I stand alone in my underwear, reaching for my blouse.
That’s when the wave hits.
Not subtle anymore. The lightheadedness surges, a tide pulling me under without warning. The room tilts. My vision blurs at the edges, the soft lighting smearing into something impressionist and wrong.
I grab for the wall. And miss. My shoulder connects with the louvered door and it rattles in its frame, loud in the small space, announcing my failure to anyone listening.
I catch myself—barely. One hand braced against the wall, the other gripping the door frame. My fingernails dig into painted wood.
My heart pounds against my ribs. Cold sweat prickles along my hairline, the back of my neck.
Breathe. Just breathe. Don't faint. Don't be sick. Not here, not now, not in front of everyone.
"Avery?" Kelsey's voice, sharp with concern, right outside the door. "Are you all right?"
I try to answer. My voice comes out thin, reedy, belonging to someone weaker than I want to be. "I'm fine, just—"
Another wave. My knees threaten to buckle and I lock them, refusing to go down.
The louvered door swings open.
Kelsey takes one look at me—pale, swaying, white-knuckled grip on the wall—and she's inside, her arm around my waist, steadying me with a strength that belies her lean frame.
"I've got you. Easy."
Professional. Calm. No panic in her voice, just competence. The competence of someone who's handled a lot worse than fainting. She helps me sit on the small bench. Keeps one hand on my shoulder, grounding, steady. Her presence is an anchor in a room that won't stop spinning.
“Is she okay?” Serena’s worried voice filters through my daze. “Is there anything I can do?”
Kelsey’s focus stays fixed on me as she replies. “Glass of water, please. Cool, damp cloth if you have one.”
“Of course.” Serena vanishes to carry out the request.
"Head between your knees if you need to, Avery,” Kelsey tells me. “Breathe slowly."
I obey because I don't have the strength to do anything else. The change of position helps. Blood returns to my head in a rush that makes my ears ring, but the worst of the dizziness ebbs. I'm left shaky and embarrassed, half-dressed and helpless in a dressing room the size of a large closet.
"I'm okay," I manage. "Just stood up too fast. The room was warm—"
"You're white as a sheet." Kelsey's voice is kind and calm, but allows no argument. "When did you last eat?"
I hesitate. She can probably guess the answer.
"That's what I thought."
Serena is there immediately. Water in a crystal glass, a cool cloth that she presses to my forehead with genuine concerncreasing her features. "Take your time. You’re not the first bride-to-be to faint in my studio. I just want to be sure you’re okay."
I manage a weak smile. "Just lightheaded. I'm sorry. I probably didn't eat enough this morning, that’s all."
Kelsey and Serena help me into my clothes. Blouse first, then the skirt I'd worn to the appointment. Their hands are steady where mine are trembling. I can't manage my own buttons, and I hate this. Hate being weak, hate being a problem, hate being the center of a scene I never asked to create.
"I'm fine," I say again. Trying to convince myself as much as anyone else.
Kelsey meets my gaze. “I think I should call an ambulance, just to be safe.”
“No.” I vigorously shake my head, which is a mistake. The wooziness threatens again, and I inhale a deep breath to hold it at bay. “I don’t want to cause a scene.” I lower my voice to a tight whisper. “The press will come, Kelsey…”
She gives me a dubious, yet sympathetic, look but doesn't argue. Now that I’m dressed, she guides me out to the larger fitting room with a hand at my elbow. “You need to sit and relax for a minute. Do you need more water?”
