Awkward Beat [H.S]

Chapter 23

In which things go from bad to worse to terrible to nightmarish.

Chapter 23

Muffy picked me up on the corner of campus for an afternoon of bridal shopping near the end of the month. As a former bridesmaid in my older brother's recent wedding, which seemed to have taken years to plan, I thought this was cutting it somewhat close. After all, the Styles wedding was scheduled for Valentine's Day.

But Muffy arrived in a car that must have had a six figure price tag, and I was reminded that these weren't ordinary people. They were rich people. If anyone could have a dress properly fitted and altered in just over two weeks, it was them.

"Thank you so much for sparing an afternoon," she gushed as she drove us into town. "My sister's gone shopping with me a few times, but we're miles apart as far as fashion is concerned. I feel like you and I, June, have the same sense of style – that's why I so appreciate your opinion on this."

Already I could feel a headache coming on, so I stole Harry's tactic of pinching the bridge of my nose. "Yeah," I muttered, wishing the day were over, "no problem."

As I discovered, the perk of wedding dress shopping was the free champagne. While the assistant helped Muffy to shimmy into her dress of choice, I draped myself over a plush, cream coloured chair and sipped the bubbly to my heart's content.

When Muffy emerged from the fitting room, she appeared hesitant and uncertain for the first time. I couldn't fathom what I'd expected – probably a wildly inappropriate backless, cleavage popping dress with a tall and revealing slit along the leg – but the dress that she'd selected was... well, beautiful. It was long and traditional, a strapless number with a sweetheart bodice and a beaded belt cinched at the waist to show off some, but not all, of her curves. Below the belt was a flowing skirt stuffed with tulle, a waterfall of soft cream tumbling from her waist.

"Wow, Muff—Misty," I quickly corrected myself as I stood to greet her. "You look...

amazing."

The salesperson seemed smug. Muffy smiled kindly. "Do you really think so?" she asked, examining herself in the fulllength mirror.

"Yes. That dress is fabulous."

"It's the one I selected. The one I want. I only worry that it's not me," she confessed.

I joined her at the mirror, analyzing the dress as I sipped my champagne. "How many days of your life do you get to be a bride? If this is your dream dress – and if it is, I can see why –

I think you should go for it."

She turned around to examine herself over her shoulder, asking, "Really? You don't think it's too much?"

Actually, the dress seemed to subdue her bursting personality rather than overdo it. "Not at all. It's classy and elegant."

I surprised even myself as I said those words, but it was true. Perhaps there was more to the Muffy I thought I knew.

"This is why I asked you here. I knew you'd be honest with me. All right then – if you agree, then I'm sold."

While I didn't feel that Muffy should base any of her marital decisions on my drunken opinion, it had been a rather painless thirty minutes in the shop and it was already over.

Satisfied that I could go home, I nodded.

I enjoyed another glass of champagne while Muffy's measurements were taken for dress alterations. She chatted on and on to both me and the seamstress, constantly twirling about in her dress like a five year old in a princess costume.