We Go Down (Bremmy 2)

Chapterish 69

WHITE LACE AND LOVE AFFAIRS

Meg and I cross the patio and enter the air conditioning once again. Arm in arm, we climb the semi-circle staircase that leads to the upstairs bridal suite.

"The boys are so lucky it takes them five minutes to get ready," Meg whines.

I roll my eyes at her. "It's only some make up and a dress. Won't kill you."

"I know, I know. Did you see the guys' outfits? Super old school. I was surprised." Meg shrugs.

"I didn't." Had I been sharing a room with Brooks, I would no doubt have some input. "You know Trix though. She's secretly all vintage and shit."

"Not such a secret," Meg shakes her head.

"Showers?" I ask when we reach the top of the stairs?

"Yup." Meg glances at her waterproof watch. "Meet back here in 10 minutes?"

"Ten minutes?" I scoff. "We don't all shower like a man. Look at all this hair." I remove my ponytail holder to reveal a solid 8/10 mess.

"Fine. Twenty." Meg turns the corner and disappears into her and Nate's room.

I spin on my heels and walk into my own corner room. I turn the knob on my own private shower and let the scalding hot water remind me I'm alive. I lather up my hair with the citrusy shampoo that's in the shower already. Matching bodywash.

By the time I get out, the mirrors have already steamed over. My old maid robe is already hanging up outside the bathroom door for me. I don't remember leaving it there –or ironing it. Compliments of the little wedding elves I suppose.

I grab an extra towel from the rack beside the tub and wrap my hair up onto the top of my head. I blot my cheeks with glow serum and check my phone. Two minutes to spare.

Sun filters through the large windows, bathing the space in warmth. Meg is already waiting for me when I meet her back in the hallway. Only Meg would wear high socks and sneakers with a silk robe.

"Ready for my blow-out." I announce myself.

"What?" I ask, noticing Meg staring at me sideways.

"I saw that look," she says, eyeing Brooks's room behind us as we start walking.

"You saw nothing."

"You good? Not going to space out on us are you?" She teases.

"Please," I laugh.

"Please, yeah." She rolls her eyes.

We knock on the white door to the bridal suite, and it's instantly pulled open by Trix's mother.

"Hi girls," she beams.

"Hi Mrs. Barr," Meg and I chime in unison. Unrehearsed, I swear.

We are ushered inside, and I'm engulfed by a magical fragrance of Chanel No. 5, hairspray, and floral bouquets. This must be what the inside of a bridal catalogue smells like.

The bridal suite is exquisite. Bright. Ethereal. White.

Sofa bed, ottomans, make-up stand, chairs and stools. All white. Every kind of fabric and texture imaginable: Lacy wallpaper. Sheer curtains. Velvet. Furry pillows. Cowhide rug. Glistening countertop –literally everything that exists but make it white.

The only exception is the crystal chandelier that hangs in the center, glimmering with sunlight. The doors to the balcony are open and the ocean is visible through all the palm tree shade.

"This is gorgeous," I say, dropping my phone on the table beside an open make-up case. I spy falsie lashes.

"Isn't it?" Trix agrees, hugging me out of nowhere.

She's positively glowing. Her cascading red hair sticks out against her white robe, which blends in perfectly with the rest of the suite.

"You look so beautiful. Oh my God!" I tell her mid-hug.

"Seriously stupid beautiful." Meg nods.

"And you don't even have your make-up done yet!"

"Or hair." Trix flips her pin-straight blow out behind her shoulders. "Speaking of... Both of you to the chairs now."

I follow Meg around to the wall opposite the palm tree window. One of Trix's cousins is just finishing her up-do. Two hair stylists direct me and Meg into our stools. I feel the plush stool against my under-thighs as I sit down in my robe. Raz (my stylist) is already untwisting the towel from my head.

I watch her in the mirror in front of me and decide she reminds me of Tao.

The next hour is spent with several blow-dryers, a waver, a gallon of bobby pins, and bottomless mimosas. I watch the transformations take place legit right before my eyes. Meg's usually casual hair is now glossy and curled and twisted into an incredible low bun. Her make-up artist has already started loading her face with primer.

I watch as Raz puts the finishing touches on my boho chic low-do. Now it's make-up time.

...

Hear me out: The hair and makeup industry is a sham. I mean, sure they slave over us for hours, and yes, the results are otherworldly. As I stare at this glammed up, super sex bot of a stranger in this mirror, I conclude it's worth every single penny.

Still, I stand by sham.

I don't look like this in real life, even on my best days. This weird low updo is really working for me. The blonde tendrils framing my face are the proverbial cherries on top. I've even got an extra glow from my morning at the pool. Freckles are coming out to play on my nose.

The turquoise earrings Zöe lent me perfectly complement the burnt coral dress that's now wrapping my body. They dangle to the same length as the cherries. I'm feeling my bridesmaid status right now is what I'm saying.