Page 23 of Merging Wright

While identical to Mach in many ways, he’s good-looking in his own right. He isn’t as firm around the middle as Mach and there isn’t an edge in his expression like his brother’s. Myles is more playful while protective. Still, he has a commanding presence. In the twenty-four hours I’ve known Myles, it’d be an honor to be his wife if I were attracted to him, but I’m not. That sounds strange considering how much he looks like Mach, but they aren’t the same person, and my loyalty lies with my absentee fiancé.

By twelve-thirty, Landon has secured a marriage license and the services of a justice of the peace. Camilla suggests I return to the house to freshen up. I not only don’t have a white dress; I don’t have any dress to be married in. I brought a black wrap dress for the funeral yesterday and I’m wearing a somber navy suit for the will reading. Real wedding or not, I’m not getting married in either outfit. I never imagined walking down the aisle in anything other than a white dress. Then again, I never thought I’d get married at my age, and I definitely never pictured marrying Mach.

“I don’t have anything to wear,” I tell Camilla. She sizes me up. We aren’t exactly the same stature with her petite frame and older curves. I’m more upright and angular, taller than her by inches.

“Bliss is the name of a boutique in town. It might not be your style, but the place is one of the properties you’ll soon own. It wouldn’t hurt to take a look inside. You might be surprised. Just be back by three,” Camilla suggests.

Mach has been notified of the time, but he hasn’t responded to anyone’s texts. He left the truck behind. Then again, I have the keys as he refuses to drive the thing. Using the navigation on my phone, I seek the dress shop.

Bliss is located on Bridge Alley, the main street through the small town of Wrightwood. From the outside, the place lacks appeal, and the merchant sign is atrocious for a specialty shop. Inside the uniqueness of dresses, including a selection of bridal gowns, is a delightful surprise. The layout, however, isn’t doing the store justice for the lovely items it carries. If I didn’t have another goal today, ways to improve this place would be spinning in my head.

The dress I always envisioned myself wearing isn’t something others might expect. I wanted something princess-like with layers of feathers on the skirt and a tight, strapless bodice in contrast. Unfortunately, I don’t think this place will have one of those hanging on the rack. That kind of dress needs to remain in my head for a real wedding, if there ever is going to be one for me. Shrugging off the doubts for my future, I tell the salesclerk what I want. “I need a wedding dress for today. For me.”

The woman is roughly my age and, thankfully, doesn’t give my request a second thought. She eyes me up and down instead. “How do you feel about something non-traditional?”

I have no idea what that means, and she continues before I can ask. “I have a unique dress that’s been waiting for the perfect woman to wear it. And I think you’re the perfect woman.”

With a sales pitch like that, I can see why Bliss is in business. Tanza introduces herself as the owner. She steps into the back of her store and returns with something that has a basic halter bodice and a slim-fit skirt on a full-length gown. The style is classy and classic, and certainly my taste.

“Let me help you into it,” Tanza suggests, and I sheepishly follow her to a curtained off section serving as a fitting room.

“Your taller stature is perfect for this piece.” She fluffs out the straight material of the skirt to expose deep slits up each side and cigar pants underneath. Slipping into the dress, I spread my legs apart and note how the pants hug my legs like a second skin underneath the skirt. The bodice is form-fitting with a ballerina back of crisscrossing ribbons that tie at the waist. Thin straps cut close to my neck and hold the bodice in place. I can’t wear a bra, but cup inserts support my breasts.

“He’s going to lose his mind for you in this dress,” Tanza whispers behind me.

I stare at my reflection in the mirror. Am I really doing this? Am I really marrying Machlan Wright? Do I want him to lose his mind over me?

I’d prefer if he lost his heart to me.

14

Playlist: “Hooked On A Feeling” – Blue Swede

(from Guardians of the Galaxy)

[Mach]

“Where the hell is she?” I glance at my watch for the seventh time in as many minutes. Jane is late, which is so unlike her.

“She’ll be here,” Landon states from his seat inside the justice of the peace’s office. Having friends in high places—or as a Friday night poker buddy—helps get things done quickly in a small town.

I fiddle with the cuff of the shirt I wear beneath my three-piece suit. The same suit I wore to Fischer’s funeral. The attire feels prophetic.

“Aw, look how anxious he is as a blushing bridegroom,” Myles jests behind me, and I turn on him, although I’ve sworn to never speak to him again.

“What are you doing here?” I tighten my fists as irritation courses through my blood. This is not how I envisioned getting married. Hell, I never pictured getting married ever again.

“This is where I stood during your first wedding.” Myles’s eyes match the anger in mine as he stares back at me.

The reminder is like a thousand tacks jabbed into my skin. “Yeah, well, some best man you turned out to be.” I turn my back on him.

“Mach, we should talk about what happened.” My twin’s voice softens.

I don’t want to talk to him. Glaring at Landon, I ask, “Why is he here?” The question is inconsequential compared to all the other ones I have. Why didn’t Myles inherit this shitshow? Why can’t he take a wife and have the town? Why is my inheritance linked with his?

Landon brushes off my question with a shrug. “You need a witness.”

“And you can’t be that?” My agitation has no boundaries today and Landon is on my list of offenders. My grandfather’s attorney. My uncle’s old friend. My mother’s . . . whatever he is. I didn’t miss the lasting looks between Landon and Ma. Just what are they up to? And how do they benefit from this marriage trap?