The pre-bridal shower came as quickly as the proposal. I still found it hard to believe it happened. In fact, if I wasn't wearing a fuchsia robe with a sash in hand, then I wouldn't have believed it either.
"Makenzie, what are you wearing?" Mia said, glaring at her. The poor girl looked confused. Makenzie is one of the bridesmaids and Mia's friend; I didn't know her much.
"I told the stylist to give you all fuchsia pink robes. Why the hell is yours magenta?" Mia asked, and she opened her mouth to say something, but Mia waved her off.
"Go take that thing off and tell the stylist he is fired," Mia said, and Makenzie muttered something to herself before leaving the room.
"Mia is definitely bridezilla," Stacy said, and we all nodded in agreement.
"I am not a bridezilla," Mia said, sitting back down in her chair. "I just don't understand how people can mix up fuchsia and magenta; they are obviously different."
"First of all, they aren't. Secondly, it's not just the clothes; it's everything. You've fired almost half your staff, and we haven't even begun. It's just the pre-bridal shower. And by the way, what's even a pre-bridal shower?" Stacy said.
"Yeah, that's definitely giving bridezilla vibes," Stacy said, nodding in agreement.
"No, I am not. I am totally calm and in control of my emotions," Mia said, adjusting in her chair, her hairstylist adjusting the rollers in her hair.
"Mhmm," Stacy hummed, whispering "bridezilla" under her breath, and Mia gave her a death glare.
"Angie, take her away from here before I kill her," Mia said.
Angie dragged her up, leading her out of the dressing room.
"You can take me away, but you can't change the truth. Shakespeare said that," Stacy said as she walked out.
"No, he didn't," Mia yelled after her as she finally left the room.
I played with my fingers, as I was now technically alone with Mia. I was nervous; we hadn't talked since her proposal, and it had been two weeks now. We'd barely seen each other. She had been from one interview to another, paparazzi chasing after her, so she couldn't leave her house some days. It was crazy.
"I love Stacy to death, but she's so annoying, gosh," Mia said, motioning for me to take a seat close to her.
"Do you really think I am a bridezilla?" Mia asked, and I laughed lightly, placing my hands on her shoulders.
"You are; just a little," I said, and she drew an exasperated sigh, throwing her head back.
"This whole wedding thing is so stressful; there's so much pressure, and I want it to be perfect," Mia said, and I moved closer to her, holding her hands.
"You are doing so great already; everything will be perfect, okay?" I said, and she nodded rapidly in response.
"Tell me honestly, what do you think about Damien and me, the whole proposal?" Mia asked, surprising me, and I shifted uncomfortably in my chair.
"Did you ask Stacy and Angie this question?" I said, and she laughed.
"Since when do I ask you all the same questions? I asked you because you are my best friend, and I want to know what you honestly feel about the wedding," Mia said.
I found it difficult to look Mia in the eye to answer her questions, but I tried to make it as oblivious as possible.
This was probably because of what happened during these past few days, and trust me, a lot happened these past few days.
***
1 WEEK AGO.
It was the end of the day. I had a long, stressful day at work, and I wanted it all to be over, but I had to meet Damien in a café to discuss 'business.'
We hadn't spoken since the proposal, and I wanted to know what his game plan was and why he was stringing me along with his lies.
I might be overreacting and making it all a big deal, but it was right? Why make a deal with your fiancée's best friend and ask her to keep it a secret? That's shady.
Plus, the bomb he dropped on me about my assassin's weapon—I wanted to know why he wanted to be involved in my assassination so badly.
I smoothed my skirt with my hands and ran a hand over my ponytail as I walked into the café, which was obviously empty. Damien most likely sold the place out for a day to avoid paparazzi.
"You are always late," Damien said as I walked in, his eyes still glued to his phone, typing away.
"No, I am not," I countered.
"You said 8:30, and it's 8:32," I said, taking a seat opposite him.
"That's two minutes late; a lot could have happened in two minutes," he said, dropping his phone on the table and leaning back in his chair.
"I wasn't late; it took two minutes to walk down here and..." I paused, taking a deep breath. Looking him in the eye, I could see the sadistic, playful glint in his eyes, just a little.
Asshole!
"I am not even going to get into this with you right now," I said, waving the waiter over. He was old and slow, just like this place. This place looked ancient, and I wondered why Damien wanted us to converse here in the first place.
"I would like a French latte," I said.
I know it's odd ordering coffee at night, but I needed it for the conversation I was about to have.
The old man wrote it down, and Damien just waved him off, and he went into the kitchen.
"Why would you order coffee at this time of day?" Damien asked.
"Why would you bring me to a café at night if you didn't want me to order coffee?" I asked challengingly, and he rolled his eyes.
"You are going to die of a heart attack or something from all that caffeine. I am sure you had a cup in the morning, another in the afternoon, and one at mid-noon," Damien said.
I opened my mouth in shock and then shut it, opening it again to ask him how he knew about my coffee addiction issues.
"I saw all those coffee cups in your office and in your house when I came over to pick up Mia, and might I add that the amount was very disturbing," Damien said.
"How did you know it was mine? It could have been anyone else's," I said defensively, folding my arms around my body, and to this, he raised a brow.
"You live alone; you share your office alone, plus your name was on all the plastic cups" Damien said.
"I don't have a problem," I said, and he shrugged.
The old waiter brought in my coffee.
"Mr. Jones, please take that back; I will take the bill for it," Damien said as he came.
"Hey, my coffee!" I whined, glaring at him.
"You can have that heart attack after we have talked about business," Damien said, bringing me back to reality just like that.