Free Keeping Secrets in Seattle by Brooke Moss Page A

perfectly coiffed heads. And if they didn’t think I knew those were extensions, they were kidding themselves…
    My eyes locked with Alicia’s. “Gabe probably wanted to make sure you knew everything about his past with me, right from the get-go. He didn’t want you to think that he and I were trying to keep something from you. Because there was never anything…” I paused and gulped. “… real between us.”
    My fists clenched underneath the table. Lying about my relationship felt downright sacrilegious. “We were just…sixteen, and curious, I guess. It never meant anything.”
    Liar, liar, liar …the word echoed in my head like the beat of a drum.
    “It didn’t mean anything?” Rose repeated. She was perceptive for a model.
    “No.” I forced myself to laugh breezily. “Gabe’s my best friend. Nothing more.”
    Liar, liar, liar .
    “Well, I must admit, that’s a relief.” Alicia sighed. “You’ll have to excuse my friends for being protective. They’re just looking out for me.”
    I nodded, an image of my own overprotective roommates flashing through my thoughts. “I understand. I would do the same thing.”
    Liar, liar, liar.
    The other girls all nodded like nice, obedient bridesmaids, and I bit the insides of my cheeks. Alicia announced that it was time to go to the brunch buffet, so I followed the line of rail-thin women over to the food, trying to suck in my belly as I walked.
    I watched each of the girls walk right past the pastries, cheeses, and meats resting on silver platters, focusing on the fruit trays like flies on…well, shit. They all plucked through the selection of fruits carefully, choosing only small chunks of cantaloupe and pineapple, with an occasional grape thrown in for some color. I looked down at the rapidly growing pile of hearty food on my own plate and my face flushed. There was definitely a distinctive difference between the plates. Meaning…I wanted to eat, and they wanted to graze.
    When I returned to the table, the conversation while they nibbled on their “meals” ventured away from me and Gabe, and onto nailing down the look they all wanted to wear for their dresses. They clucked away, debating fabric, cut, and style suggestions, while I chowed down on my decadent food at the opposite end of the table.
    I listened distractedly while they discussed all the different ways one could be draped in silk. Alicia pulled out pictures of the different dress designs she was considering and passed them around, to which the girls started ooh-ingand aah-ing. I allowed myself to be dropped out of the conversation, sitting back in my seat and digging into my omelet—yolks included—wondering how these girls could afford to pay forty bucks for a buffet they’d only eaten one-sixteenth of.
    “How about you, Violet?” Alicia’s question cut into my thoughts.
    All four of the bridesmaids were now staring at me, waiting for me to agree with Alicia.
    I set my last slice of crispy bacon back on the plate. “Pardon?”
    Alicia slid a picture down the length of the table to me. “What do you think about wearing a simple black dress?”
    I held my breath. This was where the real Alicia was bound to come out. The resentment I’d picked up on from the first day I met her would drive her to pick out the least flattering dress out there. Alicia wouldn’t want anyone to outshine her on the big day.
    The picture hit my fingers, and I looked down. Surprise washed over me, and my mouth dropped open. The dress she’d picked out was beautiful. A vintage-inspired strapless tea-length, with a full skirt and a satin sash around the waist. It would complement my curves and looked like something I might have picked out myself.
    I was relieved that I wouldn’t be wearing a chicken suit, and that Alicia had picked the right dress for my figure. Did she always have to do everything right? No wonder Gabe was marrying her. She was freaking perfect.
    “That dress is great.” I slid the photograph