Temptation’s Edge (34 page)

The ringing stopped and she put the phone back down on her nightstand, turned her face back into the pillows. The ringing started again.

With a small sigh, she answered, “Hello?”

“Mischa, are you okay?”

“What? Sure. Fine.”

“I don’t think so.”

“What are you, a mind reader now, Dylan? Just because I haven’t felt like answering my phone.” She stopped, jamming a hand into her hair. It was a tangled mess again, something she never let happen, but which had been happening all too often lately. “God, I’m sorry. I’m…sorry. I don’t mean to be such a bitch.”

“It’s okay. Just tell me what’s going on.”

“You know Connor came here?”

“Yes, but Alec hasn’t been able to reach him, and I haven’t been able to reach you. I tried the shop and Billy said he hasn’t heard from you since Friday—he sounded concerned, although he was trying to hide it. And for you to miss work…Either things are very good or very bad.”

“They’re not good,” she admitted. There was no point in
trying to get around it. Dylan would see right through any excuses she tried to make.

“I had a feeling. What can I do?”

“Nothing.” She paused, sighed. Tried not to let the sigh turn into a sob. “I just…have to get over this.”

“Oh, honey.”

“No. It’s okay. I’ll be fine. I can do this.”

“Where have you been for the last two days?” Dylan asked softly.

“I’ve been here. In bed.”

“For two days?”

“Um…” She looked at her clock. Nine p.m. She’d somehow missed all of Saturday and most of Sunday. All she’d done was lie in bed and cry, get disgusted with herself, stomp around the apartment, go back to bed and cry some more. Somewhere in there she’d slept. A lot. Yay for escapism.

“Mischa?”

“Sorry. I’m here. I’ve been sleeping. And feeling sorry for myself, to be perfectly honest. But I’m done with that, I swear. I’m done and I’m going to pull myself back together, get everything under control. I’ll be up there to help with the wedding, I promise. I won’t let you down.”

“I’m more worried about you. Are you going to be okay seeing him? Because if not, you don’t have to come. Kara and Lucie will help me and, well, it would never be the same without you, hon, but if it’s going to be too hard…I would never do that to you.”

“Dylan, I wouldn’t miss your wedding. Never! Please, don’t even worry about that. Don’t worry about me. I can handle this. I swore I would not let him change the way I do my life, and this is part of it. An important part.”

“I’ve just never seen you like this.”

“Neither have I. And now we know why I didn’t want this to
ever happen to me. But Dylan, I won’t let it get the best of me. I won’t. I’m going to be fine. I’m coming back to Seattle a few days before the wedding and we’ll pull this thing together. You’re going to have the best wedding ever. And you’re going to be so happy…”

The God damn tears burned behind her eyes, clogging her throat.

“Oh, Misch.”

“No. No. It’s okay. I’m just so happy for you.”

She was a lousy liar. She knew it, Dylan knew it. But Dylan was kind enough to let it go.

“All right, hon. But you know I’m here if you need me, wedding or not. Just because I’m getting married doesn’t mean I’m some delicate flower. If you want to talk this through—and I can see you don’t want to right now—I’m here for you. Okay?”

She sniffed. “Okay. Thanks. And thanks for understanding.”

“You’re not a spiller. I know that about you. I can’t wait to see you, hon.”

“I can’t wait to see you, too. Everything’s going to be beautiful. Everything’s going to be perfect.”

She would make sure Dylan’s wedding was perfect. None of her aching grief over a man—a man!—was going to ruin it. No one had died, after all. So why was she acting as if someone had?

She threw back the covers and got out of bed, pausing to let her head stop reeling. If she was going to pull herself back together the first thing she needed to do was eat something before she passed out.

Yes, it was time to get on with her life. The pain was going to be like a heavy weight she carried in her chest, but she could do it. Man or no man. Love or no love.

No love.

No Connor.

Fuck.

