Page 42 of The One Night Dash
When I walk in,I’m about to tell her congratulations when she spouts off, “Thank God you’re here. Louie’s idiot sister can’t figure out how to bustle this dress. She practiced four times at every gown fitting I had done because I just kept losing weight because of the stress of planning a wedding like this.”
“I’ve never done it before, but I can try,” I admit.
She holds out her hand with a huff. “Give me your phone. I’ll pull up the video tutorial.”
I unlock my screen and hand it to her.
“Of course, reception sucks,” she mutters, turning on her heel, reaching behind her, and handing me my phone.
The video is already queued up. I watch some stranger’s well-manicured hands demonstrate how to loop and tie and tuck, while Lauren cranes her neck impatiently.
“Just do it like that,” she says.
The bustle is delicate work, silk and tiny buttons that don’t want to cooperate. My fingers shake, but I steady them. I breathe through it and follow the tutorial as best I can, slipping loops over hooks, adjusting the folds until the hem rises evenly.
“Higher. No, not like that—smooth it out. I don’t want it puckered in pictures,” she snaps.
Her bridesmaids hover in the mirror’s reflection, glassy smiles plastered on as they sip champagne and watch me, inches from what ass she has left, that I may as well be kissing.
I bite my tongue, keep my head down, and finish. When I finally step back, the gown drapes neatly, the train tucked away like it’s supposed to be.
Lauren turns, twists side to side, studies her reflection, then gives a satisfied little sigh. “There. I knew you’d come through.”
I force a smile and hand her phone back to her. “Happy to help.”
“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me Dash was coming,” she says, like an accusation.
“I had no idea.”
There’s whispering behind me, sharp and snide, until one of them says, “He’s probably using you as a wing woman, or an excuse to see if he still has a chance with Lauren.”
My eyes snap to Lauren’s the second I hearusing you.I expect her to shut it down, to correct them, to say something.
She doesn’t.Of course she doesn’t.
“I’ve done what’s asked of me at every turn, because I want you to have the wedding you’ve always dreamed of having.” My voice is steady, but the heat behind it builds. “So now I’m going to ask you to muzzle your peacocks. I’m a guest.”
The room stills, feathers metaphorically ruffled, and for once, all those glossy, over-fluffed bridesmaids shut their beaks.
The door opens, and a woman walks in. I see Dash standing with Louie in the hall.
“I was coming to do that for you,” she says as she takes Lauren in.
Louie’s sister.
“Oh, Lana, it was no big deal.” Lauren smiles. “Noelle offered.”
I internally roll my eyes as I place a smile on my face. “I’m going to grab a drink. See you all out there.”
When I walk out of the room, Dash is wearing a smirk, which tells me he more than likely heard everything.
He hands me a glass of wine, then holds his arm out for me to link mine.
“Thank you.”
“You’re not my wingman, Noelle, and I sure as hell have no intentions of playing yours.”
The words land harder than I expect, because it’s not teasing, not detached. It’s … something else. Something that makes my stomach flip.
