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Contents (46)
  1. Come As You Are
  2. Lauren Blakely
  3. Copyright
  4. Also By Lauren Blakely
  5. About Come As You Are
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. 7
  13. 8
  14. 9
  15. 10
  16. 11
  17. 12
  18. 13
  19. 14
  20. 15
  21. 16
  22. 17
  23. 18
  24. 19
  25. 20
  26. 21
  27. 22
  28. 23
  29. 24
  30. 25
  31. 26
  32. 27
  33. 28
  34. 29
  35. 30
  36. 31
  37. 32
  38. 33
  39. 34
  40. 35
  41. 36
  42. Epilogue
  43. Another Epilogue
  44. Also by Lauren Blakely
  45. Acknowledgments
  46. Contact

I flinch.

Her front tooth is chipped. She points to it. “This,” she hisses. “This is your dress’s fault. I cracked a tooth.”

“On the dress?”

“On a walnut,” she says righteously. “But I eat walnuts every day and today a nut attacks my tooth. How else do you explain that? Coincidence? I think not. Your dress swirls with negative energy.”

No kidding. I swirl with negative energy. I’m surprised the store hasn’t swallowed us into a sinkhole.

Still, I’m not letting my dress take the fall for a broken chopper. “I don’t think it’s the fault of the dress,” I say, trying to reason with her.

Sasha thrusts her arm at me, pointing to the door. “Take it back, and don’t come here again. I can’t sell it to another bride. I couldn’t live with myself if something horrid happened because of that evil dress. Imagine some unlucky woman struck dead by lightning on her wedding night! And in her groom’s arms.”

I give Sasha a look. “Okay, let’s not be so dramatic. When was the last time a bride was hit by lightning on her wedding day? Just say you don’t want the dress. I get it.”

I grab the dress from her, and she recoils as if it’s burned her.

“You need a dress exorcism,” she says. “You need a ghost hunter to cleanse your dress of evil spirits.”

I wave her off. “I’m sure you have a cousin who’ll perform such a service for $159.99.”

Sasha shrugs. “I do. I come from a long line of ghost hunters.”

“Okay, I’m going. I’ll get my evil dress out of your store,” I say, turning my tone spooky before we get the hell out of Once More, land of the Looney Tunes shop owner.

Out on the sidewalk, fumes of frustration roll off me. “Can you believe that? Can you freaking believe that?”

Courtney frowns. “I’m sorry, sweets. I had no idea she was one of those dresses are cursed people.”

“Is that a thing now? To believe dresses are cursed? Maybe I’m cursed. No wedding, no job—maybe I’ll go home and find a crazy rabbit has tunneled through my place and my cousin is kicking me out of the last rent-controlled apartment in all of Manhattan.” I heave a sigh of irritation so gigantic it stretches to Brooklyn. “I can’t believe I can’t sell this freaking dress.”

“We can find another shop.”

I shake my head. “Nope. I made a promise to be done with this dress. If this dress is cursed, I’m not going to bring that kind of bad luck on another bride.”

“What are you going to do with it?”

The wheels turn so quickly in my head, they’re a blur.

But the answer is clear. So clear I can’t believe I didn’t see it sooner.

I don’t need to sell this dress. I need to sacrifice it.

A wicked grin forms on my face as I stand on Christopher Street in the Village, New Yorkers rushing past me and barking into phones, hailing cabs, and ordering Ubers.