KIMBERLY

want to take my panties off."

Vivian started choking on her earl grey latte. "What? Who?"

I was about to call her overdramatic, but I realized randomly bringing up that you wanted to take your panties off—when you weren't even talking about a guy to begin with—while eating Eggs Benedict in public is not theoretically appropriate.

"Jace," I sighed, completely distressed.

"Kim," she started incredulously. "First of all, the next time you make that statement—as I'm sure you will—preface with a who because I thought you were looking at that grandpa."

"Hey, he's cute," I defended the poor guy. "I'm pretty sure he's got all the ladies at some senior care facility wrapped around his finger."

As expected, she completely ignored my comment and moved on. "Second of all, it's normal to feel that way. He's attractive and your soon-to-be husband."

She brought up a valid point. It's not like I haven't been with guys after him. But, the difference was that I wasn't married—or committed in any way, shape, or form—to any of them. For most of them, it was a one-and-done situation.

Jace was disgustingly different. He made my body heat up in ways I haven't felt in ages. The worst part is that he didn't even need to touch me. One look from him and I was wet. But, don't get me started on that awful personality that never failed to rile me up.

He was constantly on my mind. It's been almost a week since the engagement party, meaning almost a week since we last saw each other, but here I was, talking about how badly he made me want to take my fucking underwear off.

You've officially lost it, Kimberly.

I downed my mimosa, grateful that the waiter was coming with a refill. They knew me well over here and knew to keep the juice in my mimosa to a minimum, which I will forever be thankful for. There's nothing worse than a mimosa with more juice than champagne.

Stop talking about fucking mimosas!

I knew it. I was officially insane. Because, in a way to stop thinking about Jace, I opted for talking about the fucking juice-to-champagne proportion in mimosas.

"The issue comes after my panties are off," I continued. "I don't know if I want to strangle him with them or fuck him."

"Do both."

"Vivi," I warned.

"What? You're into that shit."

"Touché," I nodded in agreement. She had a valid point.

Stop! No, she did not.

"I don't see the problem." Vivian shrugged her shoulders, going back to her laptop to do work.

I let out a dramatic groan, downing another glass. "The problem is that we agreed to keep this shit exclusive for two years. And, I don't think fucking him is going to solve the issue of my attraction towards him. Especially, if it's only him I'm fucking. You know me, I'll grow attached."

"Say that louder, I don't think Jesus heard you," Vivi retorted, looking up from her screen. "And, what's so bad about being attracted to him?"

"Vivian..."

"You're allowed to move o-"

"Stop," I cut her off sharply, my mood souring. I didn't mean to snap at her, but I didn't need her to bring him up. Especially not now.

Not when I was thinking of someone else who wasn't him.

Someone I was going to marry.

The guilty look on Vivian's face furthered my guilt. Chugging another glass, I moved to pour myself some more when my ringing phone interrupted me. Mama.

"Hello?" My greeting came out a little bit more slurred than I was hoping, knowing I would get an earful about this.

"Nena," her voice indicated the upcoming earful I so wonderfully anticipated. "Are you drunk? Honey, it's half past eleven right now."

I sighed, regretting my decision of picking up knowing how worried she got. "Mama, I'm fine. Now, why'd you call?"

Don't get me wrong. I absolutely loved my mom and would gladly spend hours talking to her on the phone, but I just saw her last night and called her this morning. Our conversations were completely mundane, as nothing interesting was going on in either of our lives besides wedding planning.

Speaking of, I completely left all the wedding planning decisions to Mama, Effie, and Aunt Lucy. There was no way in hell that I would be more involved in this matter than necessary.

Plus, getting a panic attack when Mom asked me which flavor of cake I would like was enough for her to make the decision to take over. I wasn't worried in the slightest. I trusted their judgment, and they knew me well enough after twenty-five years of raising me.

My question was met with silence at the other end.

I was not going to like this.

"Kim," her slight Spanish accent came out when she said my name, a tell-all sign that I wasn't going to be happy at the next words to exit her mouth. "As you know, the wedding's in three weeks. And, something like this takes a lot of time and a lot of decision making. So, the faster we act, the better. And, I've been trying to push it off, but I don't know how much more I c-"

"Mom, just tell me," I cut her off. "Rip the band-aid off."

Another sigh.

"I'm at a wedding boutique," she reluctantly informed me. "Can you come down here? We need to find you a dress."

Fuck.

I took a deep breath, desperate to calm my nerves. I knew this was coming up. I mean, it's a fucking wedding, I obviously needed a dress. As Mom said, I've been pushing this off for too long and there's a lot of things to consider when getting a dress. That, and the time needed to make alterations.

I can do this.

It's just a dress. I loved dressing up.

I can do this.

