Slipping out of my school uniform, I drop the dress over my head and stand staring at myself in the full-length mirror near the door.
The dress is fitted at the waist, with straps that start wide on the shoulders and taper in near the bodice. The beadwork on the top is delicate, twisting into floral motifs that swirl together across the front and sides, toward the back and the loose ribbons that hold the corseted back together. While the bodice is form-fitting, the skirt is full, a satin top layer over several layers of tulle.
Looking at my reflection is like looking at a stranger.
Where’s the bronze-skinned surfer girl? How about the dorky boy in glasses?
Instead, I find myself looking at someone completely different. And it’s not just the dress, is it? It’s just life, catching up to me.
Slowly, I push open the door and shuffle into the foyer.
Elizabeth slaps her hands over her mouth while my dad turns a shade of red that hasn’t yet been identified in nature. He looks like a vat of cranberry sauce.
“Charlotte,” Spencer breathes, his jaw tightening as he looks me over. “You’re beautiful.”
“So cute,” Ranger murmurs, closing his eyes against the sight, a slight pink color tinging his skin.
“You look … good, Chuck,” the twins say, blinking in surprise, like they’re not quite sure how to react.
The only one who stays silent is Church.
“Well, son, don’t you have something to say to your bride?” his mother chastises, giving him a very pointed look.
Those amber eyes are locked on my face, but I’m having trouble discerning what, exactly, it is that Church might be thinking. Is he disappointed in me? Do I look like the bride he’s always wanted? Why am I feeling so freaking self-conscious all of a sudden? Slowly, carefully, he opens his mouth to speak.
I cut him off.
“I … need to grab something,” I say, and Church pauses, giving me a curious sort of look.
“Grab something?” Spencer echoes as I move over to the door and slip my feet into a pair of rainboots. “What do you mean grab something? From where?”
“Just … from my room,” I say, fully aware that I’m not quite thinking clearly. If you’ve ever seen the movie The Proposal with Ryan Reynolds and Sandra Bullock in it, you’ll get it. They have a fake engagement, and she runs. And she runs because she … loves him. That, and she doesn’t want to hurt his family.
“Charlotte Farren,” Dad warns, but I’m already pushing open the screen door and hiking the skirts up as high as I can get them. “What on earth are you doing?”
I start to run down the path, the wind blowing blond curls around my face.
“I’m Sandra Bullocking!” I shout as I zip past a cluster of other students, working on a mycology project—that’s fancy talk for mushrooms—and heading straight for the dorms. It’s midday, and there are people everywhere, so I’m not all that concerned about the stupid cult or their blood initiation.
I don’t stop running until I’m slipping into my dorm room and leaning my back against the door to close it. Only, it won’t close all the way because someone’s pushing their way in from the other side.
I spin and my wet rainboots slip on the floor, knocking me to my ass as Church steps into the room behind me. He closes and locks the door, looking down at me with a brow raised in questioning.
“Miss Carson,” he says, almost like a soft chastisement that makes me wrinkle my nose. “You ran from me.”
“I wasn’t running from you,” I protest weakly, looking away toward the miraculously clean space under my bed. Never in my life have I managed to keep a clean room, but Church tidies it up for us. He says he likes to do it, and I can’t decide if he’s full of shit or if it really does please his OCD or something. “I just had to get something.”
Church squats down in front of me as I reluctantly drag my gaze from the dust-bunny-free zone and back to his aristocratic face. Cheekbones for days, skin like alabaster, a mouth that can make sunbeams but also go sharp as a knife. My heart is already pounding like crazy from my mad sprint across campus, but now I feel like I might pass out.
“You ran all the way over here in a wedding dress and rainboots to grab something?” he questions, and I nod. Words won’t come. I’m not sure what to say. I’m not even sure what I’m supposed to be feeling. “Do tell.”
“My nightstand drawer, next to the packer penis.”
Church smiles and stands up, stepping around me to slide the drawer open and coming up with a small wooden box. It’s decoupaged with old magazine photos, just some relic from an elementary school art class. But when he opens it, sliding off the top and peering inside, he’ll see it: my mother’s hairclip, with all the pearls and lace. She wore it at her own wedding to my dad, when she was just a teenager.
