I follow her to a parlor room converted into an impromptu fitting room.
She unzips bag after bag.
Lace, satin, silk, beading, tulle, column gowns, ball gowns, mermaid cuts.
I can’t even keep up.
Fabric is everywhere.
My heart hammers, throat raw.
“I don’t—” My voice breaks. “I don’t even know what I’m doing.”
The woman gives me a small, sympathetic smile as she helps me step into a gown. “You’re finding the perfect dress.”
“I don’t want to.”
Her expression dims. “Some weddings aren’t about want, honey. They’re about need.”
The room tilts.
I think I might pass out.
A mirror sits in front of me, and I find myself staring at my reflection.
White lace hugs my body, but my face is pale. I look like a ghost.
More like a sacrifice.
“I can’t do this,” I whisper.
In the blink of an eye, I’m naked again, and then it’s a different dress, and another fitting. Another reflection I don’t recognize.
My mother appears behind me. “This will do.”
I glare at her through the mirror.
Her jaw tightens. “You have to do this.”
“No.” My voice trembles. “I don’t.”
“Yes. You do.”
I turn to face her fully, ready to scream, to unleash everything I’m holding inside . . .
“Breathe.”
I try.
I fail.
But I follow her out anyway, because everything is moving whether I want it to or not.
Because the wedding is happening. This engagement is real.
And somehow, I’m yet again the pawn.
31