"Okay," I finally replied. "I'll be there soon."

I can do this.

♕♕♕

I can't do this.

How did I know that I couldn't do this?

Because I, Kimberly Nyla Astor, did not get an anxiety attack when looking at gorgeous dresses. It was quite the opposite, much to my credit card's dismay. Looking good made me feel good. So, therefore, buying good-looking things to look good made me feel good.

Hypothetical syllogism, or something.

But, even after looking at this boutique's marvelous collection of dresses, I didn't feel the joy that shopping had the tendency to bring me.

I took out my flask and downed a quick sip, out of Vivian's eyesight.

Whiskey? When did I pack that?

It soothed my nerves for the briefest second, but I was too sober to be dealing with this right now.

"Kim, are you okay?" A voice called out to my side. I didn't realize Vivian and I entered the boutique until I turned my attention to see my cousin's girlfriend looking up from a rack of dresses.

Camelia has been dating Ashton for almost a year now, and the two of them were disgustingly cute. Her calm and warm nature matched the overbearing nature of my cousin's perfectly. In my opinion, she was way too good for Ashton, but the way the two of them looked at each other was enough to let me know they belonged together.

Thinking about a happy couple was not helping right now.

I nodded my head vigorously, trying to fool myself into believing my next words. "Yeah, I'm great. Like phenomenally great."

It didn't take a genius to see I was lying through my teeth, and Camelia was practically a genius.

The girl has only been working at the cancer research center I funded for the last almost eight months, but the team she was on was publishing a scientific journal with her name on it because of a major breakthrough they discovered for a specific type of brain cancer.

Lia had been gushing about the details, and I wish I wasn't drunk at the time so I could actually process the information. Ashton, on the other hand, was completely looking at her in admiration and soaking up all her words, even though I knew—for a fact—that he was processing as much as my drunk brain was.

Stop. No happy couples.

I looked around the boutique to see who else was there for me. I called Savannah and asked her if she wanted to join us, even though it was a workday. Theoretically, this is a work-related activity. She immediately squealed yes and called out to—who I was assuming—Jace and told him she'd be taking off.

In retrospect, the building anxiety in my gut should have warned me against calling her, given I didn't want anyone to bear witness to the mess I turned into when it came to wedding planning.

I saw her talking it up with my cousin, Audrey. My mom, Effie, and Aunt Lucy were also here. Aunt Lucy is my dad's sister and the two could not be more different. While my dad was cold-hearted—according to me—and mean, Aunt Lucy was the carbon-copy of Ashton with their highly energetic nature.

Personalities aren't genetic, but those two make me question it.

The only difference is that Addison, Ashton's older sister, was nothing like either of them and the two of us could barely tolerate each other. Audrey, on the other hand, was extremely shy and introverted, but once you got to know her, she had a completely infectious personality.

I would never be able to choose who my favorite was, out of the two of them, but Audrey spent less time getting on my nerves.

"There she is," Aunt Lucy announced, warming me up in one of her motherly hugs.

"Hi," my reply came out breathier than expected, causing several worried looks to shoot to my face. "Before any of you ask, I'm okay."

Savannah looked at me with curious eyes, as she was the only one who didn't know how much getting married was taking a mental toll on me. Lia knew enough because Ashton couldn't keep his mouth shut, but it's not like I wouldn't have told her.

The consultant came up to us, a huge smile on her face at the thought of dressing me for my wedding. "Ms. Astor, it's an absolute pleasure to meet you. I hope you can find a dress to make your big day special!"

I hope so too.

♕♕♕

No.

No.

No.

This is all wrong.

How could I be going through with this?

This is just wrong.

Why can't I breathe right now?

No.

No.

I brought my shaking hands up to my neck, tracing the necklace in the familiar motions. The edges of each letter lightly kissed the pads of my thumb as I went over the motion again and again and again. This should calm me down. It always does.

It always does.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

Why wasn't I calm?

Why wasn't I fucking calming down?

My chest started heaving. The white room was spinning around me. The three reflections staring back at me weren't helping me. Someone needs to turn the fucking lights off before I throw something at the mirrors.

Trace. Trace. Trace. Trace.

Why wasn't this fucking working?

"Get this dress off of me!" My hands were tangled at the back as I was trying to unlace it myself. "Get it off of me now!"

I'm gonna get whoever tied these laces fired. Was she trying to get me stuck inside? Who the fuck needed to tie them so fucking tight?

"Vivi! Please, I need you!"

The familiar sensation of pure agony was rising up my throat. Burning hot tears came out of the corner of my eyes. I clawed at every part of the dress, hoping that I would finally get out. I heard the curtains behind me open, and I looked back to see Vivian rushing towards me. Without saying anything, she worked her fingers on the laces and freed me.

