Speak Now

XXIV

Priests aren't supposed to be judgemental but from the way Father O'Leary gave us some serious side eye, I think he was well and truly judging us for our less than presentable appearance. I have to say, though, that this is entirely his fault. After our escapades in Paris, we only returned to Ireland late last night and had to scramble out of bed at an ungodly hour this morning to go through the wedding rehearsal. 

When Father O'Leary sighed for the twenty-seventh time since we walked through the door an hour ago, I huffed and was ready to blow at him. The only reason I didn't was because Harlow was here and she, too, was giving me attitude. The second she saw us walk into the church, she sat us down and lectured us about propriety, telling us in no uncertain terms that we were being disrespectful and had shamed her.

Perhaps the all-night drinking session when we got back wasn't such a good idea. Logan bore the brunt of Harlow's fury, especially since he refused to remove his dark sunglasses in the house of God. Of course, the other adults all agreed with Harlow; mostly because she was right but also because they're all very, very scared of her. We are all also very, very scared of Logan's mum now, too. She's just as bad as Harlow. No wonder they get along so well. 

We suffered through the rehearsal, had a very awkward lunch with extended family that was already in town for the wedding, and swiftly went back to the main house so we could get ready for this evening. Whoever came up with the genius idea of having an intimate evening family dinner clearly had not been on the stag-highjacked hen party. If they had, they'd know that it was pure madness. 

Lying on my bed, staring up at the ceiling, I wasn't mentally, physically or emotionally ready to get dressed. After lunch, I'd returned to my room, slept for a few hours and managed to stand up long enough to shower. Then I had a sit-down, which turned into a lie-down, which then became a power nap. It was the wrong move; I was more exhausted now than this morning and still had to dry and style my hair, do my makeup and put on fake eyelashes, and get dressed before struggling with the buckle of my sandals. You'd think, after the number of times I've cursed while battling with shoes, that I'd stick to thongs, but no, I'm a masochist so strappy sandals it must be. 

Luckily, I'm a pro at getting ready at such short notice and within an hour, I was ready, spritzing my Opium Black on and wondering if the hem at the front of my dress was a tad too risqué. The detail on the front drew attention to the feature, which then drew attention to my legs, but it was also strapless and while my cleavage wasn't on show, there was a lot of skin going on with the outfit. 

"Are you wearing a corset under that?" James asked, barging into my room and holding his arm out. I look at what he shows me and realise that he wants me to button up the cuff of his shirt. Rolling my eyes, I reach my hand out and give James a questioning look. "You have some shape to you. I mean, since you never recovered from the heartbreak diet you were on, you had a really athletic shape to your body and now... whoa, I am sounding so much like those girly magazines that you leave scattered around the house."