She gaped at the huge rock at the realization. Holy fuck, he must love her a lot.
Inside the shop, Myrna explained her dire situation, and a bridal consultant shoved ten different dresses into her arms before showing her to a dressing room. She had to find something that fit right off the rack because there was no time for alterations.
After almost an hour of trying on dresses, the growing pile of discarded gowns was starting to depress her. The first didn’t fit. The next made her look flat-chested. Another two were downright ugly; were all those bows on her ass really necessary? One not even close to her style never made it off the hanger.
On Myrna’s seventh attempt, she was starting to think she should just get married in her business attire. Brian liked when she wore suits. She was sure he wouldn’t mind her wearing one at the ceremony. Her bridal assistant, Carla—we’ll find you something perfect, honey, I’ve never failed yet—finished zipping the latest dress and stood back to study Myrna. Her breath caught, and she covered her wide mouth with trembling fingers. Myrna lifted her eyes to the three reflections of herself in the mirror, expecting yet another disappointment. She never expected to burst into tears.
“That’s the one,” Carla said, pulling Myrna, now sobbing uncontrollably, into her arms to rub her back until she got a handle on her emotions.
“I’m sorry. I can’t believe I’m crying.” Myrna drew away and dabbed at her eyes, feeling like a complete ass for getting so emotional over a stupid dress.
“Happens all the time,” Carla assured her. She smiled broadly. “Are you wearing it out, then?”
“I don’t want him to see me in it yet.”
Brian was sitting just outside the dressing room waiting for her.
“Do you have someone to help you with the zipper?”
She supposed she could ask one of the guys to help her on the bus. “I’ll figure something out.”
She turned back to the mirror and ran her hands down the rumpled satin bodice.
The white dress was form fitting from breast to hip; the skirt was loose and long and gathered on one side by a decorative design embroidered in silver thread. The hem just brushed the floor. She turned to examine the back, which had a simple train that extended a few feet behind her. The row of pearl buttons that hid the back zipper was a lovely bonus that ended in another design embroidered in silver that bunched the train just below her rump. She’d wanted to look beautiful for Brian when he took her as his wife and, in this dress, she felt beautiful. She held her arms out and shook her hips side to side, watching the skirt sway enticingly. Perfect. The dress was perfect.
“Did you find anything yet?” Brian called from outside the dressing room door. “It’s getting late, sweetheart. Just pick something.”
“Just pick something,” Carla said and rolled her eyes. “Men just don’t get it.”
But Myrna knew when he saw her in this dress, he’d get it. Because the sap was far more sentimental than she was.
“I think I found something suitable,” Myrna called to her eager fiancé. “I’ll be out as soon as I take it off.”
“I want to see it.” The door handle rattled, but it was locked.
“You’ll have to wait,” Myrna said. “I want it to be a surprise.”
Chapter Four
Brian paced up and down the aisle of Sinners’ tour bus. His four band mates watched him as if they were spectators at Wimbledon. He paused before the closed door at the end of the corridor and listened for sounds of Myrna moving inside the bedroom. Silence assaulted his ears. She had to be in there. There was no escaping the bedroom. The window was too small, and he’d have noticed if she’d tried to sneak past him.
Brian couldn’t wait to see her in her dress. Couldn’t wait to see her, dress or no dress. But even though he willed it, the doorknob didn’t turn. The door didn’t open. His woman didn’t appear, leap into his arms, and kiss him senseless. Not yet. What was taking her so long?
Trey had helped her zip herself into the garment ages ago. Well, maybe it had only been twenty minutes ago, but it felt like ages, especially since Trey had made a big show about how gorgeous she looked as he’d left her alone in the bedroom to fix her hair or whatever was taking her an eternity.
Brian wrapped the rope of chain that hung from his belt loop around one finger and jangled it repeatedly. His pre-concert jitters had nothing on these pre-wedding jitters. The soles of his feet were cold, as if ice water filled his boots. At least pacing kept his mind off the turbulence in his stomach. Sort of. He turned and headed back up the aisle toward the front of the bus, moving past the bathroom, the bunks stacked on each side of the corridor, and the dining table.
Like a parking garage gate, an arm dropped in front of him. Brian drew to a halt and lifted a questioning brow at his best friend. His best man. His musical soul mate—rhythm guitarist Trey Mills.
“Will you sit down?” Trey said. “You’re driving me insane.”
“Can’t help it. I’m freaking out,” Brian said.
Eric stopped tapping his drumsticks on the tabletop and glanced up at him. “Why? You’re not having second thoughts, are you? Because if you are, Myrna’s gonna need a lot of consoling for her broken heart.” Eric grinned, looking entirely too pleased with the idea. “I think I’ll go check on her.”
When he started to climb out of the booth, Brian sat beside him and shoved him up against the wall to prevent him from trying to console Myrna, who needed no consoling. If anyone needed consoling, it would be him. And Eric would not be the one he turned to.