Surrender to Me (3 page)

I
do as she asks, as I am more afraid of this bride to be V, than the normal
bossy V.

“Do
you think these are tacky?” she asks, holding up the cute bride and groom
figurines.

I
look at them and shrug. “Depends. What are they for?”

“For
the bomboniere.” She is spinning them from front to back, examining them with
deep scrutiny.

I
know I resemble a confused dog, tilting my head from side to side. “For the
what? That sounds explosive.”

V
laughs hysterically. “No silly, it’s what you call the gifts you give your
guests to thank them for attending your wedding. It’s a European tradition, and
seeing as Lucas’ grandparents are Italian, I thought it would be appropriate.”

Huh,
who would have thought?

“Shouldn’t
they be the ones giving you gifts? I am so confused,” I reply, feeling out of
my league.

“Ava,
just answer the question. Pretend I was giving you these as a gift for being
such a wonderful friend,” she says, still looking at the figurines.

Looks
like I fail in the Maid of Honor department, because I totally had no idea
these things existed until now.

“Well,
I would be a little concerned seeing as they,” I say pointing to the
“bomboniere”, “are kissing. But apart from that, no, I don’t think they are
tacky.”

V
squeals. Okay, I think that was the right answer. Score for me. I can do this
wedding stuff, easy.

“Okay,
now do you think I should have an online wishing well, or just a traditional
one?”

And
now I have just eaten my words. “Again, please clarify.”

“Ava,
God help you the day you get married,” V giggles.

If
only she knew that day may be sooner than expected. Yes, I know I am a shitty
friend. I am yet to tell V I am engaged because, well there is an endless list
of reasons, but mainly it’s because I know she won’t approve. I know no one
will.

I
am just newly engaged, like two weeks newly engaged, and I need time to get
used to the idea, before I go telling the people I love.

To
distract myself from that thought, I peer around the room, wondering where
Oscar is. Poor thing probably took one look at this carnival of chaos, and
hitchhiked the hell outta crazy town. 

“Hey,
where’s Oscar?” I ask curiously.

V
stops writing something down, and bites on the tip of her pencil. I await her
response, but it doesn’t come. What is up with her? It’s not like her to be so
vague. She was all apprehensive today when I asked her who I am to be partnered
up with, and now this. What is she up to? I am almost afraid to ask.

“I...
um... look, can we talk about your cat later. We have a wedding to plan, and
you’re not helping by bringing up things that don’t relate to my special day,
so focus!” she says, clicking her fingers together.

I
am confused by her reaction, but don’t dare argue with Bridezilla.

“Okay
fine. Just ask me easy stuff like dresses and cake and food... Oh, I can
totally help with food.” I smile, feeling happy that I can actually contribute
something of worth.

“Yeah
I’m sure you could tell me all about clothing, seeing as you’re decked out
looking like you just ransacked Prada.”

And
good to see all this wedding stuff hasn’t softened V one bit.

“What’s
wrong with my clothes? Seriously, we’re going to talk about this again?” I know
I am going to live to regret that comment.

“Are
you serious? Do you not have mirrors in Singapore? You wouldn’t know the
difference between Couture and Target before you left. But now you look like
all the snotty people we poke fun at. What’s your deal?” V states, glaring at
me. 

I
fiddle with a lacey frilly something that is lying on the couch next to me.

“Do
I have to have a deal to want to dress nicely?” I reply huffily, because I know
she is right, but I don’t want to face the truth.

This
is why I knew coming back here would exhaust me, and it’s only been half a day.

“There
was nothing wrong with the way you dressed before; I think you looked nice
enough.” V shrugs nonchalantly.

She
notices my mood change, and her tone softens as she continues, “I’m not trying
to be a bitch, I’m just stating facts. How would you react if I came back home
looking like a total tool?”

I
know she is not intentionally trying to be rude, so I reply calmly, “I would be
happy for you, and not question your fashion choices.”

“Whatever,
Ava. I’m not going to fight you over what you choose to wear in your private
time. BUT, I will fight you in regards to your dress. If you don’t like it, too
bad. It may not be the latest fashion from Paris, but you’re wearing it. No
questions asked!”

Chapter 3

4 Months Itch

I
am actually dreading seeing her choice of
dress now.

