Jolie was pacing holes in the floor in the copy room. Keely and Opal were laughing outside at her nerves. She leaned out and hissed, “quit laughing at me.”
“You would think you were nervous about marrying a gorgeous man like Brixton Beckwith.” Opal smirked.
“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” she flicked her hand downward at the dress Keely had surprised her with thirty minutes ago. Then Opal had insisted they do up her hair.
The “wedding” was supposed to be a formality. They already had the license. They simply needed to go to the courthouse at City Hall, get the cleric to have them say vows, take a couple of pictures so Pia could be a flower girl and then come back to work.
Instead, Keely had insisted since her first wedding day had been violent, bloody, and gory, she dese
