Rose’s shoulders dropped a fraction. “Three days and two nights? That’s more manageable than I expected.”
“I do occasionally negotiate effectively,” Lizanne said.
Something shifted in Rose’s face. Not quite a smile.
“Now, your dress,” Lizanne said.
“I’ll find something off the rack.”
“Rose.” Lizanne leaned forward slightly. “We are getting married at Luna de Sangre. Which you chose, with considerable care and at considerable expense.” She kept her voice level. “It’s going to be watched by a very large number of people, filmed in 4K. I am not going to let you do that in a dress you grabbed off a rail because you decided the day didn’t warrant your attention.” She stood up. “We’re going to get you a proper dress tonight. Seven o’clock.”
“Lizanne—”
“No room for negotiation on this one. Seven o’clock. Wear something you can change in and out of easily.”
***
At seven-fifteen, Lizanne was at the window in the entrance hall with her coat on and her bag on the console table and the car outside and no stylist, no assistant, no camera crew. She’d made that decision herself after Rose left, standing in the bedroom with the astronomy book on the side table and no clear reason for it except that it had felt right.
She was starting to wonder if Rose was coming.
It wasn’t unreasonable to wonder. She’d pushed hard these last few days, and she knew it, and Rose had agreed theway people agree when they’ve exhausted their objections and the other person is still talking. That wasn’t the same as wanting to go.
At seven-nineteen she heard footsteps on the stairs.
Rose came down in a dark coat, hair back, and stopped at the bottom.
“Alright, let’s do this.”
They got in the car and pulled down the drive, past the camera van sitting outside the gate. Rose watched it through the window as they passed.
“Where are we going?” she asked. “It’s nearly seven-thirty. Everything’s closed.”
“If I want a bridal salon to stay open after hours, it stays open after hours.” Lizanne kept her eyes forward. “Being the lead of the number one show in the country has some practical uses.”
Rose was quiet for a moment, then turned back to the window.
The salon was on a street where the shops didn’t bother with signs because the people who needed them already knew where they were. Lights on inside, a woman in an ivory blazer at the door before they’d reached it.
“Miss Connors, we are so thrilled, this is going to be absolutely—” She took both of Rose’s hands without introducing herself. “And you must be the bride! You have the most wonderful frame. We are going to find you something extraordinary tonight, I just know—”
Rose held still through all of it.
Lizanne stepped between them. “Could you give us a moment?”
The attendant withdrew.
“Tell me what you want,” Lizanne said. “Not for the show. Not for the cameras. What you’d actually want if this were real.”
Rose was quiet for long enough that it stopped being a pause.
“I don’t know,” she said. “I’ve done this for other people so many times and I genuinely don’t know.”
“All right.” Lizanne turned to the attendant. “Bring mine out.”
The attendant disappeared while Rose stood there motionless, and lost.
Lizanne crossed to her and took both her hands, and felt Rose go very still — not pulling away, just waiting to see what this was.
