Tease Me (Hart of Stone Family 1)

CHAPTER ONE

marlie

Another day, another wedding, literally. I’m not even kidding. You know that saying ‘Always the bridesmaid, never the bride’ or the movie 27 Dresses? Yep, that’s me. At the age of thirty-one, I’m single, never been engaged or married. Quite literally, I can open my closet in the spare room, and it’s filled to the brim with dresses. Well, some may be from my high school and college days, but for the most part, a good portion of it has nothing but dresses from weddings. I really should get rid of them. The colors, though, they call to me—from yellow and green to pinks and purples. Some made of the softest material, others that simply make you want to scratch yourself to death. So, why don’t I? Well, that would be a freaking sin in my book, especially because I designed most of them. Talk about sacrilegious or maybe a bad omen, whatever it is, I’m not letting them go. I’m a hoarder of a different variety of fabrics, threads, sequins, you name it. My spare room is inundated with it all, as well as the small warehouse in the historic downtown coastal community we live in. I mentioned I was a hoarder, right?

“Marlie, stop procrastinating,” I murmur into the quiet spare bedroom. It’s a mess, and it’s going to have to stay that way until my ‘bestie for the resties’ wedding is over. I already feel like a total shit for missing the rehearsal dinner last night. Though who knew after going back home to Oklahoma that I’d get caught in a blizzard, be delayed for fourteen hours, miss a connecting flight, and finally land back in Florida two hours before I need to get my ass to Taylor’s stat?

As if being surrounded by a plethora of dresses, somehow always being invited or asked to be a bridesmaid or maid of honor isn’t enough. I had to go back home for the holidays, where my Nana and Papa asked when I’d be settling down. Right on cue, my mother would start, saying something about how my brother, Brennan, and his wife, Eva, are married. Of course, that only drove the knife in a little bit deeper. I don’t hold a grudge against my brother; I never could. He and I are thick as thieves, talk every day, sometimes twice, but damn, my mother can be a handful. Thankfully, my dad waded in and was completely fine with how I’m living my life. Truthfully, I think he’s happy I’m still standing on my own two feet and own a thriving business. He just kissed my head, told mom to hush, nodded his head at my grandparents, and all was well.

I take one last look at the room, making sure everything I’ll need is gathered in case of a dress mishap, the same thing I’d do for any other, even if the bride didn’t ask for it, but this time, it’s for Taylor’s wedding, and there’s no way. I breathed a sigh of relief that she had a key and came by earlier this week to grab all of the dresses since my flight decided to take a massive shitter, along with the weather. The dresses, by the way, are perfection—deep plum in color, soft to the touch, a sheen that shimmers with every swish of the body, flattering for each girl. Which is no easy feat when we’re all shaped so differently, me included. I’m smaller on top, wider in hips on the bottom, and my legs are on the lean side. It’s a nightmare, but with Taylor’s help and her vision, we made it work, plus it’s all custom designed, sewn inch by inch by yours truly. I’d like to say it’s some of the best work I’ve done, but I don’t want to boast.

I’ve never felt more grateful in my life for going to college in Florida and planting roots in the sunshine state. Heat is always bearing down on your skin, nose kissed by the sun, and the smell of the ocean assaulting your senses.

“Just get through this weekend, then you can run to the beach, dip your toes in the sand, and ground yourself,” I tell myself as I hustle, throwing the much-needed last-minute items in an oversized bag I’ve already dumped out what I had packed for Oklahoma, repacking what I need for this weekend before heading out the door.

I have both hands full, phone in my back pocket, my keys hanging by a finger, and that’s the time the ringer goes off, alerting me that it’s Taylor.

“Shit, fuck, damn.” I drop everything to the ground ungracefully. My only saving grace is that nothing topples over to make a huge mess.

“Hello,” I answer the phone.

“Marlie.” At first, I’m thinking something is wrong or she forgot something, but when I hear the laughter in her tone, I breathe a sigh of relief.