Mischa stood in front of the wide windows in Dylan’s Belltown apartment. It was a scene that had become familiar: the gray skies overhead, the colorful cafes, shops and galleries below, the funky urban architecture she loved as much as her Victorian in San Francisco. It was the middle of November in Seattle and it was raining, of course, but she didn’t mind. She’d always loved the wistfulness of the rain, and now it suited her mood to a tee. She knew she was being dramatic, but that was how she felt inside. As much as she’d wanted to have a handle on her emotions by Dylan’s wedding date she was still as raw as she’d been the day she’d gone home to San Francisco. Maybe more so now that she was there, in the same city as
him
.

She laid her fingertips on the windowsill, absorbing some of the cold seeping in. She often went to a window when she was upset, she realized. She’d done it ever since she was a kid. Whenever she felt…trapped. But all she was trapped in now was misery of her own creation.

I miss him.

But she was still mad, too. And the mad was a lot easier to deal with. She’d hold the mad close in order to get through seeing him tonight at the wedding.

“Misch, will you come help me decide on this jewelry?” Dylan called from the bedroom. “I haven’t been able to make up my mind.”

“Sure.”

She joined Dylan, who had a rather large selection of accessories laid out on her bed.

Mischa laughed. “You haven’t been able to narrow it down at all?”

“Every time I think I have I end up pulling out every piece I own. Do you think this means I’m turning into a bridezilla?”

“Sweetie, if that was going to happen you would have had all our heads months ago. Certainly mine, when I abandoned you.”

“You did not abandon me. I thought we talked about that already. Don’t make me have to argue with you on my wedding day.” Dylan raised her gaze to Mischa’s, her gray eyes pooling with tears. “Oh my God. I’m getting married.”

Mischa was by her friend’s side in an instant.

“Don’t tell me you’re getting cold feet?”

“No. No, of course not. I’m just so damn happy. I can hardly believe it’s real.”

Mischa smiled at her, reached out to squeeze her hand.

Dylan sniffed. “Do you want to know a secret?”

“Always.”

“Every time I even think the words ‘my husband’ it makes me giggle like a fool.”

Mischa had to laugh. “I’m sure you’ll get used to it. Just don’t do it during the ceremony.”

Dylan groaned.

Mischa took her by the shoulders and turned her toward the bed. “Time to pick something.”

“Okay.”

“I think you should keep it simple. The dress is so streamlined and glamorous; you should let it take center stage. What about these diamond studs and this bracelet? I’d skip a necklace.”

“Of course you’re right, as usual. If you ever give up tattooing—not that you would—you’d make a great stylist. Or a lady’s maid.”

The buzzer rang and Mischa moved back into the living room to answer it. It was Kara and Lucie, along with a tall, striking woman with high cheekbones and long, shining jet-black hair.

“Mischa, this is Veronica,” Kara introduced her friend, who Mischa had heard would be doing Dylan’s makeup.

Veronica smiled, setting down her makeup case, which was a large silver train case, very much like the one Mischa always transported her sex toys in. She hadn’t brought it this time. Hadn’t opened it in weeks.

“It’s good to meet you.” Veronica smiled, a gorgeous flash of white teeth. The woman was model-perfect.

“You, too. And I’m sure Dylan will be glad to see you—she’s starting to really chomp at the bit. I think she’ll feel better once we get things rolling.”

“My cue to set up. How about over here on the bar?” Veronica suggested.

Mischa had to swallow the memory of tattooing Connor at that bar. This wasn’t the time. It was Dylan’s wedding day and she’d vowed not to let Connor—or her powerlessness over how she felt about him—ruin it.

Veronica went to work on Dylan’s makeup while Lucie made a cup of tea for the bride and Kara went over a list of vendors and contacts at the wedding site, making a few last-minute phone calls
to confirm that everyone was where they were supposed to be. Mischa was glad it was her job to do Dylan’s hair. She needed all the distraction she could get.

Two hours later Dylan was ready, stunning in her glamorous 1940s-style sheath of ivory silk that shone like liquid champagne against her fair skin, the small train a graceful sweep behind her. Mischa, Kara and Lucie were in their attendants dresses, all of them in various vintage styles of calf-length rose silk.

