I Do (Hate You) by Sienna Blake

Shell

“I feel like the walls are closing in on me!”

Claire nodded and held a paper bag up to my mouth. “Just breathe.”

“Even if the walls are closing in on you, they’re just…just…tent walls made out of flimsy tacky fabric,” Miguel said, thinking he was being helpful.

He wasn’t.

Claire, Miguel and I were inside a little tent that the resort staff had set up at the end of the beach for me to hang out in as the wedding guests arrived. I’d wanted our ceremony to be down by the water’s edge but the beach here was so wide, walking to the altar from the closest villa would have taken five full renditions of “Here Comes the Bride.”

The tent cut it down to probably a one-minute march with Lane, who had graciously offered to walk me down the sandy aisle the staff had made with little shells on either side. Perfect. I was supposed to have been here thirty minutes ago, but of course, I’d been involved in a breaking-and-entering adventure with James at the time.

When I hadn’t returned to the bridal villa from Clive’s bathroom, Miguel and the girls had gone looking for me. When they found me jumping out of Clive’s window, it was so close to the start time of the wedding we’d gone straight to the tent instead of the villa.

That was when I felt the first wave of panic. It wasn’t a full-on panic attack until I saw myself in the full-length mirror.

The last time I’d seen my reflection had been in my villa after Brooke had worked her magic. Then I was the picture-perfect bride, with a snow-white dress and an elegant updo.

The woman looking back at me now was a hot dirty mess.

I had a brown streak across the delicately beaded bodice of my dress and a line of mud around the hem. The elegant updo that Brooke had fashioned looked like a bird’s nest that someone had beaten with a club. That of course made me cry, which made my eye makeup run, which made me hyperventilate.

Isn’t your wedding day supposed to be the happiest day of your life?

“You know, you don’t look that bad,” Claire said as she gently took away the paper bag since my breathing had slowed down a bit. “I’d call this look ‘au natural.’”

“Really?” I asked hopefully, looking for reassurance.

Before Claire could answer, Vina burst through the tent with a leather pouch, Talia with a duffle bag and Lane with a bottle of whiskey.

“Oh, thank God you’re here!” Claire shouted.

I turned to her. “What? You just said I didn’t look that bad.”

“I lied. Want a shot of whiskey?”

After a moment of hesitation, I nodded. Lane whipped out some small plastic cups he must have pinched from the tiki bar.

“Bottoms up,” he said, handing me a glass and winking.

I gulped down two fingers of the stuff while Vina motioned me to the little chair in front of the dressing table. Claire, Vina, Talia and Miguel swarmed me, pulling out hairpins, rubbing off makeup smudges, and raking a brush through my matted hair.

“Don’t look yet,” Miguel said when he saw me trying to peak at myself in the mirror. “The cavalry has arrived. Let us do our job.”

I held out my arms for a hug, but Claire stuck one hand on Miguel’s chest while the other one flicked hairpins off my head and onto the sand. “Nope. No time. If you make her cry again, I will handcuff you to the tent post.”

We made do with big smiles since I was pretty sure Claire had kept the handcuffs.

“Almost finished, ladies? The ceremony was supposed to start four minutes ago,” Lane noted with the barest hint of tension in his voice, which for Lane was basically high hysterics.

“I am,” Vina said, taking a step back from me with a makeup brush still in her hand.

Talia nodded. “Hair’s ready.”

Miguel smiled and Claire slid me a handheld mirror from the table. I took a deep breath and looked at my reflection. They definitely hadn’t reproduced the picture-perfect bride that Brooke had created.

My hair that had been in an elegant bun now hung down my back in my natural beachy waves. The professional makeup that had been subtle shades of pink and beige and a custom-made lipstick had morphed into a smoky eye and bare lips.

“I…I love it,” I stammered out. I felt like a fairytale princess before but after their handiwork I felt like…me. Well, like a super-hot version of me.

Lane was ready with another round of whiskey. I stood up to clink my glass with theirs. But I froze when I caught my reflection in the full-length mirror again.

“Oh.”

Vina was closest to me and the only one who heard. “What is it, Shell?”

“Nothing. It’s nothing,” I whispered, blinking back another round of tears, afraid Claire might actually handcuff me if my mascara ran again.

“Spill it,” Talia said.

“It’s just my hair and makeup are so perfect now, but I’m still wearing this mud-streaked dress. It’s all my fault. I should never have followed that bastard James on his wild goose chase.”

Vina and Talia grinned at each other, then swallowed their whiskey down.

“We’ve got that covered too,” Talia assured me and walked over to the duffle bag that she had dumped in the corner.

She unzipped the bag and pulled out a hanger holding a cream silk dress with just a hint of lace. It was long and cut low in the back, the opposite of the formal gown I was wearing now.

“You made this, didn’t you?” Talia asked. “Logan told me you designed and made most of your own clothes, but you never talked about it.

“She’s done it since she was a little girl,” Lane said. “Remember that shirt you made me when you were nine?”

I snorted. “The one that had more buttons than buttonholes and one arm shorter than the other? Of course I do. You wore it every year on your birthday until I went away to university.”

“Your designs seem to have come a long way since then,” he said. “How about Miguel and I step out of the tent for a moment to give you some privacy?”

Miguel insisted he wouldn’t look and had no interest, but Lane shepherded him through the tent flap anyway.

The girls helped me slide out of my ruined couture dress and into my own simple creation, then they stepped apart so I could look in the full-length mirror.

“You look amazing,” Talia said. “I wish I’d had you design my wedding dress.”

“You can design mine,” Claire offered.

“You got it.”

“Now I just need to find the right man,” she said with a wink.

“The only problem is the little silk shoes,” I said. “The mud has soaked into the fabric.”

Vina leaned over and gently pulled them off my feet. “Beach weddings should all be barefoot.”

Then she, Claire and Talia all kicked off their sandals in the corner.

“Can we come back in now?” Miguel whined outside. Talia pulled open the tent flap and waved them in.

Lane looked at the pile of shoes and raised an eyebrow but only said, “My dear, you look lovely. Are you ready to go?”

“We’ll just go grab our seats,” Vina said, handing me my bouquet of white lilies, and the four of them walked out of the tent.

“I think I’m ready,” I told Lane. “Let me just take a peep before you signal the quartet to play the wedding march.”

“Of course,” he said and held the flap open so I wouldn’t have to.

I surveyed the crowd of my friends and family all gathered in front of the flower altar, waiting for the bride to come walking down the beach. It was beautiful. And terrifying.

Mostly terrifying.

Then I started to panic again. Lane lowered the flap until the opening was just a slit so no one could see me hyperventilating into my bouquet.

“Shell, this is normal for pre-wedding jitters. Just remember why you’re here and I think you’ll find a sense of calm. Take a moment to close your eyes and center yourself, then look down the aisle to your future husband.”

I did as Lane said and when I looked down the aisle, I saw…James.

“Now imagine yourself walking to him, committing to him, starting your life with him. How do you feel now?”

“My heart is soaring to the heavens at the very idea of it,” I whispered.

I stared at James but knew deep down that his heart would never soar for me. Or even leap or skip or roll over. As I told my heart to behave, I realized that James was arguing with Rupert, who I literally just remembered was my actual fiancé.

That couldn’t be good.

Lane, who had no idea of the mental rollercoaster I was on at that moment, said, “I’ll signal the quartet to start, and we can begin our slow march down this elegant aisle.”

“Shit, I am so sorry, Lane.”

“My girl, what on earth for?”

I hiked my dress up to my knees and sprinted down the beach.