“I was told we should get there no later than five.”
According to the wall clock, it was already almost four.
“Then we’d better make a decision on these costumes and fast. We’re almost out of time.”
“I’m sure they’ll wait for us if we’re a bit late.”
Rebekah chuckled. “A government office? I highly doubt that.”
He glanced at the time again. “No rush,” he said.
“There’s something you’re not telling me,” she said. “You’re stalling for time, aren’t you?”
“What? No, of course not.” He shoved the wedding gown in her arms and turned her toward a dressing room.
He’d never lied to her about anything important before. She hoped he wasn’t starting now.
She glanced over her shoulder and caught him sneaking a peek at his cellphone.
She bit her lip, more than a little annoyed that he was focused on something besides her on their wedding day.
He glanced up, slid his phone back in his pocket, and pushed her in the back again. “Go try it on. Then we’ll decide.”
“Only if you try on the James Bond getup.”
He grabbed the spy wear off the rack. “Will do.”
She sighed, not satisfied with the dress in the least, and went to the dressing room at the back of the shop with Eric on her heels. She closed the door in his face when he tried to follow her inside. She wasn’t going to fall for that again. They’d definitely be late if he joined her in the dressing room a second time.
Rebekah shimmied out of her jeans and shirt before she slipped the dress on over her head. She almost cried when she saw her reflection and not the good kind of emotional oh-my-God-this-dress-was-meant-just-for-me cry. She was not marrying the love of her life in this travesty of a garment.
“I hate it,” she called.
When he didn’t answer, she cocked her head toward the door, listening intently. Eric was whispering loudly to someone, apparently on his cellphone.
“What is taking you so long? I can’t stall her much longer,” Eric said in a poor attempt at a whisper.
Ah, so she’d been right. He was trying to keep her here as long as possible. But why? She hoped it wasn’t because he’d changed his mind. She opened the door, and his eyes widened as she caught him on his phone.
“Who are you talking to?” she asked.
“That dress is hideous on you, babe.”
He wasn’t lying, but her emotional rollercoaster had taken one dip too many, and the tears started falling before she could stop them.
“Oh God,” he said. “Don’t cry, don’t cry. It’s just Jace.” He thrust his phone in her direction. “Here, you talk to him.”
“I don’t want to talk to him. I’m not crying because you’re talking to Jace! You said I look hideous.”
His face fell. “No, I didn’t. I said that dress is hideous.”
“Same difference.” She rushed into the dressing room, slammed the door and locked it.
“Reb,” Eric said, knocking on the door. “Let me in. You don’t look hideous at all.” Not to her—to Jace presumably—he growled, “Just hurry the fuck up, will you?”
She yanked the dress off over her head and threw it over the top of the dressing room door, satisfied by the sounds of Eric trying to disentangle himself from the yards of taffeta and lace and satin and ugly.
“I promise everything will be fine as soon as Jace gets here,” Eric said.
That was a weird thing to promise. Rebekah wiped the stupid tears from her face with the back of her hand. She couldn’t believe he’d asked Jace to come there in the first place. What? Did she need two guys to tell her she looked hideous in that fucking dress?
“Rebekah? Are you okay?”
“Give me a minute,” she said breathlessly, still trying to get a handle on her emotions. What she wouldn’t give for a hot bath and a soft bed and a hard body to cuddle against.
“I love you,” he said at the door crack.
Well, that little sentiment didn’t help her get her emotions under control in the least. She stared at the ceiling, blinking her eyes, willing them to stop leaking like a pair of broken faucets.
“Rebekah?”
“I love y-you too,” she said, cringing when her voice cracked.
“Are you crying in there?”
She sniffed loudly. “N-no.”
“Baby, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. Let me in.”
“That’s not why I’m crying,” she said.
“Then why? Let me fix it.”
She laughed half-heartedly. “I don’t know why. I’m just… I’m a complete mess all of a sudden.” She ground the heels of her hands into her eyes and took several deep breaths. “It has nothing to do with you.” And yet it had everything to do with him. She feared she’d loved him too fast, too hard, and now she feared burning out, running out of time, of life, too soon—like those tragic couples they’d spoken of earlier. But he wasn’t at fault for those fears. He was just the reason she cared so much that she lived. Really lived. Beside him.
“Let me in,” he said calmly.
She wiped at the residual tears, took a deep steadying breath, and unlocked the door. He entered the dressing room, closing the door behind him, and looked her over from bottom to top. She stood in the bright room in her bra and panties, but didn’t feel self-conscious about it. He’d seen her in much less twenty minutes before.
“I have just the thing for those tears,” he said.