LAYLA
“Are you sure this dress is okay?” I ask the next morning, twisting to check myself out in the dressing-table mirror. Zack rolls over on the bed and looks up at me through half-closed eyes. He looks great today, in a broad-shouldered black suit, his Viking-blonde hair loose around his face. “Very nice,” he rumbles, stretching out to grab my hip. “Take it off.”
I bat him away, trying to adjust the hem of the dress.
It’s about quarter-to-twelve, and the wedding is due to start at half past.
Josh left this morning to help the wedding party set up, while the other boys and I stayed in the room. After last night, all I really wanted to do was stay in bed all day — I’m exhausted and feeling a lot cuddlier than usual — but instead, I got up at 8 o’clock to start getting ready. I’ve been
