Mark (Next Generation Carter Brother #9)

CHAPTER TWELVE

Freya

I stand in front of the mirror, tears threatening to ruin the makeup I’ve just spent the past thirty minutes painstakingly applying. I always thought the chatter around bridesmaids’ dresses being ugly was a myth. I never believed a bride would truly want to have them in their pictures.

But as I stand in front of the mirror, staring at the unflattering gown I’m being forced to wear, I know it’s not a myth. It’s a cruel punishment. The burnt orange dress is two sizes too small around my bust and even tighter at the thigh. The thick material clings to my skin from my chest to my knees. To walk, I will need to shuffle or be wheeled out on a bed or a crate. The material flares at the bottom, and if I look at it from the side, it looks like I have clown feet.

The heavy material and the long sleeves have already caused sweat patches to form beneath my breasts and under my armpits. The material has darkened in those areas so there is no mistaking it.

This dress was made for winter… or maybe even Halloween. No matter how I do my hair or how much makeup I apply, nothing will make this dress look okay. Not one thing. I even tried accessorising it with jewellery, which just made me feel frumpier.

A knock on my door pulls me from my pity party. “Go away!” I call out.

There is no way I’m going to this wedding dressed like a burnt orange.

“Are you not going to the wedding?” Mark calls through the door.

“Go away, Mark.”

“I like my life. If I go back up to the others, Hayden will know I didn’t take you to the wedding and Aiden will wait until the boat leaves port to throw me overboard. I’m not leaving without you, so you might as well come out.”

I shuffle over to the door, pulling it open with more force than I intended. “Why don’t you ever listen?”

“What the fuck are you wearing?” he asks, his nose scrunched up in distaste as he eyes me up and down. “Please tell me this is a joke.”

“This is the bridesmaid dress,” I growl, running my hand down the material. “I wish it was a joke.”

He pushes me inside, not knowing I can’t walk in the damn thing, and I go tumbling over, my body straight as a board as I go down. “Fuck!”

He catches me before I can land on the floor. “You dickhead. I can’t fucking move in this!” He starts laughing as he helps me up, my body still ramrod straight. “It’s not funny.”

“It’s pretty funny,” he teases, and bursts out laughing when I shove my hair from my face.

“Stop fucking laughing,” I demand, my voice choking on my words as emotion clogs my throat.

This is what I imagine rock bottom is.

There he is, in his white crisp shirt, beige shorts, and I’m in… I’m in a torture device. I feel humiliated in the worst possible way, and I know this is what Esther wanted. She wanted me to stand out and feel like a joke. This is worse than the time I started my period and all I had with me was a pad. I had been wearing shorts over a thong at the time, and when the pad came loose, hanging out of my shorts, I about died of embarrassment. We were at Glastonbury, so the only two pros about the whole thing was that nearly everyone was off their face, and I would never see them again.

“You aren’t wearing that,” Mark tells me.

“I don’t think I have a choice,” I grumble.

He cups my cheek, the touch gentle and caring, taking me by surprise. “She wants you to look like a fruit loop. The question is, are you going to give her one more thing she doesn’t deserve?”

My shoulders drop because he’s right. I hate that he is too. “No. But I don’t see how I can go dressed in something else without it causing an argument.”

“Tell her it was ripped,” he declares.

“But it’s no—” He tugs the sleeve, tearing it from my shoulder.

“Now it is.”

“Mark,” I cry, my eyes widening.

“Now go get into something that’s not going to cut off your circulation or make you look like you’re holding in a shit when you walk.”

“Okay.” I nod, unmoving.

His lips twitch, his hazel eyes crinkling in the corners. “You can’t get it off, can you?”

I shake my head, wincing. “No. I don’t even know how I managed to get it on,” I moan.

He grins and closes the door before making his way further into the room, standing behind me. “You owe me a shit ton of alcohol for this.” His fingers brush against my flesh as he undoes my zipper. “And there had better be cake.”

“Isn’t there always cake at a wedding?” I whisper as goose-bumps break across my flesh.

“As long as there is, I should be good,” he replies. “There, all done. Do you have something else to wear?”

“Thanks to you, yes I do,” I tease, and glance at him over my shoulder, enjoying his scowl. “Turn around. I need to get out of this dress.”

He freezes for a moment before spinning around. For some reason, I don’t feel uncomfortable around him. I may not know everything there is to know about him, but I do know he’s not someone I should be wary of. Mark and his family are too bluntly spoken and honest for me to be wary.

“It’s not like I haven’t seen a woman in her underwear before,” he grumbles.

“Okay, stud,” I reply, sliding the dress off my body. I kick it to the side and reach for the dress hanging in the thin wardrobe. The dark blue, floor-length silk dress slides over my body as I pull it on. The split running up my thigh shows off my new tan. Since the dress has thin straps zig-zagging across my back, I’m glad I opted to wear my bra with clear straps when I got dressed this morning. I had planned to wear it with my tank top that has no back, but that now lies at the bottom of the ocean.

