I will not let her take this day away from me. I will not let her take this day away from me. I repeat the mantra in my head over and over again, but it only does so much to quell my anger. Today is not about my mother’s old-school thoughts and opinions. My fiancé won’t be paying for my dress. He volunteered to cover everything for the big day, but I wouldn’t let him pay for my gown.
Nope, I will not let myself go down that road today. Instead, I plaster the biggest smile on my face and look from Tinley to Dakota to Tara, my gaze finally falling on my mother.
“Let’s go shopping.”
There’s a chorus of whoops and hollers from our small group as we walk with a purposeful stride toward the small boutique. We all need dresses, and we’re not leaving until we find the perfect ones. I just hope we can all find something here; I’d rather not run around town all day long on the hunt for dresses. We’re not even shopping yet and the anxiety of not finding anything is starting to hit me. If it weren’t for Wren’s shooting schedule, we wouldn’t be rushing our wedding so much. He proposed and then told me we could get married before he goes on location for four months minimum or we could wait until after.
I suppose we could have waited, but getting married now sounded like a much better idea. I know I’m rushing into things and I should probably stop to think about why I’m doing it, but I’d rather not. I just want to get all the craziness over with and be married. We haven’t really discussed where we’re going to live after we say I do, but I guess it would make the most sense to move to Los Angeles where Wren lives. I’m not sure how I feel about leaving Oregon, but I haven’t ever lived anywhere else, so maybe it’s time for a change.
As we walk toward the shop, I’m stunned by the fact that it looks dark inside. The closed sign is facing out, and part of me feels relief. I know my mom wanted to make a whole production out of this, and right now that sounds more stressful than just ordering something online. I’m a beauty vlogger, so you’d think I’d be all about the whole shopping experience and recording it for my followers. That said, some things are just better kept personal, and most days I’d rather shop online than in person. The only reason we’re coming to this fancy little boutique is because my mother insisted. It’s not like she’s the one paying for anything, but I digress. These are the things we do to keep our parents happy.
“Giselle, didn’t you check to see if they are open today?” she asks in an annoyed tone.
My mom was the one who picked out the store, but I did check that they are open. I triple-checked, actually. I pull up the search engine on my phone and show the store hours to my mother. “Look, they should be open right now. I’m not sure what’s going on.”
“Let me see that,” she says as she rips the phone out of my hand.
I don’t get the chance to say anything to her before she taps on the link to call them and raises the phone up to her ear. I’m not sure how calling the store is going to help when they’re obviously closed, and no one is inside right now. But I’m not going to be the one to speak up and say anything to her.
That said, I’m proven wrong when she almost immediately starts talking. “Yes, hello, is there someone in charge that I can speak to?”
There’s a pause as she waits for someone else to come on the line and she rolls her eyes. She doesn’t even cover the microphone when she loudly whispers to anyone who will listen, “If there are employees in there, they should be open. This is just wrong, and I have half a mind to report—” Her words are cut off and she nods her head and says, “Great. Can you tell me why your website says you should be open, but you’re actually closed?” She nods her head as if the person on the other end can actually see her. She rolls her eyes yet again when she doesn’t like the answer she receives and asks, “A private party? For who?”
I rub my temples. This whole shopping trip is starting to turn into one giant headache, and we haven’t even gotten started yet. If I had known it would be this much of a hassle, I would have told my mother no and just bought a damn dress online. If she wasn’t talking on my phone right now, I’d be looking up dresses.
A screeching noise I can’t say I’ve ever heard come from a human being, let alone my mother, echoes around us, causing me to lift my hands to my ears when she says, “What do you mean that is privileged information? I’m standing outside in your parking lot and I expect to be allowed in. My daughter is getting married and she deserves the best.”
“Mom, why don’t we just go to another boutique? It’s fine.”
She lifts her hand in front of my face to stop me from talking, and I’m so tempted to slap it away but restrain myself. “No, Giselle, it isn’t fine. These women are just being snooty, and there is no reason why you shouldn’t be allowed to get a dress today.” She shifts her focus back to the phone call. “Excuse me?” Nodding her head, she adds, “Yes, my daughter is Giselle Outlaw. She’s Wren Danzig’s fiancée, I’ll have you know.”
Name-dropping? I can’t believe she just did that. This whole day is turning into an embarrassing mess. I avoid looking at Tinley, Tara, and Dakota. This is their first real experience with Kathleen Outlaw, and I don’t want to know what they’re all thinking about her right now.
“How is this my fault? You’re the one keeping us out in the cold,” she snaps to the poor woman on the other end. She ends the call and hands the phone back to me. “The owner is coming right now to unlock the door for us.”
Sure enough, less than thirty seconds later, a small woman unlocks the front door and meets us in the parking lot. Her hair is pulled up into a bun on top of her head and she rushes toward our group, holding her hand out toward me. “Miss Outlaw, my name is Brenda Sweet. Let me be the first to welcome you to Bridal Sweet and apologize. We are so very sorry for keeping you waiting. If we had known you were already here, we would have come out sooner.”
