Page 18 of Marrying His Brother

I pull out a dress that’s much simpler, an A-line gown with soft lace detail. Something classic, not too fussy.

“Oh, that’s lovely,” Lisa says, running her hand over the fabric. “It’s very you.”

But before I can even get the dress fully into my hands, Mrs. Bennett swishes over, her eyes widening dramatically. “Darling, no, no, no. You don’t want something simple. This is a Bennett wedding. You need grandeur. Something that makes a statement.”

What statement? Has she forgotten that this is a marriage of convenience, not a real marriage?

I glance at my mother, hoping she’ll chime in, but she just gives a weak smile and goes back to flipping through the magazine. I bite back a sigh. I don’t know what I expected, but certainly not this.

“Emily, try this one first,” Mrs. Bennett insists, holding out a ball gown dripping in beaded embellishments.

“Okay,” I say, though it’s more to placate her than because I actually want to wear it.

I step into the fitting room, slipping on the gown with the help of the saleswoman. As soon as I see myself in the mirror, I know it’s not me. The dress is beautiful, sure—sparkling and voluminous, but it’s too much.

It’s not the kind of dress I want to get married in. But when I step out, Mrs. Bennett gasps, her hands flying to her chest.

“Perfection,” she exclaims, clapping her hands together. “Oh, darling, you look breathtaking. Andrew will be floored when he sees you in it.”

Andrew.I don’t even know what his taste is in women’s clothes, let alone wedding gowns. Not that it matters what he thinks. As long as we both sign the marriage certificate. I could probably walk down the aisle in a sack and he wouldn’t care.

Lisa gives me a subtle look, clearly trying not to laugh at the absurdity of it all. I catch her eye in the mirror, and we share a silent, knowing exchange. I feel like a cake topper, all frills and no substance.

“What do you think, Emily?” my mother finally asks, sounding as tired as I feel.

“I think it’s a lot,” I say, keeping my tone polite. I glance at Lisa, who’s biting the inside of her cheek, trying to hold back a smirk.

“You look like Cinderella,” Lisa mutters under her breath, just loud enough for me to hear.

“Not exactly the vibe I’m going for,” I whisper back.

I head back into the fitting room, eager to get out of the dress. The next gown is more my style—a sleek, satin number with a low back and minimal embellishments. It’s elegant and timeless, the kind of dress that feels like me.

When I step out, Mrs. Bennett’s face falls slightly, though she tries to hide her disappointment. “Oh, it’s very understated,” she says, carefully picking her words.

My mother barely glances up. “It’s fine,” she says, flipping another page in the magazine.

I feel a pang of irritation. Lisa stands and walks over, adjusting the dress slightly on my shoulders.

After a few more dresses—none of which spark joy—I finally throw in the towel.

“I haven’t found the dress yet,” I say, forcing a smile. “I’ll keep looking.”

Mrs. Bennett looks slightly crestfallen, but my mother barely reacts. “I have to get back to work,” I add quickly, giving myself an out.

I can’t stand it anymore. I’m touched by Mrs. Bennett’s enthusiasm, really, I am. But all it’s doing is stirring up emotions I’m not ready to deal with.

I expected to come in, quickly pick a dress, and move on with our lives. This wasn’t supposed to be an all-day event or a dramatic ordeal.

Mrs. Bennett’s taste is certainly not mine, and this whole charade that Andrew and I are in love is frankly exhausting. I’d rather we treat this wedding for what it is—a business arrangement.

A practical solution to a practical problem. But that’s not how she sees it. She’s acting like this is some grand love story.

I walk toward the door, feeling a wave of relief at the sight of the exit. Barbara and my mother’s driver are waiting on the curb.

Before she enters the car, Barbara touches my arm. “Emily, darling, we’ll keep looking together, alright? I just know you’ll find the perfect dress.”

I force another smile. “Of course. Thank you, Barbara.” No chance. There’s no way I’m going through this again. I’ll come back alone, get the dress I liked and avoid another circus.

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