“He’s gone now,” Stefan said. “And we have to let the past go, as impossible as that sounds. All we can do now is just…try our best to move on, and rebuild better. Together.”
The unspoken part, of course, was that the current mess with the Bratva was the direct result of our father’s actions. But I got what Stefan was saying. He was telling us that we were in this together, that we were a family, a united front. No matter what.
In the end, I never got up the nerve to tell Stefan and Luka the truth about Ford. My brothers were so thrilled for me and my love match that I couldn’t bear to burst their bubble—and after our unexpected family bonding moment, no way was I going to admit that my happy ending was a big fat lie.
At least I had already decided that I was going to be donating my monetary wedding gifts to See Yourself’s mentoring program. That way, no matter what happened between Ford and me afterward, something good would come out of our wedding—farce or not.
Emzee
Chapter 23
“Oooh, how about this one?” Tori squealed, whirling around with yet another voluminous monstrosity of tulle and seed pearls on a hanger.
“Oh, um, wow,” I said, trying to sound not-so-horrified. “It’s so…Cinderella.”
Tori frowned. “Too ball-gowny?”
“Everything you love is too ball-gowny, Tor,” Brooklyn said from an adjacent rack.
“She can at least give it a try,” Tori pointed out, waving over one of the shop employees. “Can you please add this one to the dressing room? Thank you so much.”
“Speaking of which,” Brooklyn said, “I think it’s time you got in there, Em.”
My regular Vault Lunch with The Wives had been cancelled, my sisters-in-law having decided to forgo our usual date in favor of whisking me off to try on “dream” wedding dresses. The wedding dresses oftheirdreams, apparently. Not that I was surprised.
Michelle, Tori’s stepmother, had managed to secure a private appointment for the three of us at Blue, one of the most exclusive bridal salons in Chicago. That meant the shop was closed to everyone in the city except me, Tori, and Brooklyn, and that for the next few hours, all of the employees were at our beck and call.
My anxiety was through the roof.
Even though I knew there were no wrong choices—all the dresses were beautiful, and my sisters-in-law were nothing but sweet and encouraging—I’d approached the outing with trepidation. Regardless of the fact that the wedding was fake, the urge to find exactly the right dress was real. I’d have basically a million pairs of eyes on me during the ceremony (and after, via the tabloids and society pages), and I had to look perfect. But I still wanted to look like me.
Problem being, there wasn’t a single scrap of black fabric to be found in the bridal shop.
I knew, of course, that I would be wearing a white dress. I wasn’t interested in rocking the proverbial boat, especially not on my wedding day. But the act of actually showing up at Blue to try on dresses today was forcing me to acknowledge the reality of the situation.
In a matter of months, I was going to be marrying Ford Malone. In a white dress. In front of our families, our friends, and the social elite of Chicago.
And as uncomfortable as I’d be in my head and my heart all day, I couldn’t stand the idea of also being uncomfortable in whichever dress I ended up having to wear for hours upon end. Nor my shoes. And what about my veil? Did people still expect brides to wear veils these days?
“Come on, Em, this is only round one,” Brooklyn coaxed, wrapping her arm around my shoulders to hustle me toward the dressing room. “You’re going to be doing this for hours.”
“That’s exactly what I’m afraid of,” I said dryly.
Down the hallway, I could see a pedestal surrounded by floor-to-ceiling mirrors, which I gathered I was meant to endure each time I tried on a dress. Meanwhile, Tori had settled her lovely, very pregnant self into a comfortably overstuffed chair to wait for the fashion show, as employees flitted about with glasses of champagne and dress clips and measuring tapes. Oh, joy.
My eyes actually bugged out when I saw the dressing room that had been prepared for me. At least twenty dresses were hanging from the hooks in there, and the spacious changing room looked like it had just suffered a literal explosion of tulle, satin, and lace.
“Oh boy,” I murmured, my stomach knotting with overwhelm as I tried to take it all in.
I fought the impulse to run from the store. To run from Chicago. To run from this whole mess that I’d agreed to be involved in.
“I know,” Brooklyn said. “It’s a lot. But we have all day. Enjoy it!”
She looked so excited that I knew there was no way I could escape.
One of the Blue employees followed me into the dressing room and immediately got to work unlacing the first dress for me. It was one that Tori had chosen, exactly the kind of frothy, princess-y, over-the-top concoction that would look great on her—but as I stood there in my underwear, I could already tell that it wasn’t right for me.
I’d been told to wear undergarments that could work with a variety of dresses, so I had on a nude thong and a strapless, low-back corset bra. I’d also been advised to wear heels that were about the same height as what I’d wear for the wedding, so I had my special occasion stilettos on, though I planned to switch into flats as soon as the official ceremony was over. Still, I was teetering dangerously on those heels as I stepped into the skirt, and I had to grab onto the salesgirl’s arm for support to make sure I didn’t accidentally tear something expensive. Once I was situated, the hoisting began.
