“Against the red and yellow tartan,” Evan said, “it’s going to look positively blinding.”
Imogen’s nostrils flared.
Her father sighed and poured himself more champagne from the bottle that sat next to him on a side table. “This dress needs to be perfect for my little girl,” he slurred. How much had he had to drink while we were helping Imogen dress?
“He’s right,” Imogen stated. “Make it darker. All the sun bleaching was too much.”
“It’s only a hair’s breath lighter,” I told her, holding up a fabric swatch and mentally cataloguing all the ways I was going to kill Evan.
“Should we try it with the veil?” I suggested, hoping to salvage the appointment.
“No. You have to redo it.”
“You ruined the dress,” Evan’s father added, “with your bleaching it. You need to make this right.” He slammed the empty champagne bottle on the side table for emphasis.
Brea looked like she was going to cry.
I didn’t like to play the you-asked-us-to-and-you-signed-off-on-it card, because I did not like to have a contentious relationship with my brides. However, Imogen and her father were being nasty to Brea, and I stood up for my friends no matter what. I was trying to formulate the most tactful way to say that we were not redoing the dress when Evan stood up, buttoning his suit jacket.
“Imogen, I’m paying for this wedding, and I’m paying for your dresses—this dress, and a reception dress, and, god help me, an after-party dress. What I am not paying for is a second ceremony dress. You have two options: Wear the reception dress for the ceremony, or wear this one. Brea will not be redoing this dress; it’s perfectly fine.”
“It’s not!” Imogen shrieked at her brother and stamped her feet. “You just don’t want me to have a happy wedding because you didn’t! You’re trying to ruin my big day out of spite.”
“Ivy, it appears that Imogen doesn’t want this dress,” Evan said to me. “Please box it up, and I will donate it to someone less fortunate. Let’s move on to the reception dress. Some of us actually have work to do today.”
Imogen started crying. “That’s not nice, Evan!”
“She’s just hungry,” Mika said as Imogen sank down on the podium to sob and bang her fists like a toddler. Mika pulled a pressed juice smoothie out of her bag, stuck a straw in it, and told Imogen, “Sip this. You’ll feel better.”
Imogen took two swallows as her mother dabbed her eyes.
“The dress looks stunning on you, Immie,” Mika exclaimed as Imogen stood back up. The bridezilla sniffed.
“Shall we try the accessories?” Brea offered, hurrying over with the long custom lace veil. I placed the diamond-studded tiara on the back of Imogen’s head, then we draped the veil over her shoulders.
“Look at my daughter!” her father boasted. “You look like a bride!”
“I do,” Imogen declared as she studied herself. “I’m going to be the best bride ever!”
* * *
Evan hungaround after Imogen had signed off on the ceremony dress, reception dress, and short after-party dress and Brea had taken her alterations notes and measurements.
“I thought you had to work,” I commented to him.
“I’m waiting for my thank you for saving the day,” Evan said. I glared at him. He grinned, and I rolled my eyes.
“Thanks for doing that. Brides get stressed—”
“Stop making excuses for her. Imogen acted like a child; it was embarrassing,” he argued, following me to the back as I took some of the accessories we had been using to the safe. It was a weekday morning, and the store wasn’t too busy yet.
“If you can make the corgi problem go away, then I’d really be thankful,” I told him as we passed the racks of dresses.
“She has her heart set on them,” Evan said in exasperation. “Mika has been calling around, trying to order puppies.”
“Please tell her not to. I’m hoping that we can just tell her we are very sorry, but we couldn’t find enough.”
“You and Mika both need to learn the word no,” Evan said. Then he looked around and pushed me back against the dresses and kissed me.
