Page 33 of Bloody Lace

“And you deserve it.” Dahlia grins at me, eyeing the next dress that Bryce is holding up. “That one looks promising.”

It’s even more so when I put it on. It’s a tight mermaid silhouette, strapless and fitted all the way down to where it flares out at the bottom, the hem stiff with horsehair to keep the wavy shape of it. The base is heavy white satin, covered in huge, laser-cut rose lace, and covered with a fine chiffon over it. I’m shocked to find that it’s exactly my size—it fits me perfectly, and Dahlia lets out a gasp when she sees me step out of the dressing room.

“Evie, that’s incredible. That looks like it was made for you.”

It does. I turn in front of the mirror, startled at how perfect it looks. It accentuates my figure exceptionally well, and I can’t help but think that Dimitri is going to be stunned, real marriage or no, when he sees me walking to the altar in this.

“That’s the one,” Dahlia says decisively. “I know you have a ton more dresses to try on, and you should find a reception dress, because that’s going to be impossible to dance in. But that’s the wedding dress.”

“I agree.” I don’t want to take it off, which feels like the most clear sign of all. I feel like this dress was just waiting for me to put it on, and my only small flicker of regret is that I’m going to wear this dress for a wedding that isn’t even real.

But, honestly, I have no idea if I’ll ever meet someone I’ll want toreallybe married to. My dating life so far hasn’t exactly been a string of hits. And I can’t pass up this dress.

I try on another flurry of gowns to pick a dress for the reception, each one more gorgeous than the last. I feel like a princess in a fairytale, and I let myself lean into the feeling, because why not? I’ve made the deal with Dimitri. We’re going to be married this weekend, and I might as well enjoy as much of it as I can.

I end up with another strapless gown for the reception, this time with a bodice made of stiff cream mikado satin and a skirt made entirely of feathers, long in the back and swooping up stiffly over one knee like a cancan dancer’s dress. It’s fun and frivolous and I have no idea what Dimitri will think of it, but I love it from the second that I put it on.

Dahlia ends up choosing a strapless gown as well, made of stiff red satin with an overlay of thin bands of taffeta all the way down to the hem of the full skirt, with tiny bits of red feathers sewn into each band. “I love it,” she tells me, looking in the mirror. “But are you sure you’re fine with this? It isn’t exactly the most traditional dress.”

“I don’t need it to be traditional,” I tell her firmly. “I want you to have whatever you feel good in. And this is perfect, as far as I’m concerned.” I watch as she spins again, looking at every angle of the dress. “My whole life has been fashion. My wedding isn’t going to be any different.”

Bryce puts the dresses into garment bags as I hand over Dimitri’s credit card, and Dahlia grins at me, her face lighting up with the excitement of a day of shopping that isn’t over yet.

“You know…” she says mischievously, as I slip the card back into my purse, “we still need jewelry to go with those dresses.”

—

Saturday morning,I wake up in a room at the Plaza hotel, in a bed big enough for five people, to the sound of Dahlia knocking on my door.

“Rise and shine, beautiful bride!” she calls out as I groan and slide out of bed, padding to the door to let her in. “I called for room service already, so they’ll be up here any minute with fruit and mimosas and French toast.”

“And coffee?” I ask hopefully, rubbing at my eyes, and Dahlia laughs.

“Yes, and coffee,” she promises. “Now go get in the shower.”

I’m not exactly hungover, and it would be impossible not to get a good night’s sleep in a room like this one, but we were out extremely late last night. As soon as we were checked in to our rooms at the Plaza, Dahlia insisted we go out and celebrate. “This might not be a ‘real’ wedding in the sense that you’re madly in love,” she told me as she’d hustled me into the bathroom and tossed a bright blue Hermes bandage dress from her closet at me. “But it’s your wedding, and we’re going to do it right.”

So we spent last night going to all of the fanciest hotspots Dahlia knew, including a speakeasy-style bar where she had to give a password and we filled out a quiz for the bartender to decide what to make us. I think I had maybe six hours of sleep, and I’m desperate for something to wake me up.

“I need to call the girl that’s watching Buttons?—”

“I’ll do it,” Dahlia says, nudging me towards the shower. “I’ll take care of everything, Evie. And then tonight I’ll go watch him and get your things together for pickup tomorrow.”

“You’re the best, you know that?” I tell her gratefully, and she nods.

“I do,” she says with a teasing grin. “Now go get cleaned up.”

By the time I get out of the shower, I emerge swathed in a fluffy robe to the sight of Dahlia having already hung up our dresses, arranging jewelry and flowers and everything else and taking pictures of it all while a cart of breakfast, coffee, and mimosas sits next to the bed. “You might want pictures,” she says, snapping a photo of my earrings and ring arranged artfully next to the flowers that will go in my hair. “Better to have them, just in case.”

Dahlia is doing her best to treat this like a real wedding, ignoring the fact that we have everything except a groom that I’m actually in love with.

Not love—but maybe something else.A shiver runs down my spine as I pour my coffee, the memory of that kiss still far too close for comfort. There’s lust between us, that’s for certain. I can’t pretend that there isn’t. But I can’t think about that. Especially not when, after tonight, we’re going to be under the same roof. Living together. I haven’t lived with anyone since Dahlia and I roomed together in college, and this is very, very different.

My nervousness only builds as Dahlia helps me get ready. I force myself to only drink one mimosa, not wanting to betipsy going down the aisle, since I can’t manage to eat much more than some fruit. My stomach is turning over and over, far beyond butterflies at this point. It feels like a writhing ball of snakes, twisting together.I’m getting married to a man I hardly know.It’s ludicrous, but it’s happening, and I made a deal. There’s no backing out of this now—the dress is purchased, the wedding planned, the boutique already being worked on. All that’s left is for me to hold up my end of things. And it’s not even as if it’s that hard, I tell myself as Dahlia curls my hair. All that’s required from me is to sayI do—and trust that when it comes time to break that vow, Dimitri will let me go.

By the time Dahlia has finished putting the last touches of my makeup on, I feel completely transformed. My hair falls around my face in soft, old-Hollywood waves, pulled back on one side by a corsage of red and white roses fashioned into a hair clip. We decided to go without a veil, so as not to take away from the dress, and Dahlia kept my makeup basic, sticking with the classic cat eye and red lip that I always go with when I dress up. As a result, I still look like myself, just—more.

We picked out a pair of drop pearl earrings with sapphire baguette studs to echo the stones in my engagement ring, and count as my something blue, and a bracelet of sapphire baguettes. While I go and find my heels, Dahlia starts on her hair and makeup, echoing the same look she gave me, only with a softer cat eye and nude lipstick instead of red. She pins her hair back with a similar clip, adds the diamond jewelry her parents gave her for her graduation, and stands next to me in the mirror.

---