he does.”
“Thanks, Kelvin.”
“And you chose him. Because…” his voice trails off like he’s lost in thought. “I mean, he’s pretty hot, I guess.”
I laugh. “I mean… it did start out that way.”
Kelvin looks like he’s picturing it, and I gently smack his chest.
“Oh, come on now, it’s not like you don’t have your own Cotter at home,” I tease him.
Kelvin looks immensely satisfied with himself. “Oh, yeah, I do.”
Kelvin’s been seeing Dylan’s cousin Dean for well over a year now. It’s a long story, but it’s kind of how we met.
“Kelvin, um…” I hesitate to ask him this. “Would you go wedding dress shopping with me? I know you’re not a fashion person, but I really don’t want to go alone.”
“Jane, that’s something you’re supposed to do with your girlfriends.”
“I know, but I don’t have girlfriends.”
“Don’t you, though? You hang out with Nikki and Julia a lot. And the others like you enough to come too, I’m sure.”
“I don’t know. I don’t really know how to ask them.”
“You pick up the phone and call them. Simple as that,” he says, like it should be obvious to me. “Or you just text and wait for an answer. No talking required.”
“What if they think it’s weird? Like… we don’t know each other well enough for that?”
“They won’t think that,” he assures me. “They’ll think it’s fun. Most women do.”
“Hm…”
“You don’t have to do anything right now. You’ve got time, Jane.”
“Not a lot of it.”
Kelvin sighs. “True.” He checks his phone for the time. “Hey, I’m sorry to bust out of here, but I’m supposed to meet Dean and some of his dancer friends for drinks in an hour.”
“Sounds fun.”
“Want to come?”
I shake my head no. Kelvin nods in understanding and kisses my cheek.
“Maybe Dylan and I can elope,” I say, finally. “Vegas or something. That’d be pretty rock and roll, wouldn’t it?”
I think about it. Driving to Las Vegas with Dylan. Getting married by a cheesy Elvis impersonator or something. It makes me laugh.
“Jane, whatever you do, don’t get married without me,” he asks. “Broken leg pact.”
“Fine.”
I pout as I say it, but I was never going to get married without Kelvin right beside me and he knows it.
“Kelvin,” I whisper. “I know it’s not traditionally the man of honor’s job…”
“Traditionally there’s no such thing as man of honor…”
“Come on, I’m being serious,” I state. “Kelvin, would you walk me down the aisle?”
He smirks, but I can tell he’s getting a little teary.
“It’d be my honor.”
He pulls me into a tight hug. I’m getting misty-eyed myself.
“I mean, if you won’t help me pick out a dress, the least you can do is…”
“Jane, don’t ruin this.”
Twenty-Six
Jane
I start the text message a hundred times and delete all of them.
Jane: Hi there. I know we’re not crazy close, but…
Jane: Julia, I don’t know if you’re free or not. Or even if you like dresses…
No. Oh my God, how awkward can I be?
Dylan gets home, and I tell him what I’m doing.
“Jane, Julia is the biggest sweetheart in the world. She’d help you even if she didn’t like you,” he says. “Just text ‘Hi Julia, would you please help me pick out a wedding dress?’
I shake my head no. “Let’s just elope.”
“I didn’t agonize this much over the actual proposal,” he says with a laugh.
“That’s sweet,” I reply, rolling my eyes.
Dylan takes my phone and starts typing. I’m pretty sure he’s sending the text to Julia himself, and I don’t stop him. It dings with a reply.
“Told you,” Dylan says, a cocky smile on his face.
Julia: Oh my God, of course!
Julia: Where?
Jane: I don’t know. I’ll google some places.
Julia: Let me. I know all the good shops.
Julia: I helped Shawn buy every pink wedding gown in California last year. I know just where to go.
Jane: You don’t have to.
Julia: I know. I want to. It’ll be fun!
Julia makes an appointment for me at probably seven different bridal shops throughout the city, and she and Nikki insist on going to all of them.
Today, we’re at a particularly fancy one in Beverly Hills, and I hate it immediately. I mean, the shop is gorgeous, and the staff has been informed that I’m marrying the Dylan Cotter, so they’re to treat me like the goddamn Queen of Sheba.
But I hate being in a place like this. I feel like if I breathe in the wrong direction, I’ll destroy everything. Like, literally, the dresses will fall apart at the seams and the shelves will crumble to the ground and the mirrors will break.
I know it won’t happen. But, still…
The saleslady appears and we have the conversation that I’ve had with all the others. I tell her about Dylan and about how the wedding is going to be big, but still intimate and not too rock and roll. And how I have no idea what I want to look like on my wedding day. Just that I want something tasteful and simple that’s easy to move in and doesn’t swallow me whole.
I look in the mirror, and I’m wearing a monstrosity of a gown.
“Do you like it?” the saleslady asks. I think her name is Linda.
“Um… this isn’t what I thought it would look like when I saw it on the hanger.”
