Infinity + One
Page 79
The first few were beautiful, but the sparkle and the fluff didn’t quite mesh with the boyish cut of my hair—and I looked a bit like Ken’s little brother trying to moonlight as Barbie. I’d done my best to glam it up with slicked back hair, dark eyes, and glossy lips, but it wasn’t enough, and I told Monique my opinion regretfully, pointing to my shorn strands. She tsked and brushed my fears away.
“It’s a pixie cut. And it’s sexy. Nobody ever thought Tinker Bell looked like a boy. Why do you think all those lost boys stayed lost? Tinker Bell is a succulent little morsel, and so are you, Sunshine. We just have to find the right combination.”
She changed tactics after that, though, and when she helped me slip a slinky swath of white satin over my head, she stepped back with a satisfied smirk on her face, her eyes running from the top of my head to my bare toes.
“Tell me you don’t love it,” she said, triumphant.
She moved away so I that I was alone in the mirror. I stared at my reflection with pleasure. The neckline of the silky white slip dress hung from thin straps, kissing my br**sts, and skimming the hollows and swells of my body all the way to the floor, pooling the slightest bit at my feet. It almost looked like French lingerie, something a 1930s movie star would wear with fuzzy-toed, high-heeled bedroom slippers. I turned, admiring the way the drape left my back exposed, long and smooth from the nape of my neck to below my waist, the most revealing part of the dress. I felt both provocative and demure, like a virginal bride on her wedding night. It was perfect.
I faced the mirror again, trying not to run my hands over the silky fall of white. I was afraid I would ruin it or smudge it, and I didn’t want to risk it. I had to have it. This was the dress I wanted to wear. This was the dress I wanted Finn to see me in.
And then, like my thoughts had conjured him, he was there, reflected in the mirror, standing several feet behind me, his hands shoved into the pockets of his slim black trousers—the fitted, black suit coat, pristine white dress shirt, and black tie making him look like someone I’d never met. The only thing that was the same was his smooth hair, still pulled back at his nape. Monique approached him and started fussing with his lapels, but his eyes were on me, wide and unblinking. He didn’t smile, didn’t wink. He just looked.
I felt hot, but I shivered. I grew faint and then flushed. And my breath felt trapped in my lungs. I stared back at Finn staring at me, unmoving. Monique glanced up into Finn’s face, waiting for him to answer her. She’d asked him something, but he hadn’t heard. Her voice trailed off, and she glanced at me, and then back at him. And then she fanned herself as if she, too, was flushed.
“Good, Lord,” she breathed. “I hope you two have booked the chapel.”
Booked the chapel?
The wedding chapel.
I realized what she was saying the same time Finn must have, because his blue eyes darkened, and his throat worked, but he didn’t look away.
“I’ll just grab a few things I think you’ll need—shoes so the dress doesn’t drag, maybe some earrings. No other jewelry . . . except for a ring, of course,” Monique suggested dryly, and she flew off with fluttering hands, like a blackbird with a nest on her head.
We didn’t watch her go. We were too busy drinking each other in.
“Would you?” Finn said.
I turned away from the mirror, from our framed reflections, and faced him. He stood maybe six feet away, but he made no move to close the distance. I tipped my head, not daring to believe, and watched his lips move around the words as he tried again.
“If I asked you. Would you?”
His face was taut with emotion, and he’d taken his hands from his pockets, the moment too intense for casual posture. They were clenched at his sides, and I stared at them, at the six dots on his right hand. Six dots. Six days. I’d known him for eight, loved him for six. And I wanted to love him for a million more. My eyes left his hands and found his face. He looked terrified.
“Yes,” I said, not sure why we were speaking so softly. Words that meant so much should be bellowed, shouted, screamed, so they could echo and reverberate. Maybe it was fear that stole our voices—fear that loud words would scare away our courage. And maybe it was reverence for the hovering promise that arced between us like static, snapping and crackling in the vanilla-scented air.
“Yes,” I said again, more firmly. And I smiled. The smile threatened to split my face in two, but I couldn’t contain it. I watched the terror in Finn’s face ease, and the tension in his jaw relax into a smile that tried to match my own. And he threw back his head and laughed, the jubilance laced with incredulous relief and a touch of disbelief too. He clasped his hands over his head and turned in a circle like he didn’t know what to do next.
“Are you gonna kiss me, Clyde?” I said softly. “’Cause I’m thinkin’ that would be appropriate.”
My back was suddenly against the mirror, my feet dangling above the floor, his arms wrapped around my waist, his mouth pressed to mine. I yanked at his hair, loosening the band, and I smiled against his lips as his hair created a curtain around our faces. He kissed me soundly, a performance worthy of his thousand dollar suit, and then kissed me again, though we didn’t raise the curtain for the encore.
IT WAS SURPRISINGLY easy. Stunningly easy. Effortless. Monique’s wasn’t just a boutique—it was a full service wedding center—rings, ceremonies, flowers, photography, all in an hour. With one call, Monique had us in a limo, which took us to the license bureau, where we walked inside, presented ID, signed our names, paid the $60 license fee, and were out again without a blood test, a long wait, or even an autograph request. Monique had taken care of that too. The woman seemed to know exactly who I was and had made sure we were brought in a side entrance and whisked back out again, and the bureau clerk didn’t seem surprised to see us or give two cents if our faces were in the tabloids. It was Vegas, I reminded myself. I had the feeling Monique and her contacts had seen it all. The limo then hurried us back to the chapel, where we were squeezed into a fifteen minute window between previously booked appointments.