Just
out of spite for leaving for Singapore, I am a little scared I will be walking
down the aisle in lots of pink taffeta and puffy tulle. I have never doubted
V’s wardrobe selection in the past, but I am frightened to see what she has
picked as an appropriate Maid of Honor dress for me.

While
deep in thought V blurts out, “Why the fuck are you with Harper?”

Well
I was not expecting that. Actually whom am I kidding, of course I was.

I
give her a sharp look and she surrenders.

“Fine,
we won’t talk about this now, but this is a conversation we will be having and
soon. You just kinda sprung this on me, and I am still trying to get my head
around it. But do not think for one moment I am going to stand by, and watch
you commit relationship suicide with this fucktard again!”

Sighing,
I look out the window, as looking at anything other than that judging look in
her eyes sounds wonderful to me.

It
has been easier dealing with my decision to rekindle my relationship with
Harper, with my friends and family living in a different country. My parents
will not be pleased when I tell them we are back together, and hey surprise,
we’re getting married.

I
am not that much of a shitty friend, as I told V as soon as Harper and I got
back together, which was roughly two weeks ago. When she asked me whom I was
bringing to the wedding, I sheepishly told her Harper. She laughed, but when
she soon realized I wasn’t joking, she hung up on me, and we didn’t speak for
two days. When she calmed down and finally decided to talk to me again, my ear
was bleeding after an hour of serious scolding. It’s safe to say, she is not
happy with our reunion. 

However,
things with Harper are…complicated. Oh God, I blanch when I hear that phrase in
my head. Someone once told me his relationship with a certain nameless bitch
was complicated. Back then I remember thinking everything was black and white,
but now I know there are millions of colors in-between.

A
horn tooting loudly shakes me out my reminiscing as V takes a corner too
quickly, and I end up pressed against the passenger door.

“Learn
how to drive moron!” V zips past a car while waving her fist in the air at him.

She
peers over at me as I attempt to peel my face off the window.

“You
need to slow down V; you’re going to get us killed.”

She
brushes it off with a wave of her hand, and a cheeky smirk.

“Hold on,” she
giggles while stepping on the accelerator.

This
woman is on a mission to get us across town in record time, and nothing will
stand in her way.

*****

We
safely pull into a parking spot; while I pry open my fingers from the grab
handle above me.  I look at the store in front of us. It reads Dominique’s. Who
the hell is Dominique? It sounds like a posh store Harper would shop at.

V
ushers me out of the car quickly. “Hurry up, we’re late.”

“Oh,
I seriously doubt that, seeing as you gave Tony Stewart a run for his money,” I
joke.

But
she is shooing me into the door, and before I have time to question whom this
Dominique is, I am confronted by a snobbish older lady, who I presume is the
owner.  Her glasses are perched on the tip of nose, and she is wearing a very
nice tailored navy suit. Her hair is pulled high into a messy bun, and her red
shade of lipstick is a little inappropriate for someone her age.

“Oh
bonsoir Ms. Donovan,” she says in a thick French accent.

“Bonsoir
Madame Dominique, I am so sorry we’re late. Traffic was a bitch. This is my
friend and Maid of Honor, Ava Thompson,” V says while extending her hand in my
direction.

But
I am paying her no attention as my mouth is agape, as I am staring around the
store. There is so much...white. I feel a heat creep up my neck, and I think I
am going to have an internal panic attack. All this wedding paraphernalia, in
one place, is reminding me of my impending doom.  As I take a deep, loud
breath, both V and Madame Dominique look at me strangely.

Dominique
looks down her nose at me. Okay, I have clearly pissed her off. What is this
lady’s problem? I met her like two minutes ago; surely I haven’t done anything
wrong.

“Ah,
so this is the famous Ava. Why were you not here sooner to help the lovely
Veronica? C’est le rôle de demoiselle d’honneur.” Her accent rolls off her
tongue, and her s’ sound like z’s.

Is
this lady really scolding me for not being here sooner? I am ticked off. She
doesn’t know me, what gives her the right to be so…rude!

V
picks up on my hostility, and quickly tries to change subject. “So Madame, no
time like the present, let’s show Ava her dress.”

Dominique
throws me one last nasty look, before turning to V. “Yes my Cherie, good idea.
I will go get her gown,” and she quickly scurries off into the back room.

Looking
at V, I raise an unimpressed brow, and before I begin my tirade, she holds up a
finger to silence me. “I am the bride Ava. Don’t piss the bride off, word of
warning.”

