“That’s one of Rafael’s, isn’t it?” Debra asked.
“Yes! That’s the third thing. I was wandering around the store looking for dresses that didn’t look like they would be featured on The Housewives of Privilege and Pretentiousness and started chatting with Rafael—he’s the in-house designer—and we started talking about you and what you like and he went into his workroom, came back with this dress and said, ‘This is her dress.’ ”
She held it in front of her body.
With a sweetheart neckline, the bodice of the dress was overlaid with delicate Chantilly lace and crystal beading. The illusion sleeves ended at the elbow and also had Chantilly lace at the shoulders and hem. An ice-blue tulle overskirt kept the satin A-line skirt from being too simple.
Rowan gently ran a finger over the lace. “It’s beautiful.”
Claudia’s face lit up. “Put it on,” she said excitedly.
Debra took the dress from her and removed it from the hangar. She gathered it up and slipped it over Rowan’s head. It was almost a perfect fit—too tight around the ribs, but a little loose in the waist. Debra clipped the dress in the back to show how it would look once properly fitted.
Rowan examined herself in the mirror, starting at the bottom of the skirt and working her way up to the neckline.
This was the dress. Classic and elegant without being over the top or ostentatious. She felt like a princess. This was the dress she would wear in a little more than four weeks when she walked down the aisle toward Michael and the rest of her life. She met her own gaze in the mirror and the next fifty years flashed before her eyes.
Kids, a house, a dog. A freaking minivan. School sports and parent-teacher conferences. Graduation and sending them off to college. She pictured all of this in her mind, but the one thing she couldn’t see—the one person she couldn’t see—was Michael. If she couldn’t see Michael in her future, was she making the right decision?
When she’d been younger and had imagined her future, it had always been Luke. Funny enough, she had a hard time seeing him in the montage of her life. Not the superstar country singer Luke of today. Whenever she’d dreamed of her future, it had always been with the Luke of six years ago. Easygoing, always quick to make her smile, guitar-playing, Luke.
Now there was a void—a vague shape of a man, but it was like in a dream where she couldn’t see the face of the person in front of her.
She wasn’t sure if the blood was rushing to her head or pooling in her feet. Either way, she was light-headed and spots formed in her vision.
“Hey. Rowan. Breathe.” Claudia’s hand in the middle of her back snapped her out of her reverie and she inhaled sharply.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes,” she said quickly. “Yes. It’s beautiful.” She tried to blink away the tears that inexplicably formed.
“It’s perfect,” Debra said. “I always know it’s the right dress when the bride-to-be cries.”
The dress was perfect and it was definitely the dress she was going to be married in. But she’d never been the kind of person who cried over pretty things.