Already here? “I’m sorry? I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”
“Your fiancé, Mr. Danzig, called ahead and requested we keep the store closed to the public for the day. That way you ladies can shop freely and not worry about any interruptions. Why don’t we get inside before paparazzi start swarming the store?”
She hurriedly motions for all of us to enter and I take a quick look around me. Yeah, because all the photographers are suddenly going to come flying out of their hiding places. We’re in Oregon—I don’t really see that happening any time soon. Maybe if Wren were here with us, but I’m nobody. As we’re walking into the boutique, I pull up my messages app and shoot off a text.
Me: You had them close the store for the entire day? How much is that costing you?
Me: Never mind, don’t tell me that.
Me: Why didn’t you say anything to me about it?
Wren: I didn’t want you to freak out. You’re new to my world and I didn’t want your day to be ruined by fangirls or paparazzi stalking you. Judging by the stream of texts you just sent me, I guess I was in the wrong by leaving that information out.
Me: I’m not freaking out. It’s just weird. I’ve never had this happen to me before. Stores don’t just close their doors for me so I can go shopping.
Wren: They do now, so get used to it.
I don’t think that’s something I could ever get used to. It feels like too much, and even if it’s something I could do, I think this will be a one-time thing for me. I know he probably meant it playfully, but still, I don’t like the way he said that to me. I’m going to have to talk to him about that later. He might be used to a certain lifestyle, but that’s not why I’m marrying him, and I don’t want to drastically change my life just because we’re getting married.
My mother comes up beside me and links her arm with mine to say, “Oh, that fiancé of yours is such a sweet boy. You sure did pick a good one, Giselle.”
Just keep walking and ignore it. I tell myself this over and over as I plaster a fake smile on my face. Today is not the day to get upset with my mother.
* * *
&nb
sp; “Is this the one?”
I cringe a bit at the screams and squeals around me. Tinley and Tara have each had at least two glasses of champagne, if not more, and I’m not sure about my mother, who has been excited this entire time.
We’ve already been here for two hours, and there’s been an issue with every single dress I’ve put on. The first one wasn’t white enough, and the second one showed a bit of cleavage. I believe my mom’s exact words were, “If I wanted that kind of show, I’d go to a strip club. This is your wedding day, Giselle. Put the girls away and be a little classier than that.”
I swear I had to hold a lot back, because I honestly wanted to go off on her right then and there. Instead I bit down hard on my tongue and shuffled back to the fitting room. This one better be it, because I don’t think I can put on another gown covered in beads, lace, taffeta, or crystals.
Ignoring the craziness going on behind me, I turn to study myself in the mirror. The dress is very pretty, but the majority of them have been today. I don’t know if it’s necessarily what I would have pictured myself in on my wedding day, but there’s no way I could get away with wearing anything but a white dress. My mother would have a field day if I tried to do that. What I’m wearing right now? If there was an entry for princess wedding dress in the dictionary, there would be a picture of this garment next to it. I believe the color is called diamond white, which is pretty fitting for how stark it is.
Spray tanning will definitely be in my future, and lots of it. It’s a ballgown style with lots of fluffy tulle and Swarovski crystals encrusted on the corseted top. It doesn’t have straps, which is something I don’t normally like, but I do look pretty, and really, that’s all that matters. In the end, what it all comes down to is how the pictures turn out, because ten or twenty years from now, I won’t remember how I felt about my dress on the big day.
Every single set of eyes is staring back at me through the mirror. Moment of truth. I turn around and announce, “Ms. Sweet, I’m saying yes.”
More cheers go up around me as another bottle of champagne is passed around. I’m not normally a fan of the stuff, but I down the glass that’s placed in my hand and count down the minutes until this day is over.
Chapter Fourteen
Anders
When Giselle first made her ViewTube channel, I was the very first person to subscribe. I’ve always tried to be her number one supporter, even if she doesn’t know I am. So, I’m not the least bit surprised when my phone goes off with a notification letting me know she has a new video up. I don’t hesitate to click on the link, but what gives me pause is the title of the video.
An Announcement and an Introduction
The volume blares out of my phone when an ad for athletic shoes fills my speakers. I turn it down low and click the arrow on my screen that allows me to skip forward to the video. I know ad revenue is a big way that Giselle earns her income, but right now all I want to do is watch this damn video. My palms are sweaty, and I slide them down the front of my jeans. It’s just a video and I’ve watched her put on makeup and unbox PR packages a million times before, but that title is taunting me. I feel like it’s more than what she’s shown previously.
Giselle’s face pops up on the screen, and I walk over to my couch and take a seat. Something tells me I don’t want to be standing when I watch this.
