The Best Man Plan

she would get married someday, she’d never wear that dress.
It was a stellar dress, too. It would make some bride very happy.
But it was dead to her now. So was her reception dress. Too bad, because it was a knockout, too. A pale blush-pink, chiffon, knee-length beauty with spaghetti straps, it was tight at the top and flared out at the knee. Perfect for dancing, showed off a little skin, but still—sexy as hell.
She’d bought it to romance her new husband.
Dammit.
She stared into her closet and tapped her foot. Then the sparkle of silver caught her eye and her lips lifted.
She pulled a silver metallic dress out of her closet. The dress was skimpy and short and scandalous and would show off a ton of skin.
Totally inappropriate for a wedding. Then again, this wasn’t a wedding, was it?
She’d feel decadent in it, just the kind of dress she needed tonight. She had a pair of spiky silver heels that would show off her legs. She’d wear it to drink and dance and eat and forget all about Owen.
She stared at the wedding dress hanging over the back of her closet door. For the past two days she hadn’t allowed herself any emotion, any upset over Owen’s sudden change of heart.
But now, she was preparing herself for her non-wedding reception—no, she refused to use the word “wedding” in this event any longer. This was officially called the Bellini Party now.
She sighed and thought of all the sympathetic looks she was going to get tonight, and how now she’d forever be known as “the bride who basically got left at the altar.”
Ugh.
Not that she was concerned too much about that of course. She was a Bellini, and Bellinis were made of strong stock. Her parents had always taught her to be resilient and courageous and never hide from anything.
Tonight she would embrace that wholeheartedly.
She was a fierce, capable woman. She would weather this and come out stronger on the other side.
Her gaze caught the wedding dress again. Without thought, she pulled off her robe and grabbed the dress off the hanger, knowing she shouldn’t, but unable to stop herself. She slipped into the dress, zipped it up as far as she could without help, then slid into the beautiful sparkly shoes she’d bought to go with it. She’d never wear these shoes, either.
She turned and looked at herself in the mirror.
She hadn’t had her hair done in the style she’d rehearsed with her hair stylist. She’d planned on a partial updo, with one lock cascading down her shoulder. She wouldn’t wear her mother’s necklace or her grandmother’s earrings. She wouldn’t face Owen and say the vows she’d written. They were damn good vows, too. She’d taken weeks to write them. Had Owen even bothered to write vows?
Probably not. How long had he known he was going to bail? Days? Weeks?
“Why didn’t you talk to me, Owen?” she said to her reflection. “Why didn’t you tell me you were so unhappy?”
How could she have missed the signs? She was good at reading people.
Apparently, she wasn’t as good as she thought. Because she’d clearly missed one big whopper of a sign in her fiancé.
She inhaled a shaky breath and reached up to calm her erratic heartbeat.
Okay, so tonight she’d be brave and fierce. But right now her heart was broken.
She sank onto the edge of her bed, staring down at her hand, where her sparkling engagement ring mocked her. She pulled the ring off and set it on her nightstand, rubbing the spot where her finger felt suddenly so naked, so exposed and vulnerable.
She tried to push the tears back, but couldn’t, so she allowed them to fall and her heart to open up to all the emotion she’d held inside since she’d first read that e-mail.
Oh, this hurt.
She didn’t think she could feel this much pain, but as she lay on the bed and curled up into a ball, she grabbed Mr. Brown, the teddy bear that had always given her comfort when she was a little girl. She wrapped her arms around him and wished for Mr. Brown to ease her pain.
Not even Mr. Brown could make her feel better. She had thought she could cry it out for a few minutes and be done, but once the waterworks started she couldn’t hold back the floodgates.
This really sucked.
Brenna came in and smoothed her hand over her brow, then laid down next to her, spooning her.
“You have to let it out, honey,” Brenna said. “When a man hurts you like that, the only thing you can do is cry.”
“I don’t want to cry over him,” she managed in between sobs.
“I know.” Brenna smoothed her hand over her hair. “But once you cry all these tears over how much he hurt you, you never have to cry another one over him again.”
She sniffed. “That sounds okay.”
So Brenna held her and Erin cried. Then Honor came in and climbed onto the bed and held her, too. And then Mom came in and laid Erin’s head in her lap and wiped her tears and let her blow her nose, and she cried some more until she gave herself a headache. Until she had no more tears to shed. Not today, anyway.
“Okay, enough. I’m done.” She sat up and her sisters slid off the bed. She took the dress and shoes off and Brenna and her mom put them away. That felt a little bit like closure, anyway. And maybe the crying had helped to release some of the pain.
Honor left the room and came back with some iced tea for all of them. Erin took several long swallows, feeling dehydrated from all the tears.
“Great,” she said, swiping at her eyes with a tissue. “Now I’m going to have puffy eyes for the party tonight.”
“No, you won’t,” Brenna said. “I have a gel mask in the freezer that’ll get rid of that puffiness in no time.”
“You still look pretty,” Honor said, sliding her hand over Erin’s hair.
“You