Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 97592 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97592 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Mo went for a more structured blush-colored number, and I chose a lavender gown with a satin bodice and feather details at the bottom.
It’d be too much for any other wedding, but for Brooke’s, it’s just the kind of Dolly Parton-inspired exaggeration she’s looking for.
Brooke smiles at my mom as she whispers something in her ear, and Mo runs to the restroom to touch up her lipstick one last time, setting her nearly gone wine on the table outside the door.
Emmy Rose sleeps soundly in her pack n’ play near the small sofa on the other side of the room.
And while I’m not being watched, I sneak my phone out of my bag and answer the text I got earlier from the guy who makes my world light up.
Noah: I don’t know if I’m supposed to admit this about the men’s club, but we have no idea what we’re doing over here. The wedding better start soon, or we might end up in the local mud run or a pub. How’s it going in the land of the ladies? Have you told her yet?
I glance up at Brooke to make sure she’s still occupied before typing faster and more furiously than I’ve ever typed before.
Me: Have I told my sister that you and I eloped two months ago and have been keeping it a secret this whole time? Considering the only words I’ve come up with are “Hey, so since you’re getting married today, you should probably know I went behind your back and did the one thing that you’d lose your mind over.” Um, no. I think I’ll save it for another time.
Noah: Sammy, baby, you should tell her. I know you think she’s going to be upset, but all she’s ever wanted is for us to be together and you to be happy. You don’t think she’ll be thrilled that I sealed the deal and put a ring on it?
Me: Thrilled that I forgot to invite her? Yeah, no. I think it’ll probably end in my murder.
The sound of Seth’s voice yelling, “What’s up, biotches?” brings my head up from my phone in a flash, and my texts with my husband are long forgotten.
There’s an incredible amount of danger that comes with having my kids in this room, even now that they’re a little older. My first glance goes to the baby, but she’s still fast asleep.
“Seth. Language, please,” my mom chides, and normally, I’d be right there with her. But in a bridal suite scenario, I’ve got way bigger priorities for my “Nos” than a little bit of colorful language.
“What?” he questions with a smirk, his aura in his little tux radiating Mr. Cool Dude to the max. “I didn’t say, like, the actual word.”
“Biotches,” Grant chants, dancing behind him in a small black suit of his own that makes his six-year-old stature look almost grown. As Seth joins in on the dancing, they fly around the room like a couple of dogs with the zoomies.
Brooke’s eyes cut to me, and I jump up from my seat to corral them both before they can get close to the color white. If my kids do something to my sister’s very expensive gown, I will hyperventilate. It’s moments like these when I miss Zoe’s help the most.
“What are you doing in here, boys?” I ask, trying to gauge just how long I’m going to be playing NFL-level defense in a feathered dress. “I thought you were hanging out with Vinny and Noah.”
Seth smiles and straightens his tie, and then Grant waggles his eyebrows, explaining, “We have the wedding gift from Uncle Chase. He said to give it to Aunt Brookie along with a big kiss.”
“Aw, boys. That’s so sweet,” Brooke whispers then, welcoming them both toward her and opening her arms in expectation of a hug.
I grab my phone to take a picture of the momentous moment, but everything pretty much goes to shit when Grant bumps into the table at Brooke’s side and knocks Mo’s glass of red wine to the floor in a spray of glory that makes my blood run cold.
“Oh my God!” Brooke screams as I rush forward to the crime scene to pull Grant away and inspect her dress. She steps to the side on a horrified jog, and I follow, inspecting every inch of the silk until I’m sure it’s still spotless. Benji crowds her, waiting for disaster.
“It’s okay. It’s okay, Brooke. Your dress is good. Nothing on it, I swear,” I practically shout, hoping to catch her with the facts before her blood pressure tanks to the basement.
“Sammy,” Brooke whispers. “Please get these little angels away from me. Right now!”
Mo, just returning from the bathroom, reads the scene immediately and steps in to help. “Come on, boys. Let’s go see if we can steal a couple of appetizers from the kitchen.”