Something About You Page 70

Amy laughed and wiped her eyes. “Stop, you’re going to make me cry with all this mushy crap.”

The makeup artist applying Amy’s blush pointed sternly. “Don’t touch your eyes. This is some of my best work.”

The purple-haired, multi-tattooed and pierced cosmetologist doing Cameron’s makeup chimed in with her orders. “Look at the ground.”

Cameron obeyed, trying not to blink as the woman put a second coat of mascara on her lashes.

“That’s waterproof, right?” she heard Amy ask her technician.

“Of course,” he assured her.

“You can look up now,” Purple Hair said when she had finished.

Cameron peered back up at Amy in the mirror. “Besides, I generally have this rule about not sleeping with a guy until he’s taken me out on some kind of date.”

“When he saves your life, I think you can bypass that part.”

“He did have dinner delivered the other night, although I think the FBI picked up the tab. Do you think I can count that?”

Purple Hair stopped dusting blush over Cameron’s cheeks. “Hold up. Are you talking about the dark-haired guy who came in with you? The one who searched me before I could do your makeup?”

Cameron grimaced. “Sorry about that.”

“Don’t be—it was the highlight of my month.” Purple Hair threw her a get-real stare. “That’s the guy you’re holding out on? Sweetie, you need to grab that stallion and ride him like a cowgirl.”

“I . . . don’t really know you, but thanks for the advice.”

Purple Hair winked. “Comes with the makeup. What do you think?”

Cameron checked herself out in the mirror. They’d left her hair down, with waves and a lot more volume than she could ever replicate on her own. And the makeup, which had felt like a lot going on, looked perfect and made her lips look fuller, her cheekbones more defined, and added a sparkle to her eyes. “It looks nice.”

Amy snorted. “Nice? Give it a rest.” She came up in the chair behind her, looking mismatched yet still elegant with her hair pulled back in an elaborate twist under her veil, and her jeans and white button-down shirt. She put her arms around Cameron. “You’re lucky I love you so much, to let you look like that on my wedding day.”

“You look gorgeous, Ame.” No exaggerating there—minus the jeans and button-down shirt, Amy was the very picture of a blonde, fairy-tale beauty. “Aaron is going to be knocked off his feet when he sees you coming down the aisle.”

“He better not be. That’ll look terrible on the wedding video.”

The two women shared a laugh, and Amy inhaled excitedly. “So? Want to help me get into my dress?”

Cameron nodded. “You bet.”

“WHAT’S WITH AGENTS O’Donnell and Rawlings? Why couldn’t we just bring Jack with us?” Cameron asked as she followed Amy outside. The two FBI agents walked a few paces behind them.

“Because I consider Jack a wedding guest, and you are the only guest who gets the sneak preview. Besides, Jack needed a few minutes to get ready for the wedding.”

Cameron stepped gingerly in her silver heels off the walkway and onto a white fabric runner. She followed Amy across the lawn to the enormous white domed tent that had been set up on a hill overlooking the bay.

Cameron took small, careful steps in her bridesmaid dress, although there probably wasn’t much need to do so. The dress was fitted but had a slit on one side at her calf that made it easier to walk. Over the last eight months, the one part of Amy’s pickiness that she didn’t mind in the least had been her selection of the maid of honor dress—the same color and material as the bridesmaid dresses Melanie and Jolene were wearing, but different in style. Handpicked just for her, Amy had said. And when she’d said next that the dress was fuchsia, Cameron had nearly handed over her maid of honor badge right there.

Then she’d seen the dress Amy had chosen for her. Halter-style and pretty from the front, but that was nothing compared to the back.

Or, rather, the fact that there wasn’t any back to the dress.

After that, Cameron had shut her mouth and vowed to never question Amy’s judgment in anything bridal-related again.

“Are you sure you should be out here in your dress?” Cameron the Dutiful Maid of Honor asked Amy nervously. “What if you trip and get a grass stain on it or something?” Back when they’d gone dress shopping, she’d nearly choked at the price of the one Amy had chosen, a blush and ivory strapless taffeta Carolina Herrera with intricate ruffle detailing worthy of a nineteenth-century ball gown.

Amy shrugged. “Then I guess I’ll just have to deal with it.”

Cameron blinked. “Okay. Who are you and what have you done with my friend?”

Amy laughed as they came to the end of the runner. She waited as Agent Rawlings stepped into the tent to check things out. When he nodded, she grabbed Cameron’s hand. “So when guests step inside the tent through this main entrance here”—she pulled Cameron inside—“they’ll see this.”

For a moment, Cameron was speechless.

It was breathtaking. There simply was no other way to describe it. They stood at the entrance of the tent, facing the altar. The fabric runner continued on, becoming a white center aisle across the grass that divided the silver and white Versailles chairs guests would sit on. Scattered across the runner were fuchsia and red rose petals and multihued leaves upon which Amy and the bridesmaids would walk. Along the aisle, all the way to the altar, were tall pillar candles that glowed softly. The altar itself was a site to behold, lit elegantly with additional white and silver candles and adorned with more red and fuschsia roses than Cameron had ever seen.

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