“Isn’t it? But do you see how it drapes? And it shows off your tiny waist,” she continues, pointing out the good points of the dress.
“I see.”
I don’t want to be rude, but I hate this dress. And yet, I feel like I’ll hurt her feelings if I tell her.
“Shall we show your friends?” Linda wonders.
“I guess so.”
I take gather the dress and waddle from the little changing room to the podium in the area where Nikki and Julia are waiting.
I drop the massive skirt and smooth it down, facing them.
“No,” Nikki declares. “Totally wrong.”
“Absolutely not. This is terrible,” Julia adds.
I almost laugh at how blunt they are. It’s refreshing.
“Sorry,” I tell Linda.
She herds me back to the dressing room, and I’m about to change into my jeans and blouse as Linda collects the dresses.
“So, on your next appointment…”
I hold my breath, not wanting to tell her that there won’t be another appointment when there’s a knock at the door.
“It’s us,” Julia says.
Linda opens the door. Nikki and Julia are there holding a dress.
“Do we have time for one last one?” Nikki asks.
I look to Linda, expecting her to say no. She forces a smile and shrugs. Right. Queen of Sheba thing. I remember.
“I guess one more couldn’t hurt,” she answers.
Nikki thrusts the dress at Linda, who hangs it up on the rack for me to look at. Antique lace with a long skirt, long sleeves and an open back.
“Where did you find this one?” Linda asks. “It’s not up front with the others.”
“One of the other consultants was taking it off a mannequin,” Julia answers. “We thought it looked like your style, Jane.”
“It’s beautiful,” I tell them. “It’s perfect.”
“It looks like the one in the photo,” she says.
I nod. It does.
I have a photo of my gran
dparents on their wedding day on the mantle at the apartment and this dress does look a lot like my grandmother’s dress. The actual dress is somewhere in my mother’s house, I think. There’s no chance of getting it back. Not that it would fit me if I ever did.
The girls wait outside, and Linda puts me in the dress.
I’m tearing up before it’s even on all the way.
“This is the one, isn’t it?” Linda asks.
“Definitely, yes,” I tell her, trying not to get too choked up.
“Well, it’s definitely not the style most women your age are going for,” she says. “But it seems to suit you perfectly.”
“Thank you. I think.”
I step out onto the pedestal and show Julia and Nikki. They’re both looking like they know. This is the one.
“It’s beautiful, Jane,” Nikki tells me. “Completely perfect.”
“I know. I love it.”
I buy it on the spot, before anything can change my mind.
Twenty-Seven
Dylan
I turn the key to the front door of the apartment.
“Don’t come in,” Jane calls from inside. “Just a minute.”
“Are you doing it again?” I shout.
“Doing what?”
I roll my eyes, give her a second, and let myself in.
I know exactly what she’s doing. She’s trying on her wedding dress again. She hasn’t let me see it, of course, but she’s been trying it on every time I leave the apartment.
Even though it keeps me exiled from my own apartment, I smile. I love knowing she’s excited to marry me.
“Okay, you can come in, now,” she says. I hear rustling and zipping.
When she returns to the living room, her clothes are amiss, and her hair is mussed. I wrap my arms around her and kiss her hard.
“What was that for?” she asks.
“I need a reason to kiss my fiancé?” I tease.
“No, I suppose not.”
“You suppose not?”
I kiss her again.
“I know what you were doing in there,” I tell her.
She looks adorably guilty. “What do you think I was doing?”
“Trying on your dress.”
She blushes harder and shakes her head no.
“Really?” I ask. “Then what was all that noise. And why are your clothes all…”
Jane bites her lower lip and suddenly it makes sense.
“Thinking of me, hopefully,” I seethe, picturing my beautiful Jane touching herself.
I kiss her again, this time steering her towards the bedroom. I feel her smile against my lips, so I keep going.
“Want you,” I whisper, tracing her bottom lip with my tongue. She lets out a soft moan, and I run my thumb under her breast, along the wire of her bra.
I press her against the bedroom door.
“Wrap your legs around my waist,” I hiss.
“I thought you were taking me to bed.”
I hold her in position, my hands under her ass, and she tightens her legs around me, grinding into my cock.
“Not gonna make it, baby,” I confess.
She opens my belt and undoes the zipper on my jeans, shoving her hand inside and stroking my aching cock.
“Fuck, Jane,” I grunt out. Her hand feels so good I almost drop her.
“Put me down,” Jane murmurs. “Let me do this right.”
She shoves my pants and boxers over my hips and partway down my thighs before her mouth is on me. I sag against the door. My hands are on her head, fingers threading through her hair.
She circles her tiny pink tongue around the crown and plays with my piercing before giving my cock a hard suck.
She’s doing this quick and dirty, which is good because I can’t hang on much longer.
I pull her to her feet and kiss her hard, tasting myself on her mouth.
“Want to come inside you,” I whisper.