“It’s a pixie cut. And it’s sexy. Nobody ever thought Tinker Bell looked like a boy. Why do you think all those lost boys stayed lost? Tinker Bell is a succulent little morsel, and so are you, Sunshine. We just have to find the right combination.”
She changed tactics after that, though, and when she helped me slip a slinky swath of white satin over my head, she stepped back with a satisfied smirk on her face, her eyes running from the top of my head to my bare toes.
“Tell me you don’t love it,” she said, triumphant.
She moved away so I that I was alone in the mirror. I stared at my reflection with pleasure. The neckline of the silky white slip dress hung from thin straps, kissing my br**sts, and skimming the hollows and swells of my body all the way to the floor, pooling the slightest bit at my feet. It almost looked like French lingerie, something a 1930s movie star would wear with fuzzy-toed, high-heeled bedroom slippers. I turned, admiring the way the drape left my back exposed, long and smooth from the nape of my neck to below my waist, the most revealing part of the dress. I felt both provocative and demure, like a virginal bride on her wedding night. It was perfect.
I faced the mirror again, trying not to run my hands over the silky fall of white. I was afraid I would ruin it or smudge it, and I didn’t want to risk it. I had to have it. This was the dress I wanted to wear. This was the dress I wanted Finn to see me in.
And then, like my thoughts had conjured him, he was there, reflected in the mirror, standing several feet behind me, his hands shoved into the pockets of his slim black trousers—the fitted, black suit coat, pristine white dress shirt, and black tie making him look like someone I’d never met. The only thing that was the same was his smooth hair, still pulled back at his nape. Monique approached him and started fussing with his lapels, but his eyes were on me, wide and unblinking. He didn’t smile, didn’t wink. He just looked.
I felt hot, but I shivered. I grew faint and then flushed. And my breath felt trapped in my lungs. I stared back at Finn staring at me, unmoving. Monique glanced up into Finn’s face, waiting for him to answer her. She’d asked him something, but he hadn’t heard. Her voice trailed off, and she glanced at me, and then back at him. And then she fanned herself as if she, too, was flushed.
“Good, Lord,” she breathed. “I hope you two have booked the chapel.”
Booked the chapel?
The wedding chapel.
I realized what she was saying the same time Finn must have, because his blue eyes darkened, and his throat worked, but he didn’t look away.
“I’ll just grab a few things I think you’ll need—shoes so the dress doesn’t drag, maybe some earrings. No other jewelry . . . except for a ring, of course,” Monique suggested dryly, and she flew off with fluttering hands, like a blackbird with a nest on her head.
We didn’t watch her go. We were too busy drinking each other in.
“Would you?” Finn said.
I turned away from the mirror, from our framed reflections, and faced him. He stood maybe six feet away, but he made no move to close the distance. I tipped my head, not daring to believe, and watched his lips move around the words as he tried again.
“If I asked you. Would you?”
His face was taut with emotion, and he’d taken his hands from his pockets, the moment too intense for casual posture. They were clenched at his sides, and I stared at them, at the six dots on his right hand. Six dots. Six days. I’d known him for eight, loved him for six. And I wanted to love him for a million more. My eyes left his hands and found his face. He looked terrified.
“Yes,” I said, not sure why we were speaking so softly. Words that meant so much should be bellowed, shouted, screamed, so they could echo and reverberate. Maybe it was fear that stole our voices—fear that loud words would scare away our courage. And maybe it was reverence for the hovering promise that arced between us like static, snapping and crackling in the vanilla-scented air.
“Yes,” I said again, more firmly. And I smiled. The smile threatened to split my face in two, but I couldn’t contain it. I watched the terror in Finn’s face ease, and the tension in his jaw relax into a smile that tried to match my own. And he threw back his head and laughed, the jubilance laced with incredulous relief and a touch of disbelief too. He clasped his hands over his head and turned in a circle like he didn’t know what to do next.
“Are you gonna kiss me, Clyde?” I said softly. “’Cause I’m thinkin’ that would be appropriate.”
My back was suddenly against the mirror, my feet dangling above the floor, his arms wrapped around my waist, his mouth pressed to mine. I yanked at his hair, loosening the band, and I smiled against his lips as his hair created a curtain around our faces. He kissed me soundly, a performance worthy of his thousand dollar suit, and then kissed me again, though we didn’t raise the curtain for the encore.
IT WAS SURPRISINGLY easy. Stunningly easy. Effortless. Monique’s wasn’t just a boutique—it was a full service wedding center—rings, ceremonies, flowers, photography, all in an hour. With one call, Monique had us in a limo, which took us to the license bureau, where we walked inside, presented ID, signed our names, paid the $60 license fee, and were out again without a blood test, a long wait, or even an autograph request. Monique had taken care of that too. The woman seemed to know exactly who I was and had made sure we were brought in a side entrance and whisked back out again, and the bureau clerk didn’t seem surprised to see us or give two cents if our faces were in the tabloids. It was Vegas, I reminded myself. I had the feeling Monique and her contacts had seen it all. The limo then hurried us back to the chapel, where we were squeezed into a fifteen minute window between previously booked appointments.
