It Doesn't Do Well to Dream

Chapter 24

The kiss was the worst mistake she'd made since implying she and Lex were married. It haunted her. Her silent admission scorched her and it was impossible to look at him the same way.

It wasn't just Lex and they weren't just getting married.

It wasn't "just" but it had to be.

She wanted to scream. She should not have kissed him. But the wedding was upon them and she'd have to do it again.

The worst part was she wanted to. A little.

Lex didn't make any attempts to "practice" again following their one... interaction. He maintained his gentlemanly composure, but she did notice he would sit closer to her on the couch than he did before. He would casually touch her on the back or shoulder more often even if he didn't need to. Now the mild contact shot butterflies through her stomach and up into her throat.

It was horribly humiliating. Stupid.

She cared about Lex. Not like other people. Differently.

And against all reason. Against her better judgment and in contradiction to all her goals.

And she didn't even have time to run.

It was The Day.

Peyton felt nauseated from the moment she woke up and it wasn't going away even after she knocked back a cup of coffee and nibbled at a piece of toast. A woman dotted concealer on her face and another finished off her nails; classic French tip, pure white like her dress.

Her mother delicately dabbed at her own eyes with a tissue as she got her hair done; her watery gaze stayed on Peyton as if she never thought she'd get to see the day. The look only amplified Peyton's nerves.

It was here. It was real and it was happening.

She hadn't seen Lex after they parted ways from the manor, and she wondered if he was just as nervous. Was he second guessing his decision to go along with this? Surely if he ever would, now would be the time. Or was his state of mind more calm? Certain?

"You look so beautiful already, darling," her mother said. "I'm so happy for you I could cry."

"There's no crying after makeup," the makeup artist instructed sternly.

Peyton gave her mom a small smile in return due, in part, to the fact that someone was still applying creams and powders to her face.

Annalise came up beside her and handed her a tall glass, a mimosa by the looks of it. Peyton delicately accepted it, careful not to bump her nails, but she did take it. She waited for the makeup artist to pause and took a healthy sip before looking back at her friend.

"Thanks, Anna," she said. "I needed this."

"Pace yourself," Annalise said. "I'm not having you stumble down the aisle."

Peyton rolled her eyes.

"One isn't going to knock me over."

"Tell that to your younger self, you always got weird after just one. And I'm not getting in trouble for being the one responsible when you start babbling at the altar."

Peyton huffed in dismissal and adjusted the angle of her head at the makeup artist's prompting. After the woman was finally done, she and the hairstylist switched places; Peyton sat up straighter and uncrossed her legs as the new woman let down her hair.

"We're still feeling a low bun, right?" The woman checked. There were so many people, Peyton couldn't quite remember her name. She thought it was something with a "CH" sound.