"The veil is ready for another fitting," Serena announces. "Nadiyah has been working miracles."
As if summoned, the older woman appears from the back workroom. She carries the veil like an offering, its cascade of delicate lace catching the light and scattering it into a thousand tiny stars. The craftsmanship takes my breath away. Intricate pearl micro-beading placed with surgical expertise, the overall effect diaphanous and ethereal.
"It's even more beautiful than the last time I saw it," I say as she approaches. "Nadiyah, your work is exquisite."
She accepts the compliment with a neutral expression and the barest nod. No warmth softens her features. No smile acknowledges the praise.
I've tried for weeks to crack this woman's shell. Compliments about her craft. Questions about her time in Paris and the Gulf, her training, her inspirations. Friendly overtures that all seem to land like stones dropped into deep water, swallowed without ripple or response.
I tell myself it's generational. Cultural, maybe. Or perhaps she simply doesn't like me. Some people don't, and I suppose that's fair enough.
It shouldn't bother me. But it does, a little.
Nadiyah drapes the veil over my hair, her fingers deft and impersonal. In the mirror, I watch myself transform within thegown, the veil, the afternoon light gilding everything it touches. I look like a bride. I smooth my hands over the silk and lace and beadwork, marveling at how magical it all looks.
I let myself imagine walking toward Nick in this dress. The silk whispering against my thighs, the train trailing behind me, and Nick's eyes finding me through the crowd and holding. My skin warms beneath all this delicate fabric just picturing that moment. Every terrible thing we've weathered to get here fades against the thought of that walk to Nick. Of reaching him, and feeling his hand close around mine as we stand together and promise each other forever.
On the other side of the room, Kelsey's hand moves to her earpiece. A brief touch, checking in, ever vigilant. She catches my eye in the mirror and gives me a brief smile, mouthing the word, “Beautiful.”
"He must care for you very much."
I startle at Nadiyah's voice. She so rarely addresses me directly.
"To be so concerned for your safety," she continues, nodding vaguely in Kelsey’s direction, though her attention still on the veil, adjusting its placement. “You are quite a treasure to him.”
I try to catch her gaze in the mirror, but she doesn’t look up. "My fiancé worries too much," I say lightly. "I suppose that’s not a bad thing, though, right?"
She doesn't respond, but her mouth flattens into a half-smile. That small crack in her armor makes me determined to win her over one of these days. Her fingers make one final adjustment to the lace at my temple, and then she steps back, scrutinizing the piece with a frown.
“It’s perfect,” I assure her. “I love it. Thank you, Nadiyah.”
She says nothing, just indicates for me to step down off the platform so she can remove the veil. Once she’s carefully taken it off my head, she walks away with the piece in her arms.
Such a strange woman. But unquestionably talented, and the veil she’s created for me is genuinely stunning.
Yuki continues her work, circling me with quiet efficiency. The fitting is winding down now. She has her notes, Serena is satisfied with the progress, and the late afternoon light has shifted from gold to amber.
"We'll have the adjustments ready for your final fitting next week," Serena says, making a note on her tablet. "You're going to be a stunning bride, Avery."
“All thanks to you.” I smile, but something feels... off.
The studio is warmer than when I arrived. The afternoon sun through those tall windows, bodies moving through the confined space. The weight of silk and structure wrapped around my torso. I've been standing for over an hour. My feet ache in the wedding heels I brought with me to the fitting. Beautiful, delicate things. I teeter on them now, feeling slightly unsteady.
A faint lightheadedness whispers at the edges of my awareness. Nothing alarming. Just there. Like a hand waving at the periphery of my vision.
I haven't eaten since breakfast. Nick would scold me if he knew. He's taken meal timing very seriously since the ultrasound, watching me eat with the intensity he usually reserves for hostile takeovers and other difficult negotiations. But the fitting appointment threw off my routine, and nerves had stolen my appetite this morning.
That's all this is. Low blood sugar. The stifling warmth of the studio. Standing too long.
I’m sure I'll feel better once I'm off my feet.
"Let's get you out of this," Yuki says, already moving to unfasten the row of tiny buttons down my back. "We don't want to keep you standing longer than necessary."
I nod, grateful. The gown is beautiful, but it's also heavy. I'm ready to be in my own clothes again, to sit down and have a cup of cold water.
Yuki supports my elbow as I transition from the platform area to the dressing rooms, my heels adding complexity I don't need. Clara, the junior assistant, appears at my side to help guide the train.
The dressing room is small and private. Louvered door, soft lighting, a cushioned bench and brass hooks for clothes. Once inside, Serena’s team helps me out of the gown, Yuki working the buttons while Clara manages the skirt. In minutes, they depart with the dress hanging on its padded hanger, protected and perfect.