Jane’s wearing a skirt, thank God. I tug at her panties until I hear fabric rip and slip a finger inside her. She’s wet as hell and ready for me, wrapping a leg around my waist. I line up the tip of my cock with her entrance and picture her coming on her own hand.
I thrust into her hard, and she screeches my name.
“God, Dylan,” she cries.
My lips are on her neck, sucking and biting, as I roll my hips into her again and again. Her cries get louder, letting me know I’m hitting that spot that drives her crazy.
She tenses, her nails dig into my skin through my tee shirt. She’s close.
“Please, Dylan…”
With a final thrust, we come together, tumbling over the edge, moaning and shaking.
When we’re both spent, I’m breathing hard in Jane’s ear and she’s backed against the door with her torn panties around her ankles.
I don’t think I’ve ever been more attracted to her.
With about a month until the wedding, nearly everything has been arranged. Jane has her dress, I have a suit, and the venue, catering and photographer have been taken care of.
But there is still one thing that I was trying to get for her in order to make the day perfect. Her mother. As many times as Jane has reached out to this woman, I can’t believe that she’s chosen to ignore her daughter for this long. Especially as she’s about to get married.
So I decided to do it. I reached out to Eve Dooley myself. I’ve emailed her every day for the past month until I finally got a response.
Mr. Cotter,
I don’t know how many more times I need to reiterate this. I have chosen not to have a relationship with my daughter and have refused communication with her. She seems to have accepted this, and I don’t see why you can’t do the same.
No signature.
I mean… what the hell is that?
Jane comes home from a meeting, and I hastily close my laptop, acting suspicious before she even suspects anything.
“What’s going on?” she asks.
“Nothing.”
“You look like you were doing something fishy.”
“I swear I wasn’t.”
She raises an eyebrow.
“I was planning a bachelorette party,” I lie.
“I already had a bachelorette party. Kelvin threw me one in a bar last week,” she says. “Please don’t hide things from me, Dylan.”
“You’re right.”
I open the laptop and show her my email along with her mother’s unsigned response.
“I’m sorry, Jane,” I tell her.
“Dylan, how could you?”
“I just… You helped me approach my family again, and I wanted to do the same for you,” I explain. “I love you so much, and I wanted everything to be perfect for you. I wanted to give you this one thing and… I can’t.”
I expect Jane to cry, but she doesn’t.
She just stares.
“Are you mad at me?” I ask. “Because… I know I went behind your back, but I really was trying to do something good for you.”
“I’m not mad,” she says, but her voice is cold.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah.”
I don’t believe her.
Jane’s usually maddest when she says she’s not mad.
“I think I’m going to take a shower before dinner,” she says.
“Do you want some company?”
She shakes her head no.
“I need to be alone,” she tells me.
I can’t let her stew about this, so I cut her off on the way to the bathroom.
“Dylan, I’m not mad at you,” she says. “Well, not about you contacting my mother behind my back.”
“Then why?”
“Because I feel like you don’t believe me when I say that a relationship between me and my mother is never going to happen,” she explains. “I knew this was impossible, and I told you that. And yet, you still had to go and prove it for yourself.”
“I…”
“Dylan, I know that you were tryin
g to do something good. Really. But I still need to be alone right now. Just… back off. Please.”
“Okay. Jane, I’m sorry,” I tell her.
“I know.”
Twenty-Eight
Jane
I’m mad at Dylan.
I mean, not fuming mad. But mad enough.
I want to figure out how to forgive him, but I still can’t help feeling like he didn’t believe me when I said that my issues with my mother weren’t fixable.
Like my word wasn’t enough. Like he knew better than I did.
I take my shower, standing under the water, not moving.
I’m not going to cry. This isn’t crying kind of pain.
But it’s emotionally taxing, nonetheless.
I keep going over that email from my mother to Dylan. It’s so cold and technical. Clinical. Like she was giving a report or listing instructions.
And then, of course, there’s the fact that she actually took the time to respond to Dylan and never, ever, to me.
The hot water runs down my back. It’s practically scalding, but I barely feel it.
When I finally decide I’ve had enough, I turn off the shower, towel off and get dressed. There’s a knock at the bathroom door.
“Jane, I cancelled at the restaurant,” Dylan calls to me through the door. “I figured you weren’t up to going anywhere tonight.”
“I’m not. Thank you.”
I’m fully dressed, but I’m still locked in the bathroom. I’m not ready to face Dylan yet.
“Do you, um… do you want me to go?” he asks. “Like… leave the apartment for a while? Would that help?”
“No,” I whisper.
“Jane, I’m really sorry that I overstepped…”
“Dylan…” I tell him, “I need you to take my word at face value instead of thinking you know better. I know you were trying to help, but it was really…”
“Arrogant?” he supplies. “Maybe even a little selfish?”
I nod, even though he can’t see it through the door.
“I get like that sometimes,” he explains.
“I know.”