Page 51 of The Worst Best Man
She winced when his fingers prodded the cut.
“It’s not too deep. But you should have it looked at.”
“Oh, sure. I’ll make an appointment with a doctor in the next, oh, two minutes before the ceremony starts.”
“What happened to your eye?” Aiden asked Chip.
“Tree branch during the escape. This is going to be some story for the grandkids someday.”
“Yeah, just remember who rode to your rescue and who was the bad guy,” Frankie muttered.
The elevator doors opened, and they spilled out into the hallway. Chip jogged toward his room, one hand clamped firmly over his eye. Aiden stood rooted to the spot. “We need to talk,” he said to Frankie.
“Yeah, well, that’s not happening either. I have nothing to say to you.”
“Let’s go Kilbourn. Gotta get me married,” Chip called from the end of the hall.
“Don’t get abducted again,” Frankie called after him. She whirled on Aiden and stabbed him in the chest with her finger. “He trusts you. But I don’t. And if you do anything to fuck this up for him and Pru, I’ll be taking your balls home with me in my carry-on,” Frankie warned him.
“I’m rather attached to them.”
“Don’t be cute with me.”
“You’re beautiful when you’re covered in blood and pissed off.”
“Then I must look like a fucking super model right now.”
She flipped him off one more time for good measure and stormed down the hall to her room. She’d forgotten until she got inside about the dress. The mangled, stained dress. The garment bag was hanging in the closet. She was too nervous to look to see if the hotel laundry had been able to work a miracle. She shucked off her now ruined sundress and shoved herself into the strapless bra and friggin’ forty-seven dollar satin briefs that justhadto go with the dress.
With shaking fingers, she unzipped the bag. Oh god. There were still visible berry stains. The tears at least looked… better-ish. It still looked like the dress had been run through a garbage disposal.
Her phone rang again and she stabbed the speakerphone button as she shimmied into the dress.
“Yeah?”
“Frankie, you’ve got to get down here. My dad and Chip’s dad are fighting in the aisle.”
“Fistfight or wrestling?”
“Ha. Basically, screaming at each other about how the other’s kid is a selfish asshole.”
Frankie could hear shouting in the background. “What are the groomsmen doing?”
“Putting action on it. Most of them think my dad can take Mr. Randolph because of the years of pent up rage.”
“Ugh. I’ll be down in two minutes. In the meantime, have your wedding coordinator do literally anything.”
“Hurry!”
Frankie hung up and stared in horror in the mirror. The left side of her face was covered in blood. Only some of it was dried. Her carefully coiffed hair was exploding out of the last of the torture pins that were still hanging on. She had an entire vine stuck in there somehow. And the dress?
The dress was cleaner now but still destroyed. Did bridesmaid dresses come in distressed fabric? Pru was definitely going to kill her.
There was a knock at the door, and Frankie tripped over the hem in her haste to get to it.
“What the hell do you want?”
Aiden was standing there in an annoyingly pristine, perfectly tailored tux. No blood or bruises on his face. Just a ghost of a smile and a garment bag slung over his shoulder.
