Owner. Not associate, not consultant. The owner of the whole shop is handling my appointment personally?
I shoot my mom a look. She looks just as confused as I am. But when I glance at Matteo’s mom, she’s serene as a Buddha, like VIP treatment at bridal boutiques is just how things work in her world.
Which, now that I think about it, it probably is.
Celeste guides us toward the back, chattering about fabrics and silhouettes, and that’s when I realize something weird. The shop is empty. Not just quiet. Completely, utterly empty. No other brides flipping through racks. No stressed-out mothers clutching tissues. No one but us.
“Are we the only people here?” I ask.
“Of course, dear. You’re a priority client.” Celeste says this like it should be obvious. “I’ve cleared my entire afternoon for you.”
My cousin Audrey’s eyebrows shoot up. “Priority client?”
“The whole afternoon?” Harper adds, and there’s something in her voice that makes me glance over. A tightness around her mouth. “It’s just one dress for a small ceremony. No bridesmaids or anything.”
Ah. There it is. Harper’s been a little off since I told everyone about the wedding plans. She’d expected to be a bridesmaid, andhonestly, she would be if things were different. If I were having a real wedding with all the trimmings instead of a forty-person ceremony that’s technically a trap for my psycho ex-boyfriend.
But I can’t explain that, so I just offered her an apologetic smile when I broke the news, and she said she understood, and neither of us has brought it up since. The wound is still fresh, though. I can tell.
“I wanted to make sure there was plenty of time,” Celeste says smoothly, “to find exactly the right dress for Miss Dixon. These things can’t be rushed.”
She says my name with a little extra emphasis, and I catch her glancing at me like she’s checking to make sure I’m properly appreciating the treatment I’m receiving. Which tells me everything I need to know about how this unexpectedly private appointment came to be.
Matteo.
He didn’t say a single word about this when I told him about the appointment. Didn’t hint that he’d done anything special, didn’t wait around for a thank you. He just quietly made sure I’d be taken care of, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
The man is more thoughtful than he gives himself credit for.
Celeste deposits us in a sitting area with velvet couches arranged in a semicircle, facing a raised platform and a tri-fold mirror. Very dramatic. Very “say yes to the dress.” An assistant appears with champagne on a silver tray, and everyone takes a glass except Sarah, who pats her baby bump apologetically, and Ma, who declines with a polite shake of her head.
I take a very generous sip of mine.
“Now,” Celeste says, turning to me with an eager gleam in her eye, “tell me about your vision. What kind of dress do you see yourself in?”
I open my mouth. Close it. Open it again.
“I have absolutely no idea,” I admit.
Most people would be annoyed by this. Celeste looks delighted.
“Oh, wonderful. A blank canvas! I’ll pull some options and we’ll discover your style together.”
She disappears into the racks with the kind of enthusiasm usually reserved for treasure hunters, and I’m left with my champagne and my family and the growing realization that I’m about to try on dresses. For my wedding. Which is happening in less than two weeks.
When did my life get so weird?
“You okay, honey?” Mom asks, studying my face.
“Fine.” I take another sip. “Just processing.”
“It is a lot. And it is fast.” She reaches over to squeeze my hand. “But it’s exciting, too. My baby, getting married.”
Her eyes are already going soft and misty, and we haven’t even started yet. I have a feeling I’m going to be drowning in maternal emotions by the end of this appointment.
“So,” Audrey says, swirling her champagne, “what’s everyone’s wedding dress story?”
My mother laughs. “Oh, mine is not glamorous. Your uncle and I were broke when we got married. I borrowed my dress from my cousin Patty.”
