"Where the reception's being held, yes," Nadine cut in quickly.
They followed the receptionist through another sliding door into the relaxation lounge, a sun-drenched room overlooking a private garden where early spring crocuses pushed through the warming soil. Low couches upholstered in natural linen faced the view, small tables between them holding stone bowls of sea salt and dried lavender.
A young attendant approached with a tray bearing frosted glass pitchers and delicate ceramic cups. The water sparkled in the afternoon light, thin slices of cucumber and sprigs of fresh mint floating among ice cubes.
"Here's to Jess's last few days of freedom," Megan said, raising her glass in a toast. "May her marriage be as refreshing as this cucumber water."
"And substantially longer-lasting, I hope,” Sloane quipped with a wry smile, clinking her glass against Megan's.
Nadine joined the toast, but her smile seemed pinned in place, her eyes continually darting to the door. Beneath her robe, her leg had begun a subtle jiggle - another tell that Sloane catalogued silently.
"So what exactly are we doing tonight?" Megan asked, settling deeper into her cushions.
"Nothing wild," Nadine assured them, visibly grateful for the change of subject. "Jess specifically requested no phallic paraphernalia or embarrassing public displays." She reached for her ever-present tote bag and withdrew a slim leather portfolio. “Dinner at The Wauwinet, then drinks and dancing down at The Chicken Box."
"You really are a whizz at this stuff," Megan marveled, peering over her shoulder at the meticulous plans.
"That's what I do," Nadine replied, a hint of something almost defensive in her tone. Her fingers straightened the already-straight pages with unnecessary precision.
"Sorry I'm late!" Jess's breathless voice interrupted their conversation as she hurried into the relaxation lounge, her cheeks flushed and hair slightly windblown.
Nadine's tension visibly spiked at Jess's appearance, though she quickly masked it with an efficiency so smooth it almost looked natural. “Good timing. They're just about to call us in.”
An attendant appeared in the doorway, saving Jess from further questioning. "Ladies, your treatment rooms are ready. If you'll follow me?"
As they rose to follow, Sloane hung back slightly, watching the subtle dynamics unfold - Nadine's tight-shouldered stride, the way she positioned herself protectively beside Jess; Jess's distracted gaze that seemed to be seeing something far beyond the spa walls; Megan's cheerful obliviousness to the undercurrents swirling around her.
25
Afternoon light filteredthrough Sea Glass Bridal's front windows, casting prisms across the hardwood floor where Caroline had spread her documents at Ellen’s request when she awoke from her nap.
The pale green glow transformed the rows of ivory gowns into ghostly sentinels, witnesses to the conversation that wouldn't be postponed any longer. She straightened a column of figures with precise fingers, her professional armor firmly in place despite the emotion threatening to crack its surface.
Three days of analysis had confirmed what she'd suspected from the start - the numbers told a clear story, one that offered little comfort to either her or her aunt.
The floorboards creaked above her head - Ellen moving from her bedroom to the staircase, preparing to descend.
The staircase door opened, and her aunt appeared, one hand still gripping the railing with knuckles gone white from effort. She wore a simple linen dress in pale blue, belted at her too-thin waist, a cardigan draped over her shoulders despite the spring warmth. Her silver hair had been arranged in its usualneat twist, and she'd applied a touch of lipstick - small dignities maintained against her body's betrayal.
"You're supposed to be resting," Caroline chided, unable to keep the worry from her voice.
“I've already rested enough to last a lifetime," Ellen replied, making her careful way down the final steps. "And we have business to discuss."
Caroline hurried to her aunt's side, offering an arm that Ellen accepted with visible reluctance. Even this small concession to weakness spoke volumes about how she truly felt. Together, they moved toward the vintage settee in the shop's fitting area, where a few scattered pillows offered more comfort than the wooden chairs at the counter.
"I could have come upstairs," Caroline said gesturing to the desk, as Ellen lowered herself onto the settee with deliberate control. “With the papers.”
"This isn't just about papers though." Ellen's gaze swept across the shop - the racks of carefully preserved gowns, the wall of photographs chronicling decades of brides, the glass cabinet of vintage accessories that gleamed in the filtered light.
Caroline nodded, understanding. She gathered Ellen’s ledgers with her own documents, and brought them to the small table beside the settee, then sat in the adjacent armchair. For a moment, neither spoke. The ship's clock on the wall ticked steadily, marking the passage of time in a shop that had often seemed to exist outside of it.
"Your color's better this afternoon,” Caroline offered, studying her aunt's face. It wasn't entirely true - Ellen remained pale, the skin beneath her eyes bruised with exhaustion - but there was a clarity in her gaze that had been missing on her return that morning.
"Amazing what sleeping in your own bed can do," Ellen replied with a small smile. Her hands, thin but steady, smoothedthe fabric of her dress. "Now then. Enough idle chit-chat. What have you found?"
Caroline hesitated, suddenly reluctant to deliver the final verdict. In Chicago, she would have presented her findings with clinical detachment - clean, precise, focused on solutions rather than sentiment. But here, surrounded by Ellen's life's work, and understanding how much it meant to her, such detachment felt impossible.
"The financial picture is..." she began, then paused, searching for a gentle framing.
