Page 47 of The Bourbon Bargain

Mama walks up to the dress, her eyes squinted as she takes in each piece that makes up this fabulous creation. While she runs her hands over the lace, pulling it away from the lining, I open the second bag.

“This is the reception dress. It doesn’t have a train like the ceremony dress does. If I have to dance, this is a good option.”

“Hmmm,” she says, leaving the ceremony dress and giving her attention to the long gown that will swirl around my feet without tripping me up. “I don’t like it as much as the ceremony dress. It’s too plain.”

Despite the backhanded compliment, and not saying so much outright, I now know she actually likes the dress I picked out for the ceremony. The reception dressisplain, and I liked that about it. It is a fitted sheath of ivory silk with a straight neckline just below my collar bones in the front and dips to a V at my mid-back, with long sleeves. I felt incredibly elegant in that dress when I tried it on and thought it would be an excellent option for the dinner and dancing portion of the night Mama has planned.

I sigh quietly and reach for the third garment bag, unzipping it and pulling out the knee-length fitted dress that hugs my hips and makes me feel so very feminine. It has a squared neckline that shows just a hint of cleavage, and long sleeves made of lace very similar to the one used on my ceremony dress. I loved that it was less formal, and very sexy in the way it hugs my curves, while still being demure enough for the occasion.

“This is not at all what I would have picked for you,” Mama finally says, taking a step back from the wardrobe and looking at all three dresses in turn once more.

That’s an understatement. The dresses she has on hold are all ballgowns with full skirts and flounces. Mine are all simple and stunning.

“But they aren’t the worst options. They’re just not the vision I have for you and this wedding. They’re all form-fitting. You looked so beautiful in a ballgown, like a princess.”

That is a huge compliment from Mama. She hasn’t outright forbidden me to wear any of them, which means she approves even if she would prefer her own choices.

“The ballgowns didn’t feel like me. I loved all three of these dresses because they made me feel beautiful and sophisticated.”

“But did you feel like a bride?” Mama’s face shows true concern for once, and my defenses lower.

“Yes, Mama, I did. Especially the ceremony dress.”

I feel a smile taking over my face as I look at the dress. It really is stunning. I reach out and run my hand over the lace tiers of the mermaid-style skirt, remembering the moment I tried it on and knew it was the one. I was giddy in that moment, my own breath short as I took in my reflection.

“The lace pattern is very similar to Nanny Fairchild’s wedding dress. The fit works really well for my body type, and the lace on the straps, being flowers and leaves, is such a sweet detail. It gave me secret garden vibes that would be right at home in Elysium. I felt like a fairy princess as well as a bride, honestly.” I look over at Mama and the smile slips off my face. “What’s wrong?”

Mama isweeping. Big tears slide down her cheeks as she covers her mouth with her hands. I take a step toward her and wrap my arms around her shoulders as they begin to shake with silent sobs. I make comforting noises as I hold her, not sure what happened just now, but wanting to make sure she’s okay. Mama does not cry. She may shed a furious tear or two from time to time, but this is unabashed emotion, unlike anything I’ve seen from her.

Mama takes a few deep gulping breaths and her sobs slow, then stops. She pulls away from my embrace and pats at her cheeks delicately, which does nothing to stem the flood of tears that has ruined her makeup.

“I wish I could have been there with you when you tried it on. I missed out on something special and will never get that experience again.”

“You didn’t miss a thing. We had our shopping trip to try on dresses and remember, you will be the one helping me get ready. You will see the dress on before anyone else does. Even before Hayes sees it.”

Seeing my mother break down like this alters a part of my brain that considers her the most stubborn and unaffected person I know. She really cares, despite all of her controlling instincts. Or maybe it’s because she cares so much that she wants to control all parts of my life? Either way, I know she cares, and I also know a little distance in our relationship would do us both wonders.

“Very well. Let me freshen up in the bathroom.”

The unexpected emotion makes me want to dig deeper into her psyche and find out who this new, weeping woman is. “Mama, can I ask you a question?”

“You just did, you silly thing, but go ahead.” It’s never a simple response, always a critique.

I falter, wanting to dive into the whys of her actions and the difficulty she brings to my life but not wanting to put her on guard and turn this into a fight. “Do you think I am capable of living my own life, without constant input and direction from you or Daddy?” I ask, phrasing it as delicately as possible.

She walks into the ensuite bathroom, and I follow hesitantly, keeping my face placid and open so as not to rile her up. It really is a tricky situation, though I feel like we may be able to get to a place of trust and openness. Someday. I hope this is the start.

“I care about you so very much,” she starts, grabbing a tissue from her vanity and patting her eyes. “It can be… difficult… to allow you to have free rein of your life with everything that could hurt you. I’ve seen how the world wants to eat up sweet things like you, and I want to protect you from that. I have failed over and over again to keep you from being hurt, so my instinct is to build a wall around you and make sure you stay within my defenses.” The fierceness of her protective instincts forces its way into her features, pulling down the corners of her mouth and furrowing her eyebrows.

“Isn’t growing up about making mistakes so you can learn from them?” I hedge quietly.

“Why should you have to make any mistakes if I can keep you from getting hurt and teach you the lesson you would have learned anyway?” she retorts.

“Sometimes it takes learning it for yourself for the lesson to stick, right?”

She flattens her lips and looks like she’s about to argue, so I continue.

“What I really mean is, I don’t want to make mistakes, exactly, I just want to be free to choose for myself what happens in my life, rather than always being told what to do or how to do it.”

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