Page 12 of Third Time Lucky

A sudden knock at the bridal suite door stops my heart. Did he come back?

‘Awe, look at you,’ he says as he walks in with his gaze on me. ‘I always knew you’d be a beautiful bride, but this beautiful? I didn’t expect that,’ my father gushes as he inspects me. ‘You’re getting married today, sweetie.’

‘I’m getting married today,’ I repeat nervously.

Here I am, promisingoneman that I’ll love him for as long as I stay alive. Til death do us part. Never expected to have already experienced that at twenty-nine.

‘Seems like just yesterday you were eight years old marrying off your Barbies. I can hardly believe today is the day,’ he says, kissing me gently on the forehead.

‘Me either,’ my voice shakes.

With a simple glance of concern, Dad takes my hands in his and squeezes them tightly.

‘Take a breath, honey,’ he says, sensing the tidal wave of fears. ‘You love Brandon and he loves you. It’s fate.’

‘You know I don’t believe in fate, but you’re sweet,’ I say, fanning my face to save my makeup from tears. ‘And you should rein it in because I can’t cry.’

‘Someone grab her a tissue!’ the makeup artist yells from across the room, where he’s working on one of my bridesmaids.

Like an order, a box of tissues is passed between people until my dad hands me one. I fold it, gently pressing it to the corners of my eyes, hoping not to dislodge the lashes I am not used to wearing.

‘How am I going to ward off tears all day?’

‘I don’t think a few tears can ruin how gorgeous you are, sweetie.’

‘Thanks, Dad.’

He’s always been my biggest fan, talking me up and reminding me how beautiful I am inside and out. Just like my mother was – according to him. I don’t know much about my mom. What I do know is that she didn’t die – but she also wasn’t present in my life after I was about six years old. I remember her. I adored the woman, like all little girls probably do. But even at that young age, she always felt disconnected. It’s sad because I’d love to have her here for my wedding. But she didn’t even respond to the invite, and Mitzi paid a guy to track her down. Oh well.

Focus on who is here, Luce – everyone you love.

‘Isn’t she the most gorgeous bride?’ Madi, my BFF, maid of honor, and Brandon’s cousin (how Brandon and I met), says. ‘It’s like the dress was made for her.’

‘It cost ten grand,’ my dad says, still looking me over. ‘It was made for her.’

That’s right, ten grand. However, I feel like I need to sayIdidn’t choose the ten-thousand-dollar dress. No. That was my grandmother, Mitzi, Dad’s mom. She wasn’t sparing a single expense for her only granddaughter’s wedding. Anything I wanted, I could have, so frugal me picked a dress on the clearance rack for eighteen hundred dollars, and Mitzi (that’s what she’s always insisted I call her – she’s no one’s ‘grandma’) wasn’t having it. She thought I deserved designer chic.

‘She’s never been prettier,’ Mitzi says, admiring my gown, covered in Swarovski crystals that sparkle with each movement I make.

The straight-neckline mermaid gown with sheer corset bodice, dramatic tulle skirt and matching arm cuffs does look beautiful, both on and off. I’ve been dreaming of it since we finalized its creation, and today, when I saw it waiting for me, it took my breath away. I hope it does the same for Brandon.

‘For once, I agree with you, Mitzi. That Pnina Tornai knows how to make a head-turning wedding dress.’ I glance at myself in the trifold vintage mirrors in the corner. They’ve even got a pedestal, just like a dress shop, for proper wedding gown viewing before walking down the aisle. I feel like a Portland royal – the reality TV kind.

‘I told you diamonds were a girl’s best friend,’ Mitzi says with a grin, wearing her own impressive set of diamonds. She’s got a closet full of glitter. I wouldn’t know her if she didn’t sparkle somehow.

‘Speaking of best friends, guess who I ran into?’ I ask Dad, who will surely remember the man who showed up in a full vintage tuxedo, ruffles down his chest and all, at the last minute when I had no date for my senior prom I’d been anticipating for months. Yes, I’d had another gorgeous custom dress, but tragically, no date.

‘Elvis?’ he asks.

I laugh, shaking my head. ‘Technically, yes. But no, not him. Asher.’

Dad furrows his brows. ‘I should know this name?’

I nod. ‘Asher Wright? Kris’ best friend?’

He looks confused.

‘He took me to my senior prom after the accident?’

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