Always the Last Word (Always the Bridesmaid #4)(3)

"This is beautiful. Whose design is this?" I ask, staring at the ball gown with its simple beadwork in the bust and the different fabrics used in the skirt that somehow seem modern and chic instead of messy. And then I see the signature: CV. Connie Valentine. I stare at her. "You did this?"

Her face is red, and I sincerely hope it's from embarrassment and not rage.

"It's just a doodle," she explains as Jamie calls for her.

"Just a …  But it's incredible. Have you made the gown? Do you have any more designs?"



       
         
       
        

"What's the point?"

"The point?" I screech. "The point is that this is beautiful. This is couture and I know you have the talent to construct it."

"And then what? Let it sit in the shop collecting dust?"

"Shop your designs around."

She shakes her head as she laughs. "Evie, I'm too old to get into the designer game-"

"False."

"- and these drawings are just how I relieve stress."

That's why she has a dog and a grandchild. These designs are more than a way to pass the time. I guarantee she would pursue the idea if she saw one of her designs come to life. This gown is more beautiful than half the ones on the store floor now. It would sell like friggin' hotcakes.

"Let it go, Evie," she says, walking past me and out of the office.

I look at the sketch again, as well as the pile of papers on her desk where at least two other design sketches are sticking out, taunting me. I then look at the copy machine in the corner of the office.

Let it go. Yep. I'll get right on that.



***



"Oh, sweet Jesus, what is that?" Rachel asks, getting out of her car just as I'm wrestling with my recent purchase from the trunk of my own car.

I try to hide my thrift store find behind my back, but there's no point. Not even my ass can mask the monstrosity that is a wedding dress from the eighties.

"It's a project for work," I say, and I'm not completely lying. Instead of going to her own home, Rachel follows me inside my apartment and watches me curiously. I traipse through my apartment with the dress thrown over my arm, from living room to bedroom to kitchen to the laundry room in search of a gentle fabric cleaner. Rachel is on my heels.

"Don't get too obsessed. Remember, you're going out to dinner with me and Carter tonight," Rachel reminds me and I fight the urge to groan. I have a new project; I don't want to be social. She immediately changes the subject to save us both some misery. "So, what are you doing with this dress?" she asks.

"Restoring it," I say, deciding that's the easiest answer.

"For what? Halloween? Evie, this dress is a hot mess. I'm hesitant to even call it a dress. It looks like one of those pool covers, but with sequins."

"That's why I'm restoring it," I explain as I fill the bathtub with warm water to soak the gown. In my defense, I didn't want an old dress to refashion into something even halfway resembling Connie's design. It's just that material can get expensive. I managed to snag this dress for twenty bucks and, even though the design is out of date, the fabric is still good. I'll still need to pick up a handful of notions, but by using a wedding gown I found at a thrift store, I'm saving myself several hundred dollars. 

I don't tell all of this to Rachel. Fashion, let alone the design of it, has never been something that has interested her. I had to practically drag her to shop for her own wedding dress.

"So, what's the itinerary for the night?" I ask as I let the dress settle into the mix of warm water and detergent.

"Just a few drinks and, I don't know, you helping us figure out how to tell our parents that we postponed the wedding."

I stop working the detergent into the material.

"You haven't told your parents about the wedding yet?"

She scoffs. "If you think that's bad, guess who else is joining us for dinner."

My stomach flips and my entire face becomes hot as my blood begins to boil.

"No."

"Seriously? You're still this bitter about what Adam did to you? It's been four years, Evie," Rachel says, her vision focused on the wedding dress in the bathtub. "Isn't it time you got over what happened?"

"He ditched me mid-date and left with the waitress!" I don't mean to yell. And, yeah, it was four years ago and I should get over it. But I will take this grudge with me to my grave. "And he stuck me with the bill. And he ordered both our meals! I couldn't even eat mine since it was surf-and-turf."

"Don't you pay for Grant's meals?"

