Chapter Twenty-Five
Ashleigh shakes her head. Irritation is written all over her face. "We spoke yesterday about this happening at six on the dot."
The salesgirl shoots back her best customer-service smile. "It's only 5:45, miss. Perhaps you'd like some champagne while you wait." She looks at me. "Miss Wilder?"
"No, thank you." I shrink into the corner. I'm not interested in this pissing contest.
She leans over the counter, whispering something to the salesgirl. Not my problem. This whole wedding gown ordeal doesn't have to be my problem, but I can't bring myself to put Blake in charge of this.
I doodle in my sketchbook—a four-panel comic of my arrangement with Blake. But how the hell am I supposed to draw the feelings whirring around inside me? Those don't fit on paper. They don't fit anywhere.
Four panels, all the same. Blake standing there, aloof and distant, with a wad of cash in his hand.I can help you.
It's sad. He doesn't realize he has more to offer than money. He doesn't realize how sweet he can be.
I check my phone. No word from Lizzy even though she's been out of school for hours.
I rip out the drawing of Blake and crumple it into a tiny ball. I'm not thinking about him anymore today.
This is about my dress.
This is going to be exactly what I want.
"Thank you, I will." Ashleigh sits next to me. She glances at the sketchbook. Her expression is curious. "Blake told me you're an artist."
"You could say that."
"Natalie is pulling the dresses for you. They were supposed to be ready." She slides out of her heels and rubs her feet. "Barely three weeks now. We need something off the rack." She takes a quick scan of my body. "You'll look good in anything but an empire waist. Do you have any style of dress in mind?"
I stare at her like she's speaking another language. "I haven't thought about it."
"Given the weather, we might want to avoid a train. I'm guessing you're not too keen on dragging mud."
"Okay." I draw a circle in my sketchbook. That seems reasonable.
She frowns, pulls an iPad from her purse, navigates to a wedding website, and takes me through the different dress silhouettes.
Except for the sheath, they all flare somewhere and most of them flare dramatically. There's A-line, fit and flare, trumpet, mermaid, ballroom.
She goes over the pros and cons of each, but it all flies in one ear and out the other.
Lizzy is better at this kind of thing.
But where the hell is she?
"Miss Wilder." The salesgirl, Natalie, calls us to the dressing room.
It's huge. There are four or five stalls arranged in a circle. Mirrors on every door. Double set of mirrors in the middle of the room. And a podium on a turntable.
A great display case for a trophy-wife-to-be.
Natalie points us to a pastel pink bench. The entire room is pink. It's the picture of love and romance.
"These are beautiful dresses." Natalie wheels a rack closer.
There are a dozen dresses in different shades of white, ivory, and blush. There must be miles of chiffon and lace.
"She wants something sophisticated," Ashleigh says.