ONE
CLARA
Well,Phil was dead. Again.
There was something about staring at that pathetic little houseplant that made me want to burst into a fit of the giggles ... or maybe it was tears. I couldn’t quite tell.
When was the last time I watered Phil?
That could have been my first clue as to why I struggled to keep a houseplant alive ... even the ones the tag claimed were unkillable.
January snow fell outside my window in thick, heavy clumps. This side of the apartment hadn’t seen daylight in what felt like forever, so maybe it wasn’tallmy fault that the houseplant had kicked the bucket.
A soft knock at the bedroom door drew my attention away from poor Phil. “Come in.”
My mother peeked from the doorway, looking me over as her eyes widened. “Sweetie, you aren’t even dressed!” She stepped inside my bedroom and quietly closed the door behind her. “We need to leave for the church in five minutes.”
I swallowed past the lump in my throat.
Church.
The word alone made my stomach swoop, like I’d missed a step on the stairs. It wasn’t nerves, not really. It felt more like I was walking into a performance I wasn’t sure why I had agreed to star in.
I nodded and moved toward the closet in my room. The expansive walk-in closet was exactly what had sold me on the apartment when Greg and I had decided to move in together. For my job, I needed the closet space, and there was something delightful about twirling in front of a floor-length mirror, ya know?
Standing in the doorway now, it didn’t feel like my closet so much as a costume department. Racks of happily ever afters, none of which actually belonged to me.
With my mom behind me, I walked toward the open door. Rows and rows of wedding dresses hung there—all shades of white and cream and alabaster. There were dresses with tiered layers of tulle, sleek silky numbers that hugged my curves, and even one that was a smoky gray that almost matched my eye color.
The one I’d picked for today was hanging in the center, perfectly steamed and ready to go. It wasn’t my favorite, but it had been Greg’s mother’s preference, and I didn’t have it in me to argue with her.
Beside me, my mother’s wistful sigh floated through the air. “Just gorgeous.”
The lie pulsed in my throat. She was looking at her little girl like this was finally it—the moment I joined my sisters in the “happily ever after” club—and I couldn’t even give her the courtesy of the truth.
I forced a smile at the lace atrocity.
It wasn’t that the dress was horrible. None of them were. It was just that the dress I was going to be walking down the aisle in was the last one I ever would have picked for myself.Maybe that was why, when it came to today, I couldn’t shake the overwhelming sense of dread.
“Give me a minute?” I smiled at Mom. “I’ll call you in when I need to get zipped up.”
My mother’s eyes searched mine. I was sure she knew something was off, but my perfectly painted red lips pulled into a smile I thought she might believe. “Of course, honey. I’ll be right outside when you need me.”
She closed the closet door behind her, and I allowed myself to exhale. My fingertips dragged down the scratchy lace. I already knew it would rub and irritate me all day.
“Here goes nothing,” I whispered with an exhale. “It’s just another day.”
You see, I’d been a bride before. One hundred thirty-two times to be exact. As a bridal model, I had been lucky enough to wear the world’s most elite dresses, hot off fashion week runways. Most times designers would need them back, but sometimes I was told to keep the sample dresses that were sent.
Getting laced into a gown was nothing new.
Only this time, it wasreal. Well, real enough.
I slipped out of my robe and into the body-skimming dress before calling back to my mother. “I’m ready.”
She stepped inside the closet and pressed a hand to her heart. “Oh ...” Tears welled in her eyes and I looked away. I didn’t have the heart to tell her the truth.
Mom zipped up the back of my dress and pressed her hands at my waist. “You haven’t been eating. Are you nervous?”
