Page 52 of Married to Number 22
Seconds—okay, well, less than an hour—away from marrying him.
What if he doesn’t like it? What if I disappoint him?
What if he decides he doesn’t want this?
What if?—
“Enough,” I whisper to myself in the mirror, deliberately shoving the thoughts away, not allowing my brain to go there. I’ve thought myself into a tizzy the last couple of days. I’m doing this, so what’s the point in thinking it to death?
“There isn’t a point,” I mutter then force out a breath. It’s jerky as hell, same as my movements as I put my earrings in, missing the holes more than once before I manage to fasten the backs of the chandelier style adornments.
But I keep breathing.
And I securely fasten the pretty earrings that once belonged to Grams. She had passed them on to my mother, and when Mom died, I inherited them.
So, in a way, it feels like they’re both here with me tonight.
I finger the diamond-coated fringe and study myself in the mirror.
The earrings are the only accessory I paired with my dress.
Because the dress is so perfect that I don’t need anything else.
It’s made of silk that cascades down my body, lightly tracing along my curves, clinging to my breasts, my hips. It gathers slightly near my ankles, highlighting the sparkly, high-heeled sandals whose straps wrap around my calves.
The front is beautiful, understated. Elegant.
The back is sin—dipping down to the top of my ass, the material teasing, calling for a man’s fingertips there…then to slip beneath.
And that lingerie I bought, the lacy scraps I intended to wear are in my suitcase.
Because I forgot about the cut of the dress, the lay of the material.
This isn’t a dress you wear undergarments with.
No bra straps showing, no underwear lines.
Nope. It’s justme.
Lace will come…later.
I smooth down the fabric, release another shaking breath. Then there’s no point in delaying it.
We have an appointment.
We agreed to do this.
We—
There’s a knock at the door.
“Those feet getting chilly, my tiny tornado?”
I glance down at my pink painted toenails, half expecting them to be covered in ice. But they’re normal, despite the nerves twining through my middle. Another deep breath, another nibble at the corner of my mouth. Then I slam the door on my worry and focus on what’s important.
Making this as good as possible for Aiden.
That thought held tightly to my heart and mind, I reach for the handle and pull open the door.
