I Died a Bride, I Woke Up a Vengeance - Chapter 2: Chapter 2
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When Angie reappeared, she was wearing the dress I'd specially commissioned for the wedding reception.
She preened in front of the mirror, turning this way and that, drinking in her reflection like she'd just stepped off a runway.
"Lynda, you don't mind me borrowing your dress, do you?" she asked breezily. "I didn't pack anything else, and Dominick said it was fine."
Before I could answer, she'd already propped up her phone on a tripod, striking exaggerated poses like some wannabe influencer.
This wasn't just any dress—it was a one-of-a-kind designer piece, tailored to perfection with fabric that cost more than her entire wardrobe. Of course she'd been itching to get her hands on it.
Then I spotted a crumpled plastic bag behind the makeup counter. Inside were her ratty T-shirt and jeans.
"Angie, aren't these your clothes?" I tossed the bag at her feet, my tone leaving no room for debate.
She glanced down at her cheap outfit, her fingers lingering possessively over the delicate embroidery on my dress.
Just then, Dominick showed up—right on cue.
Angie's face lit up like she'd just spotted her knight in shining armor. She flung herself into his arms.
"Dominick, I don't know what I did wrong," she whimpered, her eyes already welling up. "Lynda's mad at me for wearing her dress."
Dominick frowned, gesturing to the rejects hanging on the rack. "Can't you just wear one of these?" he asked me.
Those were the dresses I'd tried and discarded—nothing compared to the custom gown.
"Why doesn't Angie wear those instead?" I crossed my arms. "This is my wedding. I'm not letting someone else parade around in my dream dress while I settle for scraps."
Angie buried her face in Dominick's shoulder, her voice trembling. "I'm so sorry. I didn't realize it was special to her. I'll take it off right now."
Her "apology" came with a performance—yanking at the buttons so hard they nearly tore loose. She was making damn sure I wouldn't get to wear it either.
Dominick murmured soothing words to her, his voice soft in a way I'd never heard before. With me, he was always polite but distant. I used to think he just wasn't emotional.
Now I knew better.
"Fine," I said flatly. "Let Angie keep the dress. I'll attend the reception like this." I plopped down on the sofa in my street clothes.
"Lynda." His patience was thinning. "You're the bride. What will people think?"
I almost laughed. So now he remembered that?
"Angie's just a kid. Don't take it personally," he said, his tone implying I was the unreasonable one. "If it helps, I'll apologize for her."
I stared at them, my mind drifting to the wedding gift my father had arranged.
Angie finally peeled off the ruined dress and snatched another standout piece from the rack. I dumped the mangled gown in the trash and changed into a simple blouse and trousers.
When I walked out, my father and the guests did double-takes.
"Mice got into the dress," I lied smoothly. "This is more comfortable anyway."
Angie trailed behind me, flushed with embarrassment but biting her tongue. Then her eyes locked onto a waiter carrying a steaming kettle, and a sly grin crept across her face.
I knew this move.
Sure enough, she filled a cup to the brim with scalding water and offered it to me with fake sweetness. "Lynda, I'm really sorry about earlier. Here."
Dominick nudged me, urging me to take it.
Last time, that "accidental" spill had left me with second-degree burns.
This time, I turned and strode toward my father's table—where billion-dollar CEOs sat chatting.
Angie had no choice but to follow, wincing as the boiling water sloshed onto her fingers.
Dominick's mom had been desperate to get her in front of these men, hoping one might take an interest.
I made introductions. "This is Angie, my husband's sister. She's studying art—future Picasso, right?" I kept refilling her cup, smiling sweetly as she burned her hands greeting every executive.
By the time she finished, her fingers were a mess of blisters.
Dominick looked like he wanted to strangle me, but what could he say? Not a damn thing.
She preened in front of the mirror, turning this way and that, drinking in her reflection like she'd just stepped off a runway.
"Lynda, you don't mind me borrowing your dress, do you?" she asked breezily. "I didn't pack anything else, and Dominick said it was fine."
Before I could answer, she'd already propped up her phone on a tripod, striking exaggerated poses like some wannabe influencer.
This wasn't just any dress—it was a one-of-a-kind designer piece, tailored to perfection with fabric that cost more than her entire wardrobe. Of course she'd been itching to get her hands on it.
Then I spotted a crumpled plastic bag behind the makeup counter. Inside were her ratty T-shirt and jeans.
"Angie, aren't these your clothes?" I tossed the bag at her feet, my tone leaving no room for debate.
She glanced down at her cheap outfit, her fingers lingering possessively over the delicate embroidery on my dress.
Just then, Dominick showed up—right on cue.
Angie's face lit up like she'd just spotted her knight in shining armor. She flung herself into his arms.
"Dominick, I don't know what I did wrong," she whimpered, her eyes already welling up. "Lynda's mad at me for wearing her dress."
Dominick frowned, gesturing to the rejects hanging on the rack. "Can't you just wear one of these?" he asked me.
Those were the dresses I'd tried and discarded—nothing compared to the custom gown.
"Why doesn't Angie wear those instead?" I crossed my arms. "This is my wedding. I'm not letting someone else parade around in my dream dress while I settle for scraps."
Angie buried her face in Dominick's shoulder, her voice trembling. "I'm so sorry. I didn't realize it was special to her. I'll take it off right now."
Her "apology" came with a performance—yanking at the buttons so hard they nearly tore loose. She was making damn sure I wouldn't get to wear it either.
Dominick murmured soothing words to her, his voice soft in a way I'd never heard before. With me, he was always polite but distant. I used to think he just wasn't emotional.
Now I knew better.
"Fine," I said flatly. "Let Angie keep the dress. I'll attend the reception like this." I plopped down on the sofa in my street clothes.
"Lynda." His patience was thinning. "You're the bride. What will people think?"
I almost laughed. So now he remembered that?
"Angie's just a kid. Don't take it personally," he said, his tone implying I was the unreasonable one. "If it helps, I'll apologize for her."
I stared at them, my mind drifting to the wedding gift my father had arranged.
Angie finally peeled off the ruined dress and snatched another standout piece from the rack. I dumped the mangled gown in the trash and changed into a simple blouse and trousers.
When I walked out, my father and the guests did double-takes.
"Mice got into the dress," I lied smoothly. "This is more comfortable anyway."
Angie trailed behind me, flushed with embarrassment but biting her tongue. Then her eyes locked onto a waiter carrying a steaming kettle, and a sly grin crept across her face.
I knew this move.
Sure enough, she filled a cup to the brim with scalding water and offered it to me with fake sweetness. "Lynda, I'm really sorry about earlier. Here."
Dominick nudged me, urging me to take it.
Last time, that "accidental" spill had left me with second-degree burns.
This time, I turned and strode toward my father's table—where billion-dollar CEOs sat chatting.
Angie had no choice but to follow, wincing as the boiling water sloshed onto her fingers.
Dominick's mom had been desperate to get her in front of these men, hoping one might take an interest.
I made introductions. "This is Angie, my husband's sister. She's studying art—future Picasso, right?" I kept refilling her cup, smiling sweetly as she burned her hands greeting every executive.
By the time she finished, her fingers were a mess of blisters.
Dominick looked like he wanted to strangle me, but what could he say? Not a damn thing.
End of I Died a Bride, I Woke Up a Vengeance Chapter 2. Continue reading Chapter 3 or return to I Died a Bride, I Woke Up a Vengeance book page.