“That’s fine,” Gracie says easily. “We’re just getting started.”
I’ve tried ten A-line dresses and six modified A-lines. I’m still standing here, dressed in someone else’s dream. Gracie has learned literally one thing about me so far: I like lace. I draw a slow breath, trying to steady myself, but doubt settles in quietly, insistent. The sense of rightness I felt earlier, when my grandmother appeared on the screen, slipped away. In its place, unease takes root.
“Aria,” Rosa interrupts my thoughts. “May I make a suggestion?”
“Sure,” I reply, though reluctance seeps into my voice.
“I think you should try a different silhouette. Something that isn’t A-line. Maybe a ball gown?”
“I agree with Rosa,” Tasha adds.
“Maybe that’s it,” Dr. Saaha says.
Pauline nods. “You looked beautiful in the other dresses, but you’re missing that glow. The one a bride gets when she findsthedress.” I glance at my Nonna. She hasn’t spoken, but she’s watching.
At their urging, I step into a shining ivory satin ball gown. Delicate, hand-sewn pearls scatter across the fabric like morning dew. The sweetheart bodice hugs my frame before spilling into a full, dramatic skirt. It’s a fairytale gown in every sense of the word. I should feel like a bride. Like a princess. Instead, it feels like the dress is swallowing me whole.
I press my lips together, fighting it, but the tear escapes anyway, sliding down my cheek. Maybe this is a sign that my aunt is right; I’m making a mistake. This isn’t a life of respect. This isn’t the life my family name deserves. I turn toward the screen, swallowing the emotion like broken glass. “Saaha, can I talk to my grandmother alone?”
She nods. “We’ll give you fifteen minutes. Today’s one of the silent days. If she doesn’t respond, know that she’s listening.” The room empties on both ends of the call, and then it’s just me and my grandmother’s vacant stare.
I stand there, drowning in satin, lace, and pearls. The weight of her gaze presses into me. I grip the skirt, wrinkling the flawless fabric, and step off the small runway. “I wish you knew who I am,” my voice shaking. “I thought… I thought you wouldn’t want me if you knew the truth.”
A sob breaks free. “It’s my fault,” I continue, the words spilling now. “Dad wouldn’t have gone out that night if I hadn’t pushed him. Mom wouldn’t have disappeared. You wouldn’t have fallen if I’d just come home like you asked.”
The pain twists sharp and deep. “I’ve been so selfish; I want to live a life you’d be proud of. But marrying Cyan feels like I’m failing you.” Tears blur my vision. “And I love him.”
Silence stretches. What did I expect—that she’d suddenly remember me? That she’d absolve me? The disease has stolen her, leaving behind only fragments of the woman I love. I break.
“Non piangere, bella signorina. È il giorno del tuo matrimonio.”Her voice cuts through my pain–thin, and unmistakably hers. My eyes snap to the screen as she says it again.Don’t cry, pretty lady. It’s your wedding day.
My heart swells, my tears still falling. “Nonna,” I gasp.
“Smile, dear,” she says. “The world is filled with colors. The heart always knows the way home. Love isn’t about what others expect; it’s about where your soul finds peace.”
A fresh wave of tears spills over. I can hardly breathe. For the first time in so long, I feel her.
“Thank you,” I whisper, “for always being there for me.”
She blinks, eyebrows creasing, her gaze almost lucid. Then she smiles. “No more tears. A bride should be happy on her wedding day.” I nod, pressing a tissue to my face, grounding myself. Moments later, the ladies return, their expressions etched with concern.
Tasha’s eyes sweep over me, already knowing. “Ari… maybe a different silhouette?”
I smile, the warmth of my grandmother’s words settling deep in my chest. “Maybe. Or maybe I’ve been trying to solve this with the wrong formula.” I turn to Gracie. “This is your expertise. Put me in what you think is best for me.”
Her face lights up. “Alright. Follow me.” Gracie and Lia guide me back into the dressing room, easing me out of the gown and into a silk robe. “Before I bring out another dress,” Gracie says carefully, “what wasn’t working with the others?”
“It’s not that I didn’t like them,” I admit. “They were all stunning. But the dresses wore me. I want to wear the dress.”
A knowing smile curves her lips. “Ah. I understand.”
She returns moments later with a single dress bag. “Let’s step outside your comfort zone. Close your eyes. We’ll help you into it. If it’s a no, we take it off and keep going.”
“At this point, I’d wear a garbage bag down the aisle,” I say with a shaky laugh. “Maybe I’d start a trend.”
Gracie chuckles. “Not on my watch.” As she and Lia slip the gown over my shoulders, I feel the fabric hug my curves. It’s fitted more than I expected. My stomach tightens. I wanted nothing clinging to my body. What if I look ridiculous?
A sharp inhale cuts the silence. “Oh, my...” Lia breathes. My pulse stutters. Is it bad? Maybe I look like a stuffed pig?
