Page 46 of Nash

Alena looks so happy and beautiful in a blush silk robe as she considers dress number five.

“What do you think?” she asks me.

“I think you’ll look beautiful in anything.”

“I need my best friend right now,” she says, “not my maid of honor. Where are your truth bullets when I need them? What do we think; should I wear ivory or white? Be honest.”

Be honest?

I can’t.

I’m squirming on this pink velvet bench in this exclusive bridal dressing room because Nash sits in the front reception area with Loch, Alena’s fiancé.

One might think it odd that the bride’s father and the groom are present, but nope, not when you’re sort of not-mafia-mafia.

Nash is guarding me, and I guess Alena’s bodyguard lurks somewhere outside the boutique, too.

I thought I could do this, especially after Nash’s stern morning reminders that Alena can’t find out. Talk about ruining my orgasmic glow. I don’t get to have one because I’m too focused on lying to my best friend.

So, I dole out little truths. “Okay, honestly, I vote for the Vivienne Westwood so far because you smiled the most in it. You were slinging sunshine with that gorgeous face.”

Just like your dad did in my bed last night.

After he made me come, then cry, then come again so hard that it ruined my life because now I know Icancome with him, so I never want to let him go. Oh, and I’m in love with him, too.

Phew.

At least I can think the truth.

“Sorry, I’m late.” A thick, sweet Southern voice breezes into the dressing room. “I had to get your favorite treat ever since you were a little girl, a Rainbow Row white chocolate bar. It pairs perfectly with champagne because, sweetie, this is a celebration!”

Ms. Faye glides across the room in her ivory Chanel boucle dress, wearing it with grace and grit while she carries a gift bag from a local chocolatier.

She pulls Alena into a big hug. She’s like her grandmother—a gorgeous, hot grandma—and I worship her, too.

She not only protected Alena, giving her and her teenage mother an apartment rent-free, she babysat, too. She practically raised Alena, especially after her mom died.

Ms. Faye’s like me—Alena’s family now.

Those in the know also know that Ms. Faye owns the most exclusive, private sex club in Charleston. She’s a legend. An icon. And yes, Alena knows about it and is forbidden to go, but I do.

Or did until Nash came around.

There, Ms. Faye rules her club with her dark hair in an elegant French twist and her piercing eyes, watching every member, making sure all follow her rules, though I’ve never seen her partake in the fun.

She’s always dressed like high society, the ultimate hostess, but make no mistake. She rules with an iron fist. Men who break her rules pay a painful price.

“We’re trying to decide,” Alena updates her, “should I wear ivory or white?”

“Darlin’,” Ms. Faye drawls, “you’re a queen. Wear both.”

Alena tries on two more white laced-with-ivory dresses while Faye and I sit together, sipping champagne. It makes me miss Blair, too, but I understand. Her heart can’t handle this.

Mine barely can, and not because I’m excited for Alena. She’ll make a beautiful, happy bride.

I can’t handle the thought of ruining this for her. Of breaking her heart before her happiest day. Of killing our friendship when I need it, and she needs it too.

I can see the “Am I The Asshole?” Reddit thread about me now. The viral answer? Yes, you’re the asshole maid-of-honor who ruined your best friend’s wedding by fucking her father.

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