Sofie and the Movie Star: A Lovestruck Short Story (Lovestruck #3.5)(3)
Bryony shook her head. “No, a dark suit. But he looks amazing.”
I bet he does, I thought. But then again, he probably would have looked just as good in jeans and a T-shirt.
For one brief moment I allowed myself to play out a little fantasy in my head. Jackson would brush against me in line at the bar, his eyes widening at the sight of my face. Immediately smitten, he would insist that we dance together and we would—
What? I asked myself crossly. Spend the evening talking about my impending future of diaper changing? It was the stupidest fantasy I’d ever had. Besides, I would never meet Jackson in line for the bar—I couldn’t even drink.
The photographer took shots of me and my cousins, my aunt and uncle, and each of the girls with their respective groomsmen partner. Since we were missing Lizzie and Callie, we held off on the full group shots and in very little time were heading back down to the dressing room.
“Do you think he’ll dance?” Laura asked me in an undertone before breaking into a giggle. “Oh my God, listen to me. I’m a grown woman!”
“He is spectacularly hot,” I told her. “I think you’re justified in getting a little silly.”
“You should totally hook up with him,” she said, her eyes flashing. “One last fling before the baby comes.”
I laughed, waving my hand around my belly. “Oh, for sure. I bet he’d be dying to get with all this.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You look awesome, Sof. That dress totally hides your bump—which is like, freakishly small anyhow.” She raised an eyebrow at my cleavage. “And your rack is insane.”
I rolled my eyes. “One benefit of being knocked up, I guess.”
Luckily, she dropped it before we got to the dressing room. I wasn’t sure I could handle the shaming that would radiate off of Maria if she overheard us talking about hookups and insane racks in the house of God—even if it was an Anglican God.
Time seemed to kick into high gear after we got back to the room—Callie had finished with Lizzie’s makeup, put the final touches on her hair, and, according to my cousin, doused her entire head fully with hair spray. With everyone back in the room, the talking and giggling increased, an excited buzz building as the ceremony grew ever closer.
Finally, Lizzie asked her mom to help her with her veil, an impossibly gorgeous mantilla lace creation that had been passed down for several generations. Again I felt that same stirring of something close to jealousy. It had been my grandmother’s veil as well—would I ever get the chance to wear it? I couldn’t really picture it. I’d had a hard enough time finding a decent boyfriend before. How was I going to manage after my due date, once I had a tiny screaming infant attached to me at all times?
Pushing away the depressing thought of never getting laid again, I put the final touches on my own makeup while Lizzie’s mom adjusted her veil. Then everyone was hugging her and I watched as she grinned around at the people she loved, the bud of jealousy changing swiftly (there were those hormonal mood swings again) to a strange little ache.
This was really it. Lizzie was getting married, moving to London with her movie star husband. The pregnancy had not yet made me so emotional to think that I was losing her, but it would be different. We spent our whole lives together, only a few miles apart. We had spent countless hours talking, watching movies, shopping, having sleepovers. In all the craziness of our family, Lizzie was my calm place in the storm, my best friend from before the time I could talk. And now she would be starting her own family, taking her just a little bit farther away from the one we had shared since birth.
She looked at me and I shook my head, sure I was about to cry, waving my hands around my face to keep the tears from coming. “I’ll burst into tears if I touch you,” I told her, embarrassed by the shake in my voice. “Blame the hormones.”
But she only laughed and pulled me into the tightest hug. “I love you, chica,” she whispered. I tried not to think that this was the last time I would hug her as a Medina. Tried not to think of how many countless hugs we had shared over the years. Tried not to think that soon she would be married, and I would be a mother, and nothing was ever going to be the same.
“See?” I cried, dabbing at my eyes as she pulled away, laughing. She moved onto Maria and I rushed to the mirror to fix my makeup, taking deep breaths. No more crying, I told myself firmly. This is a happy day. And you’re not a crier.
I heard Laura sniffing loudly as we lined up for the processional and that was enough to get me under control—there were plenty of people to get weepy in our family, I certainly wasn’t going to be one of them.
We were led down the hall to the chapel and I waited while my cousins, Callie, and Bryony walked in before me. As maid of honor it was my turn to go last, right before Lizzie. I had a brief moment of panic as I pictured walking through the doors. The church was packed and every eye would be on me, at least for a moment. Laura had been right about the dresses Lizzie had picked; wine-colored chiffon with Grecian draping, they were incredibly flattering to any figure, even a preggers one like mine. But the dress couldn’t hide the belly completely. How many of those people out there would notice the lack of ring on my hand? How many of them would be judging me?
Feeling way more defensive than was probably called for, I jutted my chin forward and held my head up high as I entered the room, determined not to meet anyone’s eye. Ahead of me I saw Thomas smiling warmly and felt slightly better. And then there was a slight intake of breath as the music changed—Thomas’s eyes, and everyone else’s, I assumed—immediately snapped to the space behind me. Lizzie and her father must have entered the church. I sighed in relief, making my way to my spot before turning to watch her. Her eyes were on Thomas, her expression somehow even more radiant than it had been before.