I let go of her elbow as Will approaches, scooting around them to make room for Amber and Amelia to exit the office. We join the rest of the bridal party where they’re gathered near the doors. Liam, eyes narrowed, assesses Amber’s physical state,then scoops her into his arms, backing them up against a wall to murmur lowly to her as he glares at the shop’s employees. Brian sweeps Amelia likewise into his arms, lifting her over torn strips of satin she might slip on and setting her steady beside an ethereal goddess I can only assume is Frank, based on her proximity to the group.
Roman, who took over cussing at service workers in Will’s absence, glances at me,snaps, and holds his arm out for me.
Snaps.
If I weren’t already ticked, I’d beticked.
Choosing my battles—namely, the one in which this stupid store thinksRubyis a problem—I do what he wants, stepping carefully through the mess of white fabric until I’m close enough to reach.
His hand folds around mine, engulfing it completely as he pulls, not stopping until I’m tucked neatly into his side, where he lets go of my hand in order to put his on my back, sliding it around until his arm can tuck me in closer. All the while, he never stops growling at Shelly’s coworker.
“And actually, is any of this even ADA compliant? Do you have any clue? Because you took an appointment with a blind woman, which you knew at the time of the appointment, because Elodietoldyou Ruby was blind and would need basic safety measures to be in place—a subject that shouldn’t even need to be broached, mind you, because they shouldalready be in place, but so many retailers think you’re above basic compliance with the law. It’s disgusting, frankly, andthistreatment is disgusting, too. You can’tdetainpeople. You’re not the cops!”
He, of course, added a whole lot more curse words in there, but I’ve gone ahead and censored that. Genre expectations and all. Can’t have you guys putting the book down because of his potty mouth, can we? Who would pay my author’s bills?
Fully in agreement with Roman, for once, I provide anincredibly helpful, “Yeah!" which Frank echoes.
Behind the worker in front of us, several more shop girls move around the space, attempting—and mostly failing—to right the racks and salvage what they can of the dresses. They exchange looks, mouths pressed tightly shut.
“Sir, you can’t use that sort of language in here,” the woman—Kylie, her name tag says—tells him.
His arm contracts around me, his fingers digging into my hip.
“Do you have any idea who you’re talking to here?” Frank interjects, coming up behind us. “That,” she points to Liam and Amber. Liam, bless him, is scowling something fierce at the manager before us. “Is William Warrick. He has, like, a trillion dollars. Which he’s investing in this wedding. The budget for the dressaloneis three hundred thousand dollars,” she lies, tsking at a gobsmacked Kylie. “You guys done messed upbig.”
Kylie sputters, and Shelly, who’s come up behind her, joins.
“Yeah,” Frank says. “Embarrassing. For shame. That’s one heck of a commission you all lost, and for what? The cost of a few floor samples?” She tuts. “Now, not only aren’t you getting a commission, but Mr. Warrick over there doesn’t like it too much when things aren’t ADA compliant. Makes him cranky. So. You know. Your shop?” She folds her arms, unashamed as she tsks. “Probably not going to be open for much longer.”
The girls in the back drop the dresses they’d picked up, eyes wide.
Liam watches them for a moment as the managers scramble to apologize—to him, not Ruby, it should be noted—then he pulls out his wallet, produces two thick black business cards, and walks across the shop floor to hand them to the girls, trampling dresses in his wake. “Ask for Michael. Tell him Liam gave you his number.”
He ignores the managers completely, treading his way backthrough the fallen gowns to his wife and pulling her out the door. The rest of us follow him, huddling on the sidewalk down a little from the shop to debrief.
“Are you okay?” Roman asks, and I turn to Ruby awaiting her answer.
Ruby, however, doesnotanswer. Because Roman isn’t looking at her to push his voice in her direction, indicating he’s speaking to her. Almost thirty years with a blind sister, and he can’t remember the basic steps of speaking to her?
Nose scrunched, I turn to sass him for his idiocy, only to find that he’s not looking at Ruby because he isn’t talking to Ruby. He’s talking tome.
“Sweet, are you okay?” he repeats. His arm—which isstillaround me—gives me a squish. “Did you get hurt?”
Um.
What’s happening?
“I’m okay,” I answer, blinking furiously, then I turn to Ruby, the person weshouldbe worried about. “Rubes, are you okay?”
She curses as an answer, letting me know that she is physically well but mentally? Not so much.
Will winces, then guides her away from the group with a gentle, “It’ll be okay, Rubble. I’m here.”
I watch, helpless, and he comforts her, pushing crimson hair away from her face and kissing her forehead as he wraps her in his embrace.
“That place sucks,” Frank announces to the group. “I mean, whatwasthat?”
Amber and Amelia concur while Liam taps at his phone, and Brian frowns down the street in the direction of Enchanted Bridal, the Cupid wings on his back shimmering under the sun.
