Page 47 of Choosing a Forever
I don’t think I’m bad at dancing, but my body isn’t as flexible as some of the other girls on my team, and sometimes it feels like I’m not good enough because of it.
I run my hands over the lavender halter dress. The skirt flows out from my hips and looks lovely in my spins, and the color pops against my skin. My hair is pulled back in a half-bun, curled, and hairsprayed within an inch of its life.
Ifeelpretty. But will he think I am? Mom always says to dress for yourself and not for anyone else, but I can't help it. I want Tal to think I’m beautiful.
The song the six-year-olds are dancing to ends, and the audience claps, bringing the nerves back with a vengeance.
I walk to the center of the stage and strike my opening pose, then the music—Boyce Avenue’s cover of “Teenage Dream”—begins, and I let the music take over as I perform the routine that’s embedded itself into my muscles, thinking about Talmage the entire time.
I’m getting married today.
Fuck, I’m getting married today. To Talmage fucking Monson.
Since he left the Sunday he told his family we were getting married, we’ve seen each other in person at least twice a week and text every day.
It’s been…
Nice.
Except for my poor heart. She’s been through the wringer. Every time he texts, she beats a little faster. My stomach hasn’t fared any better with the way it gets tied up in knots when he’s around or the way the butterflies take flight when he looks at me with his warm grin and kissable lips.
Telling him we shouldn’t kiss because it’ll blur the lines was the smart thing to do, and yet… I find myself regretting it more often than not. I find myself thinkingjust once. One hit, so I can memorize the feel of his mouth. To learn the way hekisses now.
It’s obvious he’s gained some experience since we last kissed. I can’t stand to think about it, though. Knowing some other woman has felt his lips makes me want to stomp my feet and throw a tantrum. I’ve kissed other people, hadsexwith other people. He was engaged, of course he’s kissed other people.
We’re going to have to kiss today. That’s what you do on your wedding day, it would be weird if we didn’t. It would raise too many questions from the twins and his friends, and I don’t have a valid excuse not to do it. I’ve been mentally psyching myself up all day. Thank God no one will ever know whether or not we consummate our marriage because if we had to…
I would simply pass away.
I wouldnotsurvive making love to Talmage Monson. No, no, no.
My body, though? She wants it—wants him. The first time he came over in his Springville FD T-shirt, contoured to the subtle bulge of his muscles on his arms and the expanse of his chest…
I’m deeply ashamed to admit my vibrator got a workout that night, imagining what those arms would feel like caging me in. Imagining what his mustache would feel like tickling the dimpled skin of my inner thighs. I want to feel the rough calluses of his fingers tracing the sensitive peaks of my nipples.
Yeah, I’m fucked. Maybe not literally but metaphorically for sure.
It’s three hours before our appointment, and I’m sitting on a kitchen stool while Lizzie twists a curling iron around my hair and Kinsley and Harper chatter away about… something.
I wish I could pay more attention. But all my brain power is trying to wrap my head around the fact I’m marrying the first boy I ever loved—probably the only boy I’ve ever truly loved.
How did I get to this point? What am Idoing?Is this a huge mistake? Is it worth it to—
“Earth to Mack!” Lizzie’s fingers snap in front of my face, bringing me out of my thoughts.
“Sorry. Zoned out. What’s up?”
Lizzie’s hot pink painted lips turn down into a frown. “You don’t seem like a joyous bride today, babe. What’s up?”
I look pointedly at my twin sisters, hoping Lizzie can understand my unspoken message of “not in front of them.”
“All right, twinsies. I need to have an adult chat with your sister. Go… get dressed or something. No eavesdropping.” Lizzie points at each girl individually.
Harper nods and scurries off to her room, while Kinsley rolls her eyes. “You’re not the boss of me. And I’m almost an adult! I should be included.”
“Three years does not almost an adult make, Kinny-poo. Unless you want to hear all about how sloppy of a kisser Talmage is then—”
“EEEW, okay, I’m going. Gross. Keep that shit to yourself.” Kinsley covers her ears and runs out of the kitchen.