“Are you nervous?” Lucie asked.

“I’m just ready,” Dylan answered, happiness shining through in her smile, in the sparkle of her gray eyes.

Mischa, on the other hand, was wishing she had a Xanax handy. But she bit back her nerves and helped Dylan into the creamy faux fur wrap for the limo ride to the Asian Art Museum.

The women chatted in the limo as it splashed through the streets, and Mischa did her best to be present in the moment that was so important to her best friend. But she couldn’t help that undeniable part of herself that was filled with dread at the idea of seeing Connor. And the small pit of excitement in her stomach. By the time they reached the museum, the sun setting behind the silvery clouds, her pulse was jangling in her veins and she felt as if she’d downed more than the single glass of champagne they’d all toasted the bride with on their ride over.

The car pulled up in front of the museum where Dylan and Alec had first met. Luckily, the rain had stopped, and they all got out, making their way carefully in their heels across the paving stones of the walkway that led to the grand entrance of the art deco structure.

There was barely time to marvel at the architecture inside, or to peek into the Garden Court, where the ceremony and reception were to be held. The site’s wedding coordinator, Betsy, a cheerful brunette as petite as Lucie, whisked Dylan and Mischa
into an elevator to take them downstairs while Kara and Lucie went into the Garden Court to see how many of the guests had arrived and to make sure everything else was ready.

“How are you doing?” Mischa asked Dylan as they were ushered into what looked to be a boardroom.

Dylan squeezed her hand. “Just excited. I just want to do it, to be married to Alec. And…a little shocked at how ‘bridal’ I’m being.”

Mischa set her tote bag holding flats for Dylan, touch-up makeup, hairspray, bottled water and other wedding day emergency items on the big table. “You are getting married today, sweetie. I think you’re allowed. Do you want to sit down?”

“No, I don’t want to wrinkle the dress. And I’m too jumpy to sit. How are you doing, Misch?” Dylan’s auburn brows drew together.

“I’m fine.”

Dylan drew closer. “Are you, hon?”

Mischa blinked, forced herself to smile naturally. “I’m good. Really. I’m thrilled for you, Dylan. For you and Alec both. You’re going to be so happy together.”

She would never worry Dylan today, of all days. Would never tell her she felt as if her heart was about to burst out of her chest. Was ashamed to admit even to herself how distracted she was simply knowing he was there, in the building.

Stop it. Calm down.

Kara came into the room. “I think everyone’s here. Lucie is just checking in with the caterers. It’s time, Dylan.”

“God, maybe we should have had a real rehearsal last night,” Dylan fretted, pulling a small mirror from the tote bag to check her lipstick.

“We’re not doing a traditional procession,” Kara assured her.
“The guys are already waiting up front. All we have to do is move down the aisle when Betsy tells us to. Easy. Anyway, it was important that you saw your family last night. Oh no, honey, don’t cry. You’ll ruin your makeup.”

“Dylan, what is it?” Mischa quickly found a Kleenex and carefully dabbed at her friend’s eyes.

“I wish Quinn was here,” Dylan said softly, referring to her younger brother, who had passed in an accident years earlier.

Mischa took her hand and held on tight, finding some comfort even as she was giving it. “He’d be so happy for you. Just focus on the happy part, okay?”

Dylan sniffed. “I can do that.” She smiled. “I guess a little bridal meltdown is requisite.”

“So I’ve heard,” Kara agreed. “Something for me to look forward to.”

“Kara?” Dylan turned to her, eyes wide, and immediately grabbed her left hand. “Oh my God! You haven’t said anything and we’ve all been too distracted to notice. It’s gorgeous!”

Kara beamed, letting Dylan and Mischa examine the emerald-cut diamond. “I didn’t want to steal your thunder.”

“When did this happen?” Dylan demanded.

“Last night. I guess the wedding fever is contagious.”

Dylan pulled her in for a hug, then Mischa did the same.

“Congratulations,” she told Kara, letting her go. “You’ve found a wonderful guy. I’m so happy for you.”