I
hold up my hands in defeat because she’s right. Whatever Dominique’s problem
is, I only have to see this woman a handful of times, and I can do this for my
friend. I will just ignore Dominique’s insolence as I have dealt with her kind
a lot lately, and it actually saddens me that that is the case.

Pushing
those thoughts aside, I look around the store once again, taking in the racks
upon racks of dresses hung up around the circular room. We are sitting on a
couch in the middle of the room, and suddenly, I feel nauseous.

V
gives me a puzzled look. “Ava, are you okay? Are you going to throw up?”

I
shake my head, biting my lip, too afraid to speak, because I think she may be
right and I might lose my lunch.

Before I have
time to lose anything, the curtain out back scrapes across the railing and out
saunters the lady of the hour. She is holding a white coat hanger, with a red
silk dress draped over her forearm. I blow out a relieved breath. So far so
good.

V
is clapping her hands in excitement, bouncing up and down on the seat next to
me, while Madame Dominique stops in front of us, and unveils the dress like it
deserves its own entrance.

I
am shocked.

The
dress is simply breathtaking. I am in awe of V’s choice, and she looks at me
concerned.

She
mistakes my silence as revulsion. “Oh my God, you hate it. She hates it
Dominique!”

Madame
Dominique soothes V. “Oh Cherie, she is just taken aback by its exquisiteness,
non?” She looks at me pointedly to confirm her statement.

I
have to agree with her, it is definitely not taffeta or meringue like.

“V,
I love it. It is simply stunning.” I smile at her, grasping her hand.

She
squeals in happiness. “You’re not just saying that? You really like it?”

“Are
you serious? What’s not to love?” I reply, staring at the dress.

This
garment has obviously been inspired by the infamous Marilyn Monroe dress she
wore in The Seven Year Itch.

Madame
Dominique smiles at me, and seems to like me a bit more, now that I love her
dress.

“Go
try it on Cherie.” She is holding the dress out to me, and I take it gently.

I
smile at V, nodding my approval. She looks ecstatic and I know even if I hated
the dress, I would still make it work for my friend. This is her special day,
and I will do anything to make it extraordinary for her.

As
I walk into the silky white change room, I am impressed with the full length
mirror which has small light bulbs running along the edges, rendering it fit
for any Hollywood actress.

Stepping
out of my clothes, I hang them up as I hear V squeal in excitement as the front
door opens. I wonder what the commotion is, but when I hear Lucas’ voice, that
solves the mystery to why my friend is suddenly so excited. He must be here to
try on his tux, seeing as Dominique’s also caters for grooms and groomsmen.

As
I slip on the beautiful gown, I tie the elegant silk bow around my waist,
letting the ribbon ends run down the length of the dress. The high waist sits
under my breasts, with the halter neck revealing a little too much cleavage
deemed appropriate for a wedding. The length is too long, which is not
surprising, but apart from that and the gaping bust line, the dress is
perfect.  Some minor alternations and the dress will fit flawlessly.

Smoothing
my palms over the silky material, I suddenly get really excited for my best
friend. This is going to be the happiest day of her life, and I am nothing but
grateful to share it with her. I then realize I haven’t been the best Maid of
Honor, and decide then and there, it’s time to change my attitude. From now on,
if V wants me to jump, I say how high. I will do anything to make her happy,
because I know she would do the same for me. Will I be this happy when it’s my
turn? I don’t want to think about that because this is all about V.

With
my new outlook on the wedding, I waltz out beaming, “Ta dah! How do I look?”

I
open my arms to reveal my dress, which is a bad idea as I feel the loose
material around my bust fall open. But my gaping bust line is the least of my
worries as I trip, nearly falling onto my ass, when I see who I am standing
before.

A
set of familiar cerulean eyes are assessing me, looking as confused as I. I
spin to look at V, who is at my side, trying to steady my balance while smiling
uneasily.

I
can’t speak, I am shell shocked.

Turning to
look into his eyes, my heart drops, along with my stomach, because as I stare
at the man I left, the man I lied to, and the man whose heart I broke, he returns
my look with one of hatred. I know why he is so mad at me, and I don’t blame
him. But no matter the loathing he feels for me, I am so happy to see him.

But
that happiness is shattered when I hear him say between clenched teeth, “What
the FUCK is she doing here?”