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  Worse raised her eyebrows, but Wet escaped into the dressing rooms gladly, and when Min folded her arms and stared, Worse gave up and left, too.

  “What’s going on?” Min asked Diana, as the Dixie Chicks finished and Martina McBride began to sing the impossibly chipper “I Love You.”

  “Nothing,” Diana said, watching herself in the mirror. “Well, the cake, we’re having problems with the cake, but everything else is perfect.”

  “Is it Greg?” Min said, thinking, I wouldn’t want to marry a wimp no matter how cute and rich he was. If she ever got married, it’d be to somebody with edge, somebody who’d be tricky and fast and interesting forever—

  “Greg is perfect,” Diana said, fluffing the ruffles that somehow made her hips looks slimmer.

  “Oh, good,” Min said. “What about the cake?”

  “The cake . . .” Diana cleared her throat. “The cake didn’t get ordered in time.”

  “I thought Greg knew this great baker,” Min said.

  “He does,” Diana said. “But he . . . forgot, and now it’s too late, so I have to find a new baker.”

  “Who can do a huge art cake for three weeks from now?”

  “It’s not Greg’s fault,” Diana said. “You know men. They’re not dependable on stuff like that. It was my fault for not checking.”

  “Not all men are undependable,” Min said. “I met a real beast last night, but he’d have gotten that cake.”

  “Well, Greg isn’t a beast,” Diana said. “I’d rather have a good man who forgets cakes than a beast who remembers them.”

  “Good point,” Min said. “Look, I’ll find you a cake. It’s the least I can do to make up for my screwups.”

  Diana gave up on her ruffles and turned around. “What’s wrong? You’re not a screwup. What’s the matter?”

  “I lost David, and I’m too fat for this corset thing,” Min said, holding up the ribbon ends.

  “You’re not fat,” Diana said, but she stepped down off the platform. “They probably sent the wrong size. Let me see.”

  Min untied the corset and handed it over and then watched as Diana flipped it inside out with expert hands.

  “What happened with David?” Diana said as she frowned at the tag.

  “I wouldn’t sleep with him so he left.”

  “What a dumbass.” Diana looked up, mystified. “You know, this is an eight, it should fit.”

  “In what universe?” Min said, outraged. “I wasn’t an eight at birth. Who ordered this thing?”

  “I did,” Nanette said from behind her. “I assumed you’d be losing weight for your sister’s wedding. You’re still on your diet, aren’t you?”

  “Yes,” Min said, biting the word off as she turned to face her mother. “But let’s be realistic here. You bought a blouse that fit.” She looked down to where the tiny buttons stood at attention as they crossed her bustline. “Sort of. Why not—”

  “You’ve had a year,” her mother said, clutching a lot of lace from the lingerie department. “I thought the corset could cinch you in if you missed your target by a few pounds, but you’ve had plenty of time to lose that weight.”

  Min took a deep breath and popped the button on her skirt. “Look, Mother, I am never going to be thin. I’m Norwegian. If you wanted a thin daughter, you should not have married a man whose female ancestors carried cows home from the pasture.”

  “You’re half Norwegian,” Nanette said, “which is no excuse at all because there are plenty of slim Nordic beauties. You’re just eating to rebel against me.”

  “Mother, sometimes it’s not about you,” Min snapped as she held her skirt together. “Sometimes it’s genetics.”

  “Not your loud voice, dear,” her mother said, and turned to Diana as she held up the corset. “We’ll just have to tie it tighter.”

  “Good idea,” Min said. “Then when I pass out at the altar, you can point out how slim and Nordic I am.”

  “Minerva, this is your sister’s wedding,” Nanette said. “You can sacrifice a little.”

  “It’s okay, it’s okay,” Diana said, holding out her hands. “There’s time to have one made in Min’s size. Everything will be fine.”

  “Oh, good.” Min stepped up on the platform to look at herself in the trifold mirror. She looked like the blowsy barmaid who worked in the inn behind the castle, the one who’d trash-picked one of the princess’s castoffs. “This is so not me.”

  “It’s a great color for you, Min,” Diana said softly as she came to stand behind her on the platform, and Min leaned back so their shoulders touched.

  “You’re going to be the most amazing bride,” she told Diana. “People are going to gasp when they see you.”

  “You, too,” Diana said, and squeezed Min’s shoulder.

  Yeah, when my corset explodes and my breasts hit the minister.

  “What happened to your eye?” Diana said in Min’s ear, low enough so that Nanette couldn’t hear.

  “The beast hit me last night,” Min said, and then when Diana straightened she added, “I walked into his elbow. Not his fault.”

  “That’s the wrong bra for that dress,” Nanette said from behind them.

  “You’re not by any chance my stepmother, are you?” Min said to her mother’s reflection. “Because that would explain so much.”

  “Here, darling,” Nanette said and handed her five different colored lace bras. “Go in there and put one of these on and bring me that cotton thing. I’m going to burn it.”

  “What cotton thing?” Diana said.

  “I’m wearing a plain white bra,” Min told her as she stepped off the platform, her hands full of lace.

  Diana widened her eyes and looked prim. “Well, you’re going to hell.”

  “Diana,” Nanette said.

  “I know,” Min said as she headed for the dressing room. “That’s where all the best men are.”

  “Minerva,” Nanette said. “Where are you going?”

  “It’s Thursday,” Min said, over her shoulder. “I’m meeting Liza and Bonnie for dinner, and I don’t want to talk about my underwear anymore.” She stopped in the doorway to the dressing room. “Order the bigger corset—much bigger, Mother—and we’ll try this again when it comes in.”

  “No carbs,” her mother called after her as she went into the dressing room. “And no butter”

  “I know you stole me from my real parents,” Min called back. “They’d let me eat butter.” Then she shut the door behind her before Nanette could tell her to avoid sugar, too.

  Chapter Four

  When Cal got home from work, he flipped on the white overhead light, kicked off his shoes, and went into the white galley kitchen behind the white breakfast bar to pour himself a Glenlivet. Even as he poured, Elvis Costello blared out in the next apartment, reverberating “She” through the wall.

  “Oh, Christ,” Cal said, and put his glass on his forehead. Shanna’s rocky romance must have crashed. He tossed back the drink and went to pound on her door.

  When Shanna opened the door, her pretty face was tear-stained under her tangled mop of soft kinky hair. “Hi, Cal,” she said and sniffed. “Come on in.”

  He followed her into the Technicolor version of his apartment, wincing until she’d turned Elvis down to a reasonable volume. “Tell me about it.”

  “It was awful,” she said, going to her bright red bookcase and moving aside a madly colored tiki god doll to get the bottle of Glenlivet she kept for him.

  “I just had one,” he said, warding her off.

  “I thought this was it.” Shanna put the tiki back and changed course to the big old couch she’d covered with a purple Indian bedspread. “I thought it was forever.”

  “You always think it’s forever.” Cal sat down beside her and put his arm around her. “Who was it this time? I lost track.”

  “Megan,” Shanna said, her face crumpling again.

  “Right.” Cal put his feet on the ancient trunk she used for a coffee table. “