“Hey beauty babes! It’s Giselle here. I’m sure you’ve all heard the recent news, and I want to apologize to you all. It was never my intention for you to find out that way. In fact, I wanted to make a video and tell you all myself. I appreciate each and every one of you and all the support you’ve given me over the years. I’ve spent most of the morning so upset because QuickFeed took it upon themselves to share my personal business. I didn’t make any sort of statement, sell my story, or endorse the article that was posted. I’m actually feeling a little bit hurt that someone who I thought I could trust shared photos from my engagement party. That was a private event with close friends and family only. I know there are a lot of rumors floating around, but I wanted you all to hear the truth from me, not another half-truth from a QuickFeed article.”
Giselle giggles and has the biggest smile on her face as she continues her monologue. “Sorry for the over-the-topness going on with today’s video. I’m just so freaking happy and I wanted to give you all something incredibly special.” She pauses with a big smile on her face, motions toward someone off camera, and says, “And without further ado, I’d like you all to meet my fiancé, Wren. Babe, can you say hi to my subscribers?”
Wren sits down next to her, and all I want to do is reach through my computer and punch the happiness off his face. He waves to the camera with his stupid perfect movie star smile on his face and says, “Hi subscribers.”
Giselle giggles and lays her head on Wren’s shoulder, which he takes as his cue, quickly turning and taking her lips with his own. It’s only a quick peck, but it’s more than I can handle. Without finishing the rest of the thirty-minute video to see what else she has to say, I close out of the app entirely.
“Fuck,” I yell out to my empty apartment as I drop my head into my hands. I’m so tempted to shatter my phone against the far wall, but that’s really not going to fix anything. All it will do is force me to buy a new phone, and those things are fucking expensive.
I seriously fucked up. I don’t know how things got as off track as they have. I thought I had forever to figure things out between us. The night before she left for Paris, we finally crossed the line we’d been skirting for all these years. I thought that was it, thought we’d test the waters on our own before making it official and telling our friends and family about it.
Instead she made the decision for us, just up and fucking left. I still don’t know how to feel about all of that. If she could just tell me why and make me understand then maybe I’d stop driving myself so crazy. I’ve gone over every single moment from that night, and I don’t know where things went wrong.
A run—that’s what I need right now. I need to pound the pavement as hard as I possibly can and go as far as I can until I can get those images out of my head so I can stop agonizing over everything that no longer exists between us, at least for a little while. Standing up from my couch, I drop the phone and head to my bedroom to change my clothes.
* * *
My lungs are screaming, and I need a gallon of water, but as I jog around the corner, coming up to my house, I remember I haven’t checked the mail in a few days. Why that suddenly pops into my brain now, who knows? I take a detour and grab my keys from my shorts pocket. There’s this weird feeling of impending doom settling in the pit of my stomach, but I ignore it. I haven’t eaten breakfast yet and I’m on the edge of dehydration, so I chalk it up to that.
Opening my mailbox, I see there’s a sizable stack of mail. I grab it all and run up the walkway to head inside. Tossing it on the counter, I opt to sort through it all now rather than getting that drink of water I so desperately need. There are the usual suspects of junk mail, coupons, and bills, but at the bottom of the pile, I feel a slicker envelope, definitely not the normal crispness of paper. I hesitate a moment before pulling out the piece of mail that is bound to be my undoing.
There, shining up at me, as bright as a fucking lighthouse, is the pearly white paper I never wanted to see. It’s addressed in that stupid fancy calligraphy. She can’t want this. I know she doesn’t want him.
It was supposed to be me and her.
I snap a picture of the invite with my phone and pull up my text messages app.
Me: I’m surprised to find one of these in my mailbox. Was that a mistake?
Me: *ATTACHMENT*
Giselle: Did you really think I wasn’t going to invite you?
Me: Honestly, yeah.
Giselle: Just because we had a moment or whatever it was, that doesn’t change things. You’re Marek’s best friend and you’re practically family. It would look weird if I didn’t invite you.
A moment?
Me: So, this was strictly for the sake of appearances? Nothing more?
The three little gray dots pop up and disappear multiple times before she finally replies.
Giselle: I don’t know what you want me to say.
Me: The truth. The only thing I ever want from you is the truth, Giselle.
Giselle: Here’s my truth. In less than a month, I’m getting married. I will be saying my vows to Wren and agreeing to be his wife. Whether or not you’re there is completely up to you, but it’s not going to change anything.
Me: Do you want me there?
I drop the phone on the counter and down the rest of the contents of the water bottle I grab. My mouth still feels like sand, so I go grab another, trying to keep myself busy and not focus on the answer she’s going to send me. Just as the first drop of cold water from the second bottle hits my tongue, my phone dings with an incoming message.
I’m almost afraid to see what she wrote me, but I pick the phone up anyway. I’m hoping she’ll say it will be too hard to see me there and she can’t go through with it if I’m there watching. What I’m not expecting is her response—or lack of one.
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