Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 110454 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 552(@200wpm)___ 442(@250wpm)___ 368(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110454 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 552(@200wpm)___ 442(@250wpm)___ 368(@300wpm)
Even growing up, I can’t tell you how many times I ended up doing her oral presentations in class because the teachers could never tell us apart and Belle’s social fears were too much for her to stomach.
It’s the number one reason why I asked her over and over again if she was sure she wanted this kind of bachelorette party—you know, one that included her being the center of attention in front of a crowd of people, one that took us to several New York hot spots throughout the night, and one that ends with her getting jiggy with a sexy, exotic Club Craze dancer.
And while Belle assured me numerous times that she did want this, I probably should’ve anticipated the night would lead us here anyway. I’ve known her my whole damn life, obviously, and this fits her MO a whole lot more than her telling me I just want to get crazy did.
Honestly, at a time like this, I’m most thankful that she and John decided to keep their wedding small and intimate. A freak-out during your bachelorette party is one thing, but on your wedding day? Talk about no bueno.
I meet her emerald eyes in the reflection in the mirror, but when she tilts her head to the side and starts tapping her chin in a familiar way I’ve seen a thousand times, I furrow my brow.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
She shrugs. But also, grins.
“What are you scheming?”
That grin grows so wide it forces her red-painted lips to spread out across her face. “Do you really want me to enjoy my bachelorette party?”
I roll my eyes. What kind of question is that? “Of course I do.”
“Like you really, really want me to, and you’d do anything to make it happen?”
I narrow my eyes at her in the mirror. “Considering I gave you my very expensive event planning services for free and spent weeks planning this night, I’d say, yes, that’s the general sentiment.”
“Fantastic,” Belle responds and takes off her black jacket, her white bride-to-be sash, and begins unzipping the back of her short, silver-sequined dress.
“Wait…what are you doing?” I query and turn my head away from the mirror to look directly at her.
“Making sure I live to see the morning after my bachelorette party.”
I quirk a brow, but she ignores my confusion and shoves her jacket and sash into my chest.
“Switch me,” she demands and slides her heels off her feet. “You play bride for the rest of the night, and I’ll play maid of honor and party planner.”
“Belle,” I retort and shake my head. “No way.”
“Sophie,” she says and slides her dress off her body so she’s standing in the middle of the bathroom in only her bra and underwear. “Yes.”
“This feels like high school all over again,” I mutter and exhale a deep breath on a sigh. “We’re twenty-eight, Belle, don’t you think we’re a little old to be Parent-Trapping your fucking bachelorette party?”
“We’re identical twins, Soph,” she retorts and takes it upon herself to remove my faux fur jacket from my shoulders. “No one is going to know the damn difference.”
“Katelynn will.”
“Katelynn is too drunk to care.” She snorts and holds out a demanding hand that contains her dress. “Now, give me your clothes.”
I glance down at my favorite high-waisted dress pants and silky blouse and then at the dress in her hands.
You’d think since I’ve made a career out of planning parties and events, I would’ve been able to make sure my own sister’s bachelorette bash went off without a hitch, but here I am, right in the middle of a giant-fucking-snag.
When the sounds of pounding knocks filter in from the locked door of the restroom, I know I need to decide. And even though it’s not the direction I wanted the night to go, there’s really only one option here to keep things from spiraling out of control. Goddamn my Type 9 Enneagram people-pleasing core.
“You’re lucky I love you.” I snatch the dress out of her hands.
Belle beams just like a spoiled brat who got her way—because she is one.
I swear, the things I do for my sister.
“All right, it’s time for the bride-to-be to take her seat!”
The lights in our private VIP room are dimmed, and I’m ushered over to a chair that sits in the center of the small but spacious room.
When my ass hits the velvet cushion, I try to adjust the tight material of Belle’s dress, but it’s almost no use. The sequined-covered spandex is tight in all the wrong places, and I feel like I might inadvertently flash my goods at any second. To the untrained eye, our bodies are nearly identical, just like our faces—but my T and A have a little bit more meat than hers, and in a dress of this cut, a little bit goes a long way.