I switch to normal sandals, tying the straps around my ankles. I glance in the mirror, happy the white goes with the blue dress.

“By the way, thank you for the fans,” Mark tells me. “I gave them to Lily this morning and she asked me to pass on her sincere gratitude. Jaxon too.”

Last night, after the tension between us became too much, I ran by the little store they have on one of the main floors on my way back to my cabin. I noticed the clip fans next to the till. I bought three after hearing Mark and his parents talk about Lily’s concerns. Although the baby is seven months old, she is still too young to regulate her own heat. I left a note attached to the bag I tied around his door handle, explaining who they were for, and to make sure the clip-on fan is on swivel and not directly aimed at the baby. Then told them not to use them inside, only outside.

“You’re very welcome. I hope they help,” I reply softly. “You can turn around now.”

His eyes widen as he runs an appreciative gaze over my body. All of a sudden, the room begins to feel constricted, too small with the tension pulsing between us.

You don’t like him , I remind myself.

He clears his throat. “You look good.”

Good?

I look fucking amazing .

Instead of being insulted, I reply. “Thank you. You scrub up well too.”

He smirks. “You should see me in a suit.”

My throat feels dry at his comment because I can picture him in a suit. I can imagine how gorgeous he would look too. But nothing will ever beat him coming out of the pool. God, I had to clench my thighs together when I saw his muscles.

I lick my lips. “We should get going. They’ll be waiting for us.”

“It’s a ten-minute walk down to the beach, right?” he asks, as I grab my small clutch. I want to call Summer before we come back to the boat.

“Yes. Mum has a car waiting for us at the dock though. Why they hired limos for such a short journey is beyond me.”

He holds open the door, gesturing for me to leave. “The party is back on the boat though, isn’t it? We walked past the ballroom earlier and noticed a wedding set up.”

I roll my eyes. “Did you see Esther bossing staff around like she’s the one who hired them?”

“No, but I did see her arguing with a hairstylist about not turning up to see one of the wedding guests,” he admits as we make our way to the exit, which happens to be on the floor below us.

“That would be about me. If she had got her way, my hair would be a static mess right now. Not many hairdressers are equipped to style my texture of hair.”

He tugs on one of the curls. “I like it like this,” he states. “It’s longer.”

“Thanks,” I reply.

I straightened it before I went to bed last night, and then this morning, I curled it with my straighteners. I used bobby pins to keep it out of my face, which took more effort than curling it.

Mum and Esther are standing at the bottom of the ramp. Esther’s dress is beautiful. Thin straps, tight bodice that clings in the right places, and it sweeps down to the floor. She looks beautiful. Her thick hair is in a bun low on her nape. A pin with diamonds holds up her veil. Her dress… my god, it’s spectacular. I’ve never seen her wear anything this gorgeous. She’s breath-taking.

Her best friend, Diana, the matron of honour, stands next to her. Her dress is simple, a lighter colour of the one now lying on my floor. The material and straps are thin and light. Our cousin Sophie wears a similar one, but her straps tie around her neck. Both look how I pictured they would look. Stunning.

“That dress was definitely a set up,” Mark growls.

“Where is your dress?” Mother screeches, racing to meet us on the ramp. She has a three-piece suit on, the colour a soft orange. She tilts her head, and now her large, matching hat is no longer blocking her face, I can see her annoyance.

“It ripped,” I reply.

“It ripped?” Esther bites out. “You did something to it. You just couldn’t let me have my day, could you?”

“The dress was ugly,” Mark spits out. “And not to mention dangerous. It was too tight and the material was way too thick. She would have fainted from wearing it in this heat. The rip did your sister a favour.”

“It was too tight?” Mum asks, then glances at Esther. “Why was the material thick?”

“I didn’t know she had put so much weight on. That’s not my fault,” she rebuffs. “And I wanted her dress to be different as my maid of honour.”

“You have a matron of honour who has been a lot more involved, who is wearing something more suitable,” I point out.

“Well, you can’t stand up there with them now,” Mum grouches. “You’ll look odd against all the other bridesmaids’ dresses.”

“She would have stood out in that dress a lot more,” Mark politely replies. “There was no blending in with it.”

“I’ll sit with Mark if it’s an issue. It’s not a problem,” I reply.

Mark slips his fingers through mine. I should tense, pull back, but I find myself squeezing my fingers around his. “I’m good with that.”

“No. No, no, no,” Esther cries, and some of the petals from her bouquet fall to the ground. “You will not ruin any more of this day for me. You can stand right next to me.”

I shrug. “Okay.”

“Let’s all get in the cars. We are going to be late,” Mother scolds.

A cunning look passes over Esther’s expression. “I’m worried we’ll all be cramped in the limo and I want the ride to be relaxing. You and your friend can go in the cart,” she offers sweetly.