"That's different. One, I don't mind paying for a meal. Two, Grant would never order a meal for me that contained meat since he knows that I'm a vegetarian. Three, the bastard left me with the bill, food I couldn't even eat, and my all-consuming hatred for everything that Adam Iberico loves."

Rachel sighs. "If it helps, he and Zoe broke up."

I smile, my anger subsiding only slightly. "That does make me feel warm and tingly," I admit.

"It won't be that bad, I promise. And, if it is, I'll buy you a couple yards of fabric."

I hate that she knows me so well.

"I don't even know why you hang around him. He tried everything in his power to keep Carter from dating you."

"He was just a kid. He's grown up a lot since then. And I've forgiven him for that, and you should too."

"Forgive him for shunning my best friend? Never." I turn the water off and come to a standing position so that I'm looking down at Rachel. "You just want us to go out because you like the way our names sound together," I say, already caving in her to her request.

"You have to admit that it has a nice ring to it. Adam and Evie. It's almost biblical." Rachel grins and begins to sing, "Adam and Evie, sittin' in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g-"

"First comes a snake, then comes an apple, then Evie takes a bite because hellfire is preferable to being around that bastard," I snap back.

"How long have you been preparing that comeback?"

"Four years. I came up with it on the drive home from that nightmare of a date," I say and, as much as I'm dreading this outing, I am glad to finally have that line out of my system.





Chapter Three



When I was fifteen, I had to have my wisdom teeth pulled. They were crowding the rest of my teeth, though not enough to completely close the gap between my two front teeth. Dad considered my gapped front teeth a character-building trait. Translation: he didn't want to spring for braces. He and Mom had already gone through that fight with Hank, who truly did need braces. My little gap was nothing in comparison to the war that was going on in my brother's mouth.



       
         
       
        

So, I had my wisdom teeth pulled. My mouth was good and numb and I barely felt a thing. Several hours later, as the pain medication's potency began to wane, I felt as if I had been punched in the face by The Hulk. I've never broken bones or suffered from serious injury, for which I am very thankful. So, when I have to think of something that I'd rather go through again than spend any amount of time with Adam Iberico, I go back to my aching jaws and my bruised, swollen cheeks.

"I can't believe you're still angry about that date. It was four years ago," Carter says as we settle into our table. Adam is running late, which is no surprise.

"He picked out her meal," Rachel says flippantly, acting as if I can't see her eye roll at Carter.

"And criticized my career!" I add, crossing my arms. "He ices cupcakes for a living and he thinks what I do is a useless skill? Every person outside of a nudist colony relies on the fashion industry. Even Adam and those stupid superhero t-shirts he wears all the time."

Rachel and Carter stare at me with wide eyes as Adam slides into the empty chair next to me.

"Sorry I'm late. Those cupcakes weren't going to ice themselves," Adam says, his brown eyes narrowed at me behind his thick-rimmed glasses. Effing hipster. "I see you all are benefiting from Evie's skills. Tell me again, Evie, how many pieces have you sold to Nordstrom now while dressing brides up like they're your own personal Barbie dolls?"

"And I was worried tonight was going to be awkward," Carter says to Rachel, knowing full well we can all hear him. He focuses his attention on Adam and me. "You two are important to us. Cut this bullshit. We need your help, and that's going to involve you two not ripping each other's throats out before appetizers."

"Sorry," Adam and I both mumble just as our waiter drops a plate of spinach dip and pita bread on the table.

"What do you need me to do?" I ask.

"Talk Jamie down." Rachel shows me her phone log. It's nothing but Jamie's number over and over again. Even as she shows me her phone, a new text message from Jamie pops up on the screen. I'd rather break the news to Rachel's parents that the wedding is off than deal with Jamie, but I give Rach a confident thumbs up.

"And me?" Adam asks, looking to Carter for instruction.

"Keep me on task with the blog and book."

"Coffee bean cake," Adam says knowingly. "Consider it done."