Page 32 of Keeping Kaitlyn

“I took the liberty of pulling the completed look,” she tells me, dollar signs flashing in her eyes. Before she can start to ramble about what sort of cow the boot leather came from or what sort of dye was used for the hat, I reach out and pluck the dress from her grasp. “I’m not interested in the completed look,” I tell her, shutting her down as gently as I can. “Just the dress.” I shut the door before she can start to cry.

Dress on, I look at myself and am completely underwhelmed at the way it hangs shapelessly from my frame like an imported lace potato sack. Deciding on a second opinion, I exit thedressing room to find Dakota waiting for me by herself, the saleswoman presumably putting back the items I rejected.

“Well?” Standing in front of the mirror, I examine myself critically. “What do you think?”

“I don’t love it,” Dakota tells me honestly. “It needs color—I can see why they paired it with that ugly red hat.”

Covering my face with my hand to smother a snort, I realize I’ve never done this before. I’ve never gone shopping with a girlfriend. Never laughed at silly fashion trends or let myself be talked into something too expensive and completely unnecessary. A bucket list item I never knew I needed until right now. When I get back upstairs, I’m going to add it to my list, just so I can cross it off.

“Thank you,” I tell Dakota quietly.

She gives me a puzzled look in the mirror we’re standing in front of. “For what?”

“For doing this.” I flip my hands, gesturing them at the store’s reflection. “For putting up with me. I’m sure you have better things to do.”

“Not really.” Dakota gives me a wry smile before it brightens and she lifts her hand. Snapping her fingers she lets out a whoop. “I know what it needs. Wait here,” she tells me before turning away from the mirror to dart deeper into the store. She returns a few minutes later with a wide, brown, engraved leather belt with a large turquoise buckle. Hands landing heavily on my shoulders, she whips me around. “Don’t look at the price tag,” she tells me while she wraps the belt around my waist and cinches it tight before pulling and tucking the dress until she’s satisfied with the way it looks. Hands back on my shoulders, she spins me around again so I can see myself in the mirror.

Dakota was right. It just needed some color.

“Oh…” I smooth my hands over my hips, the flare of them accentuated by the belt, before lifting them to trace the adjusted neckline. “Wow.”

“The leather belt is hand tooled, and the buckle is real turquoise. It’s called a Squash Blossom—a Navajo tribe in Arizona makes them and sends them up here on consignment,” she tells me. “Helping them get placed in the store was my capstone project for college.” She smiles at me over my shoulder. “I was a business major.”

“Went and I are getting married.” I blurt it out before I can come to my senses, for reasons I can’t even really understand.

“Married?” Dakota cocks a slim, dark brow at me, and for a moment, the resemblance between her and her brother is downright spooky. “Is that whatfriendsare doing these days? Getting married?”

“It’s a long story…” I give her a wry smile when she gives me an exasperated eyeroll. “One I’d be inclined to share with my maid-of-honor.”

Dakota blinks at me once.

Twice.

And then she smiles.

“You’re marrying my brother and you want me to be your maid-of-honor?” When I give her a reluctant nod, she shakes her head. “Why me? Why not a friend or?—”

“I don’t have any friends.” Realizing how pathetic that sounds I try to backtrack. “Here. I don’t have any friendshere, and I know we’ll each need a witness to make it legal so, I just thought that since you already know I’m here, asking you would be the logical choice.”

Instead of laughing in my face or calling me on my obvious bullshit, Dakota considers me quietly for a moment before she sighs. “Do you love him?”

Do I love him?

Yes.

As impossible as it sounds, the answer is yes. Somehow, over the space of only a few weeks, I’ve fallen so desperately in love with Went that I’m willing to do anything to keep him—even if it means allowing him to marry me. Even though he doesn’t feel the same way.

Instead of telling her that, I nod. “Yes,” I tell her quietly. “I love him.”

Dakota eyes me skeptically. “If I’m going to be your maid-of-honor, I’m going to need a new dress.”

“Of course.” I nod again, this time emphatically.

“Andthe tea,” she tells me. “I have a feeling that being a part of this won’t earn me any twin points with Damien, so if I’m going to stand up for you, I need the full story of what’s going on between you and Went.”

“Full story,” I promise her. “I’ll tell you everything.”

Her expression softens slightly. “Ask me again.”

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