I glance over her shoulder, seeing the cart in question. “Okay,” I agree. She wants me to fight back. She wants the scene and the drama. And she won’t get it from me. I hand over the jewellery box I pull from my bag. “I bought you this to wear, but you don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

She takes the box, but it’s Mum who speaks. “That is so lovely of you.”

“I don’t want to wear a bracelet. It will make my wrist go green,” Esther admits, closing the lid.

I shrug off the cheap comment. “That’s fine. You look beautiful as you are.”

“Either way, the gesture is sweet. Isn’t it, Esther?” Mum remarks.

“We are going to be late,” she responds, making her way down the ramp to the limo.

Mark and I head for the cart, both of us taking a seat at the back.

“Is she really going to make you stand up there whilst they exchange vows?” he asks when we begin to move.

I watch the driver in the limo as I answer, needing to focus on something. “Oh yeah. She wants me to get a front row seat.”

“This shit is messed up,” he grouches. “I don’t even know any of you and it’s making me uncomfortable.”

I laugh. “You should come for Christmas or birthdays. Those are a treat.”

“And I thought my family were nuts.”

“Your family is definitely on the crazy scale. Your dad has offered my nan a house close to them.”

He shrugs like it’s nothing. “He rents houses out,” he explains.

I arch a brow. “For free?”

He chuckles. “She’s made an impression. Before I left the party last night, they were all still on deck listening to her stories.”

All of the Carters have expressed their love for my nan. But it’s not one way. She feels like she’s met her tribe, the family she was meant to be born with, in them. And when I went into her cabin this morning, she was hinting she wouldn’t settle for anything other than me marrying one of them. I don’t even think she cares which one as long as they become family.

“Sounds like my nan,” I muse.

The rest of the drive is quiet, and I take in the beautiful scenery that we pass. I’m gutted I’ll only get to spend time on the beach during the ceremony. Since we depart this evening, setting off to the next island, I won’t get a chance to explore. The water is crystal blue and looks inviting.

When we reach our destination, Mark jumps down before the cart fully comes to a stop. His gaze is on my thigh poking out from my dress as he reaches for me. He doesn’t take my hand. Instead, he grabs me around the hips, lifting me off the seat before placing me on the ground. My hands on his shoulders clench. I hadn’t expected him to manhandle me.

“You didn’t have to manhandle me,” I grumble, meeting his gaze.

His hands still around my waist, he replies, “No. I didn’t.”

What does that mean?

I’ve come to learn something during this getaway. I don’t want him to be nice. I don’t want to keep reading into his touches or comments. It comes across flirty. And it’s knocking me off my axis. It’s easier to be around him if he’s the cat-stealing, grumpy neighbour who likes to steal my food.

I don’t want to get to know him more. Because I’m starting to like him. And that can’t happen.

“You really need to stop being so nice.”

The corners of his lips tug up in a smirk. “Why? Is it making you uncomfortable?”

I nod. “Extremely.”

“Will it help if I tell you I still think you’re annoying?”

I tilt my head to the side. “You thought I was annoying?”

“You did keep accusing me of shit I didn’t do, and you did keep trying to get into my home.”

My eyes narrow. Forget what I said earlier, I’m not starting to like him. It’s the heat. It must be the heat. “But you did steal my cat and my doormat. As for breaking into your home, you wish that’s what happened.”

He leans down, his pupils dilating. “Babe, if I knew how good you looked in a bikini, and in this dress, I would have let you into my home. There’d be no need for sneaking.”

“You are such a jerk,” I snap, lightly pressing my fists against his hard abs.

“Why are you dawdling?” my mother snaps, ushering Mark away. “Go find a seat if you insist on accompanying my daughter.”

He grins as he steps back, his gaze still on me. “See you soon, pookie.”

“Go get your seat, peanut,” I fire back.

“Go,” Mother orders, shooing him away before spinning around to face me. “Today is going to be a good day. I am grateful to you for doing this. I know it’s not easy for you. But your strength has always amazed me.”

“Why is everyone being so damn nice to me today?” I argue. “Whatever you are drinking, give some to Esther.”

“I’m always nice to you,” Mum remarks, taken aback.

I can see by the way her brows pinch together that she’s truly confused by my remark. “No, Mum, you really aren’t. But you don’t need to worry. I’m happy for Esther. I’m so excited to be here.”

“Could you repeat that but with a little emotion in your expression?” she pleads, arching a brow.

I huff out a breath. “I’ve got this,” I assure her, and paste on the biggest smile until my cheeks hurt.

“Yeah, maybe not that much,” she mutters. “Now go. You are leading the bridesmaids. Stand next to where Esther will be, and the rest of the bridesmaids will stand behind you.”

“Can I be last?” I plead.

“No, now go!”

She shoves me towards the white carpet placed on the sand, and I can’t help but be grateful Hayden blackmailed me and Mark to get him to come with me. If he hadn’t ripped that dress, I would be knocked out right now because I wouldn’t have survived that shove.

I take in a breath, composing myself, before making my way down the aisle.

I can do this.

I can.