Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 94687 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94687 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
“What happened?”
“Mama happened. Long story. I’ll tell you on the way to Pittsburgh after this.”
“Deal. Where are your bridesmaids, anyway? Aren’t they supposed to come to these things?”
“Margo is literally strutting down a runway right now.” She couldn’t get out of that contract, and I would never ask her to. I had no idea the brat ordered two hundred bars of Farm Girl soap as shower favors until half an hour ago when I saw them stacked on a table. She swore Annie to secrecy. “Autumn had to cancel last minute because of a funeral, and there was no way I was subjecting Ronan to this. Plus, Mama has no idea that he’s in my party, and she likely won’t approve.” She still doesn’t understand why I’d choose friends over family.
Violet mouths “Oh” as she peers at Mama, standing among a group of ten women. She’s wearing a new outfit—a green gingham dress crafted from the “fine fabric” I refused to use for my bridesmaids, she informed me. “She might not like Henry, but she seems to be having a good time.”
“That’s because she’s the center of attention.” After all, it’s her daughter who’s marrying the handsome billionaire hotel owner whom everyone is fascinated with—whether they’ll admit to it or not.
Violet grins.
“Why do you two look like you’re conspiring?” Aunt May sneaks up behind us, making us both jump.
“Violet was just saying how much she likes your sandwiches,” I say.
Violet holds up a pinwheel. “These are delicious.”
“You should try the feta and olive ones, then. They’re over on that table.” Aunt May points to a corner. “They’re a new recipe, but they seem to be a hit. They’re going fast.”
“On it.” Violet trots off toward the table.
Aunt May laughs after her. “She’s a sweet girl.”
“She is.”
“Henry’s cousin, you said?”
“Yes. Distant.” I hate lying to Aunt May, but this might be a secret too heavy for her to keep from my mother. It’s best I not put her in that position.
“I see a resemblance there. It’s nice she could make it.” She gestures around the church hall. “Quite the turnout. I don’t think I’ve been to a shower this big in a while.”
“Yeah, I really didn’t need all this.” It was so kind of Celeste, especially given she pulled me aside to tell me that I’ll always be a daughter to her, even if I’m not marrying her son.
“But you deserve all this.” Aunt May smooths a loving hand over my cheek. She was fourteen when I was born, and I’ve always felt closer to her than to Mama. Maybe because she wasn’t constantly trying to mold, scold, and judge me. “And Bernadette is enjoying the spotlight, which makes everything to do with the wedding easier on all of us.”
I watch Mama a moment now, her her hands flapping dramatically. “What do you think they’re talking about?”
“Oh, Janice McClellan probably brought up that gossip article because she can’t help herself, and Bern’s telling them about her fearless campaign to convince all of Greenbank’s store owners to boycott them on account of them making up lies that only sinful fools believe.”
I gape. “She is not doing that.”
“Oh, you bet she is! Bernadette is on a mission, and you know what she can be like. I don’t think she’ll rest until she succeeds.” Aunt May chuckles. “Peggy Sue said she saw Bern empty a rack of magazines at the supermarket and toss them into the trash.”
“She’s going to get herself arrested.”
Aunt May snorts. “You kidding? Ten minutes in holding and she’d have Stewart convinced God will smite him if he doesn’t let her out for doing the Lord’s work.”
“Oh, Mama.” But my heart warms. No one can ever accuse her of not loving me enough. “She looks good.”
“She’s growing out her hair for Alaska, and that new dress fits her well. Wouldn’t want that material to go to waste, would we?” Her crooked smile tells me she heard two earfuls worth about the good gingham I “refused” as well. “What colors are you going with for the wedding?”
“Black, white, and champagne.”
“Very classy.” She nods with approval.
“I hope so.”
Mama pauses in her conversation, her head swiveling. When she spots me, she beckons me over with a frantic wave. “Abigail! Come and mingle with your guests!”
“Marvelous job filling in for the bridesmaids today!” Peggy Sue hollers at Violet from beside her baby-blue Parisienne, her thick glasses fogging in the frigid cold. “And make me one of those hats in red, like yours!”
“I’ll have it to you by Easter.” Violet waves before hitting the button to close the window and sinking into the passenger seat. “I really like her.”
“Everyone likes Peggy Sue.”
“Maybe not Mama.” Violet bursts into laughter as my cheeks burn.
“Peggy Sue gets a kick out of riling her up.” Most guests respected my wishes for a charitable donation, dropping their envelope into the card box, but there were still wrapped gifts on the table with my name on them. The majority were personalized—beveled picture frames engraved with Henry’s and my name, matching crystal candlesticks with our initials, his-and-her bath towels—but that old coot not only wrapped up a racy white lace lingerie set for me to open in front of everyone but felt the need to note that my-stud-of-a-future-husband won’t be able to keep his hands off me.