I fell to the ground, sobbing. Her arms wrapped around me, replacing the feeling of the forsaken dress.

"Kim, you're alright," her soothing voice tried calming me, her hand running through my hair. "You're out of the dress. You're alright. Say it with me. You're alright."

"I-I-I-" I could barely get the words out through the sharp breaths that were interrupting. "I'm alright."

"You're alright."

"I'm alright."

The two of us were still on the floor of the fitting room, my head in her lap as she continued to run her thin fingers through my hair. Occasionally, her hand would leave my hair, most likely signaling for everyone to leave us alone and that I was fine.

I don't know what I'd do without her.

I didn't even want to think about what I'd do without her.

We stayed there for what seemed like hours but had to be ten to fifteen minutes, when Vivian's voice called out. "Do you want to go home?"

Yes.

"No," I lied, knowing damn well that she could see straight through it. "I need to just get this over with."

"Kim-" she started, not liking my idea.

I stopped her, raising my head from her lap to sit up on the floor and look her dead in the eyes. "Vi, I'll be fine. I don't want to delay this any further."

"K, you just had an anxiety attack," she deadpanned. "You're not in the right state to be looking at more dresses. You need time. All these things are bringing back memories of hi..."—she stopped herself—"You just need more time."

I stood up, trying to prove that I was fine. That failed tremendously because I fumbled drunkenly—this time not because of alcohol—and tipped forward. Vivian, like the savior she was, shot to grab my arm and gave me a pointed look.

"Okay, I'm a tad bit weak," I admitted. "But, I'll be fine. I swear."

At this point, I was convincing myself more than I was trying to convince her, but the defeated look on her face indicated that I won this battle.

Whether or not it was a battle I wanted to win is still up for debate, but I won. To an overachiever like me, winning is more important.

"Fine." She helped me step out of the puddle of the wedding dress and back into the satin robe. As freeing as it was, laying in my underwear, the cool air conditioning of the boutique caused goosebumps to raise up all over my body. "We'll take it easy."

Finally, we stepped out of the fitting room to a bunch of worried expressions I was dreading to face. "I guess that dress was a no." I laughed, trying to diminish the uncomfortable tension in the only way I knew how.

If the smile on my face—no matter how fake it was—could convince people I was fine, then I'll keep it on for as long as I can. I would do anything, absolutely anything to get people to stop looking at me like I'll shatter every five seconds.

But, my complete dismissal over what happened did nothing to soothe their tension.

Thankfully, the look that Vivian shot everyone was enough to make them drop the look and continue on—the way I wanted them to—like nothing happened.

♕♕♕

It didn't take long for us to find a dress. And, boy, it was a dress alright.

Lia—our sweet, sweet, girl—explored the boutique and came across a dress that she thought would be perfect for me. If she wasn't only twenty-one-years-old, I would've told Ashton to put a ring on her because this girl fit so well with us.

But the dress was an absolute vision. It was a fully-lace, floor-length mermaid dress, flaring out at the knee. The nude underlay allowed for the white lace to be more prominent, but the underlay stopped at the waist, allowing for the top part to be lace over skin.

Speaking of the top, it was very fitted and structured, with a sweetheart neckline that ended right under my cleavage. The sleeves were also lace, but they had little pearls sewed into them.

But, the best part about the dress had to be the removable overskirt that covered most of the bottom of the dress except the front. The overskirt was—just how I liked it—glimmery all over and caught the light at every moment. The lace details on the bottom of the skirt matched that of the actual dress.

I looked beautiful.

I looked like a bride.

Granted, I was still dry-heaving when I put it on. But there was just something so timeless and elegant about the dress. It was just my style.

"Oh, chiquitita," Mom came into the fitting room, using the nickname she only called me on special occasions because of the ABBA song. "You look so beautiful, baby."

I smiled in response, not trusting my emotions.

Who knows what would happen if I opened my mouth? Tears, another panic attack, a scream... the possibilities were endless.

Instead, I stared blankly at the mirror.

If only he could see me.

Tell me how beautiful I look.

Tell me how much he loved me.

If only he was here.

This would all be so much more bearable.

Stop it, Kimberly. He's not here and he's not coming back. You're getting married to someone else. Get a hold of yourself.

I shook the thoughts away, aware of Vivian's worried gaze on my face.

I can do this.

I'm Kimberly fucking Astor.

I can do this.

Even if I can't, I'll do what I always do.

Fake it until I can.

***

back to a shorter chapter rip.

for someone who has panic attack quite often, i don't know why i'm so bad at writing them.

anyway, my poor bby who's going through shit that i put her through.

*deep sigh*

i hope y'all enjoyed this chapter too!

love, zia.