Page 37 of Wedding the Werepanther

“Kayla isn’t ready yet! She’s not eventryingto get ready! She’s just sitting on the bed with the dress only half on.”A door slams downstairs.

“I told you the dress was a problem.” I walk over to the newly hung door that connects our bedrooms. I’m proud of my craftsmanship but miss the opening and Kayla’s muffled gasps every time she caught a glimpse of me naked.

I knock and call out, “Can I help?”

“No.” Her voice sounds flat and miserable, but the door clicks open. “No one can help.”

I push on it, meeting resistance. With a firmer shove, the scratchy rustle of fabric fills the air as the door finally makes it past the skirt exploding all around Kayla’s legs.

She stands in front of me, clutching the bodice to her chest to keep it from falling. Her purple hair’s swept up in a pretty up-do, and she has on just enough makeup to emphasize the beauty of her brown eyes, but my wife looks utterly miserable. “I can’t button up the back.”

The dragonet flaps around her, chittering and sounding worried.

“Dewdrop tried to help.”

“I’m sure he did.” I step forward. “Now turn around.”

“I already have on the Girdle of Doom.” Kayla tries to spin, but the skirt tangles around her legs. “The dressshouldfit, but…” Her shoulders jerk in an awkward shrug, which makes the huge puffy sleeves billow outward from her upper arms. “It’s just so embarrassing.”

“You hold still. I’ll be the one to move.” I’m barely near enough to touch her, but I have to step backwards to get away from the skirt. “What is this horrible, scratchy fabric called, anyway?”

“It’s crinoline. It’s the Fabric of Destruction. I look like a mountain of lace with a head poking out the top.” She shakes the skirt with one hand. “This thing is somassiveI bet it has its own gravity well.”

The skirt poofs out so much I have to kick my way forward to get close enough to reach the row of tiny buttons running up her back. I tug the two sides of the fabric together, fighting to hold them close enough to start buttoning. “No wonder you couldn’t get into this yourself. No one could.”

“Yeah, I’m probably supposed to be surrounded by a bunch of bridesmaids and my mother, all helping me into this thing.”

She never speaks of her parents, so it might be a touchy subject. Since things are already going poorly, I focus on the idea of bridesmaids. “Yet you didn’t ask any of your friends?”

“Ask them what? Please help me into a dress I don’t like for a fake wedding I don’t want to do?” She glances over her shoulder at me. “No, thank you. The fewer people who see this, the better.”

A feeling of sadness permeates the air, and words appear on the room’s magical parchment.“My wedding ceremony hasn’t even happened, and you’re ruining it!”

“I’m sorry. These clothes make me really uncomfortable, but you’re right,” Kayla says. “I agreed to do this, so I’ll do my best to make your ceremony nice.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Dewdrop adds several chirps of his own as if to back up his witch’s words.

The atmosphere lightens, and I start buttoning again. The backs of my fingers skim over the thick white satin of the girdle as I slowly work my way upward, and I can feel Kayla’s warmth through the fabric like a tease.

“You know,” I say, “whenever I pictured something like this, I always thought I’d beunbuttoning you.”

“Don’t worry.” She huffs with amusement. “You’re going to get to do that too, because there’s no flipping way I can get out of this dress without your help.”

I lean closer and drop my voice to a murmur. “I look forward to it, my wife.”

She shivers, then trembles again as I fasten the top button, my fingers brushing her skin.

The bedroom door swings wide open, and the parchment reads:“Finally! Shadow, go downstairs and wait by the podium so I can play the “Wedding March” as Kayla enters.”

As I start to move past her, Kayla reaches toward me. “No, wait! You have to help me down the stairs. I’ll never make itby myself.” She gives a little kick of her leg, setting the mass of crinoline jiggling.

I turn, finally seeing her from the front with the dress fully on. My eyes latch onto her chest, the tops of her breasts rising from the sea of white lace as if they long to escape the dress as much as she does. They’re pure rounded temptation, looking so soft they make my hands itch. What will they feel like?

The bedroom door bangs shut, returning my attention to the situation at hand.