It feels like old times. When we were kids and he trusted me, saw the best in me, wanted the world for me.
But I still feel that little pang—
That worry about his fiancée.
So, I do the smart thing.
I outsource it to Ivy.
Romeo: Can you do me a favor?
Chapter Twenty-Five
Ivy
Cynthia steps out of the dressing room in a midi satin cowl neck. The ivory color is gorgeous against her dark skin. And the fabric drapes perfectly over her long, narrow body.
Really, in this, even in her bare feet, she looks like a model.
But then again, now that we're at outfit number seven, I'm pretty sure Cynthia looks like a model in everything.
She's not just beautiful.
She's absolutely stunning.
She turns to the three-panel mirror and studies the smooth fabric. "I don't know. It just doesn't say, 'I'm a bride, but on my terms.'"
I can't agree. It says exactly that. It's in the white family, and it's formal, but it's also shorter and sexier and infinitely less fussy than most wedding gowns.
It's perfect, really.
Like half of her selections.
For a woman who lives in shorts, she's awfully picky.
But, hey, it's her wedding. Even if it's a casual one.
"Can I send this one to Meredith?" I ask. "See what she thinks?"
"Okay, but I won't change my mind," she says.
"Sure." I hold up my phone and snap a photo. It's not the world's best lighting, but it captures the angles. And Cynthia is kind enough to strike a few cheeky poses. Though she does so with considerably less enthusiasm than last time.
This is the third photo I've sent Meredith. The other two were of a truly terrible, and a truly wonderful, dress. I wanted to get a range. And get her opinion on what's working and what isn't.
I send the photo with a woosh. Then I check my texts from Romeo.
He wants a favor.
A favor with Cynthia specifically.
He thought about it, and I'm right. He sees Daniel's concern about their chemistry. And he wants me to reassure him. Somehow.
How?
I don't have some sort of therapist Jedi mind trick here.
I talk to people like anyone else.