Save the Date by Tamara Summers Read Free Book Online Page A

the hem at the bottom, and three across the butt. We looked like extras from Attack of the Killer Tomatoes , if the tomatoes had invaded a wedding and exploded all over the bridesmaids.
    Alex was like, “Ooh, Jack, it’s so pretty on you! Wow! You can totally wear it to your prom!”
    Yeeeeah. Apart from the fact that I was fourteen at the time of the wedding, so my prom was still three years away, there was pretty much no way I was ever going to wear that dress again.
    For Sydney’s wedding, she tried to be really different from Alex. It was in a museum, she wore a light pink sheath, and everything was sleek and modern…except the bridesmaid dresses. Something happens to brides, I’m telling you. She picked this god-awful two-piece vibrant pink ensemble with dark burgundy horizontal stripes, ruffles, pleats, AND…shoulder pads. I mean, REALLY.
    Guess what she said about it? “Ooh, Jack, it’s sooo cute! You can totally wear it to your prom!”
    I’m really glad they’ll both be long out of the house by the time my prom finally rolls around next year.
    And now there’s Victoria’s wedding. Esme hustles into the room holding my dress. For starters, it is long—Vicky wants them to drape on the floor as we walk, even if that means they get caught on our high heels. She’s been fighting with Esme about this for weeks. Vicky wants us to look like “woodland nymphs.” Esme thinks we’re going to have a six-bridesmaid pileup onthe garden stairs, and that it goes against every rule of dressmaking not to hem the dresses above our feet.
    As you can imagine, I side with Esme on this one, despite her unfortunate stance on eating.
    In addition, the dresses are a pale grassy green with a pattern of eNORmous pink and white roses all over them. Also, they are completely shapeless. They hang off our shoulders like big flowery sacks. And they have wide scoop necks that plunge halfway down my chest. There will be no leaning over at this wedding, no sir. Not unless I want to give all the guests a terrific shot all the way down my nonexistent chest. I’ve been practicing standing ramrod straight ever since I first saw the dresses.
    “In, in, in!” Esme barks at me. I take the dress and change in a corner while Lucille keeps moaning and poking herself. She is right, I’m afraid. The dress does, um…accentuate her bulges. But, to be fair, I’m not sure there’s a dress in the world that could hide them.
    “Lucille,” Vicky finally snaps, “are you mymaid of honor or aren’t you? I mean, can I get a little support, please?”
    I wish Sofia were in here, so I could whisper, “Actually, I think it’s Lucille who needs the ‘support,’ if you know what I mean.” Oh, that’s terrible. Karma’s going to get me just for thinking that.
    “I’m just saying ,” Lucille whines, “that I look totally horrible in this dress.”
    “Well, you don’t,” Vicky barks. “So shut up about it.” I swear, Vicky used to be very sweet. In sort of a sugary, look-how-much-nicer-I-am-than-Paris sort of a way, but still. It’s only since she got engaged that she’s turned into such a harpy. I have to wonder if Kevin is starting to worry about what he’s getting himself into.
    “Girls, girls,” Carolina intervenes. “There is nothing to fight about. Victoria, it’s a lovely dress, and Lucille, all you need is some figure-enhancing underwear. Trust me, I can recommend the perfect bustier—my brides use it all the time. It’ll make a world of difference.”
    See? This is why we pay her the big bucks. Inminutes, everything is smoothed over, and Lucille and Victoria are best friends again. Sometimes I wonder what Carolina would do if I started whining, too. Could she magically fix all my problems—like the Wedding Curse? Hmm. I wonder what her solution would be for the ginormous crush I have on her son. I think I won’t be mentioning that.
    As Esme fusses around me with pins clamped between her lips, Carolina tries the tiaras