I Do

Chapter 32

     I glue my eyes to the lush, carpeted floor, fiercely ignoring the intensifying ache in my mind. For God's sake, why can't I handle myself? Then again, it isn't as though I intentionally love Harry. It's just automatic. Impulsive. Utterly uncontrollable.

    "But is it too sexy, do you think? I mean, we hardly want Harry to rip me out of my dress in the middle of the aisle." A giggle explodes from her gut, as though she can easily imagine it, causing my nails to bite into my palms as I try desperately to resist the urge to crawl under the cushioned chair and hide. Forever.

   "Oh no. We wouldn't ever want that," I mumble, subtle sarcasm flooding my tone.

   "That's for after the wedding." Her mouth curls into a smug, unabashed smirk. If she's aware of the shattering effect those words cause on my heart, she displays no sign of it. "So I'm thinking this sweetheart neckline, sleeveless, of course, and a ball gown skirt, but not fluffy and babyish, of course. More... flowing. Thoughts?" 

   "Hmm. When you say flowing... are you talking about the one you're already wearing?" I question, gnawing on the edge of my lip in utter exasperation. It's as if every detail of the ceremony simply has to be enforced by my opinion, as if I've got to reminded every five seconds of her rapidly approaching wedding date. I agreed to plan her wedding, not to approve of which bodice ought to be on her gown. And the situation was excruciating enough before Harry's harsh rejection.

   "No, I told you, a ball gown style." She rolls her eyes with an air of such superiority that I'm tempted, for a moment, to toss my glass of frothy red wine directly onto her. "I just want it to somewhat resemble this, you know, flow down. Not overly billowy, though. I want it to accentuate my figure, not hide it." Arabella's golden hair fans out magnificently behind her as she whirls around to address her demands to the saleswoman.

   "A dress that covers up your figure? Why, my God, that would be the hugest natural disaster since Hurricane Sandy," I mutter, rolling my eyes snidely and sinking back into my sumptuous cushion.

   The instant Ara sends the coiffed woman fluttering back to the stock room, she prances in my direction with a dazzling smile brightening her face. I flinch as she collapses into the velvety, luxurious seat, not bothering to remove the gown so as to keep from wrinkling it; instead, she allows the airy silk to crumple beneath her. "Is something bothering you, Hal?" she questions me lightly, looping her arm over my shoulder.

   "Botheringme?" I scoff, forcing a bemused grin to appear. "No, nothing, why do you ask?"

   "You don't have to lie to me, you know." Knowingly, she arches her flawlessly waxed eyebrow.

   "I'm not, Ar," I protest calmly.

   "Yes, you are. And I think that I might just know what it is."

   "Is that so? Would you care to shareyour opinion with me?"

   "Listen, Hal. I know this entire experience has been difficult, what with Harry and I being so in-love. Honestly, I understand. It may seem like I don't, but I appreciate the fact that you're putting your feelings aside simply to help your best friend have the perfect wedding. I mean--"

   "What exactly do you mean by feelings?" I snap, eyes blazing, throat taut and throbbing, heart pounding. There's no possible way Harry would have told her, not when he promised that he wouldn't. Of course, my expectations for Harry's thought processes seem to be rather opposite than reality, so God knows what he might do.