Page 41 of The Wedding Crush

“Dress number one…”

Morgan sashays out of the dressing room. She’s wearing a cream-colored, boatneck tea-length dress. Valerie’s choice, which makes her look like she’s ready to time-travel back to the 1950s rather than down the aisle.

It’s classically beautiful, butsomismatched with her vision.

Seven “Hmm… It’s a no from me” fans fly into the air.

A negatory consensus.

Brutal.

“Look, I thought it was really cute.” Valerie defends her selection, but she’s no match for Monica.

“What woman do you know who wants to be cute on her wedding day? Beautiful, stunning, glowing, drop-dead gorgeous, yes,” she reasons. “We need Dante teary-eyed that he gets to spend his life with her.”

At her left, Seneca rests a calming hand on Monica’s forearm. Since I’m on her right, I flap my fan at her, sending a cool breeze in her direction.

Yeah, only seven more to go.

In a twist of instant Karma, Monica’s diamond-encrusted A-line doesn’t even make it to the platform before the fans go up, shutting it down.

After two no’s, I excuse myself to the dressing room to check on Morgan. After a double knock, I enter and find her struggling with the ball gown tulle snagged on her ring.

“Here, let me,” I say, gently unravelling the fabric.

When I meet Morgan’s wandering stare in the mirror, she deflates into a sigh. Mostly, because it’s her mother’s selection.

Saying no to a scalloped-neckline Cinderella monstrosity is one thing when it’s a friend’s dress choice. But how do you tell your mother that she’s picked the one gown that makes your face turn with disgust?

“It’s hideous.” Morgan’s shoulders shake with defeated laughter.

“Girl, the second I saw Georgia pick that one, I was like,Oh, no. This is going to end badly. That’s why I’m here.”

I squeeze her shoulders and flash her a megawatt smile.

But then she twists in my arms to face me with her brows drawn together.

“Um, do you really expect me to believe that’s why you’re hiding in here with me?” She blinks a good dozen times. “I know your busy brain has settled long enough, and you’re thinking about Stefano…”

Wow.

There’s no point denying it.

When Morgan, Ace, and I stepped foot into Bridal Bliss, I figured I’d leave all thoughts of Stefano on the doormat. Just throw myself into helping my best friend find the perfect wedding gown to exchange vows with the love of her life. In my mind, all eight of us would make joyful, teary-eyed toasts—if even I’m a lightweight drunk and champagne makes me horny. It wouldn’t matter though because we’d be celebrating Morgan and Dante’s eternal love.

Then my brain and touchy-feely heart promptly reminded me that I’m an empath.

The thing is, I know loss.

But after Morgan told me about Stefano’s situation, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about how harshly I judged him. And based on what? His suits? A family effort to rouse Dante from the same unimaginable grief that Stefano is likely still grappling with himself?

Imagine, in so many years losing your father, grandfather, at least two babies, plus the dream of having kids at all. Then the cherry on top is a finalized divorce.

And yet, he stood there talking to Ace with so much compassion. Laughing and really talking to him, man to man. Rather, man to incredibly adorable boy.

All I wanted to do was hug this broken man and help him put all the pieces back together.

“It’s so bad.” I shake my head. Disappointment sags through me. “Do you think I like being this way? Trust me, it’s one thing to be highly attuned to other’s emotions and energies. I listen; I understand on the deepest level. People get to feel seen and heard. But it’s mentally straining, to say the least. It’s like, hello burnout, come on in.”

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