Page 21 of Power Play

eight

. . .

Riley

When Cari told me she wanted to take me wedding dress shopping, I wasn’t sure what to expect. I’ve never even thought about my future wedding, not with any concrete plans. I’ve never had a guy stick around long enough to dream about happily ever afters.

The one thing I planned on was Carter standing beside me, and now I’ll be the one marrying her baby daddy.

The three Gonzales siblings, plus Viv fucking Gallagher, talk around me as I burp Emmy and clean up. She babbles, trying to keep up with them. Crap. Even my baby is more a part of this family than I ever will be.

“Wait,” Al says, before I can take her upstairs. “I need a kiss first.”

My eyes widen. What’s he talking about? We don’t do this.

With the baby in my arms, I approach him, and he bends down until his face is level with her full belly. He hesitates for a second, building the anticipation, then leans and gives her a raspberry while she giggles and kicks her feet. Laughing, he stands and drops a kiss on her chubby, sticky cheek.

“Okay. Now I’m good,” he declares. “Have a good nap, princess.” He chucks her chin before his gaze meets mine. “Do you have everything you need?”

“Yep. I’m good.” The words come out in a squeak, my throat inexplicably tight. “I’m going to put her down, then get ready.”

“Great.” His eyes soften. “You sure you want to do this?”

Do I want to? No. But it’s the right thing to do.

“I’m in this,” I swear to him, and he nods.

“We’ll leave as soon as she’s up from her nap.”

Dismissed, I take Emmy upstairs, change her, and settle her in her crib. And then I start to cry. This is not what I wanted for a wedding day. This is not what I wanted for a wedding.

I knew I’d never get the happily ever after in the storybooks, but I at least thought I’d end up with someone who likes me for me. Someone who cares about me and is interested in my life. Not a paper marriage to a man who doesn’t know the first thing about me.

His siblings might know the truth, but the judge and the rest of the world need to believe this is real. If social services think anything hinky is going on, they’ll pull Emmy from our care faster than we can blink. I wouldn’t put it past Joanne to do it just for shits and giggles.

No. This is what’s best for Emmy. That has to be my focus. Everything I do is for her.

So, I get to work.

First, I take a shower to scrub off the day’s grime, and then I blow-dry my hair until the waves look somewhat decent. The top-of-the-line hair dryer in the guest bathroom makes the process easy. I’d certainly never pay seven hundred dollars for one, but since it’s here, I’ll use it.

And fuck, does it work well. My chocolate-brown waves fall to right beneath my shoulder blades, and I twist the front back and secure it with pins. As much as I love playing with bright and colorful makeup, today’s the day for simple, demure. Although I do go a little heavy on the smoky eye for daytime.

Safe in the sanctuary of my room, I pull the dress from the garment bag. I’ve never spent this much money on a single piece of clothing, but when I saw it on the mannequin, I knew I couldn’t bear the thought of wearing anything else.

The dress might be lilac, or maybe periwinkle; it’s that in-between shade that’s hard to label, but whatever it’s called, the color flatters my skin tone and makes me feel like a princess. It’s light and gauzy, with a simple slip underneath to cover all the important parts. Fluffy chiffon sleeves fall to my elbows, and it drapes over my body to the floor. With a pair of three-inch heels, it’s the perfect length.

The part that caught my eye was the intricate embroidery. Floral stitchwork covers the dress, with little wildflowers and vines from head to toe. It’s a little more bohemian than anything I’ve ever worn, but as soon as I put it on, I knew it was the one. I felt confident and in control of my emotions.

From the next room, Emmy stirs, but heavy footsteps on the stairs tell me Al’s got her. He talks to her, or maybe to his siblings, his deep voice indistinct through the two closed doors between us.

A quick tap, tap sounds on the door, hesitant, like he doesn’t actually want to bother me. I slip on my shoes before I open it.

Al’s wearing a suit and holding his daughter, who immediately squirms, reaching for me. He starts to hand her over before he freezes, and his mouth drops open, Emmy suspended in midair.

He hates it. He hates me.

“Wow,” he whispers. “You look beautiful.”