Page 58 of The Duke Who Saved Christmas
“There’s been a huge crash on the motorway!”
She may as well have thrown me out of the window into the snow, because my blood was running ice-cold.
“Mum and Dad?” I asked, scrambling to my feet.
“No! My veil!”
Her… veil?
I blinked at her, taking a second as the deafening boom of rushing adrenaline in my ears petered out. “Your veil?”
“My veil!” Hazel fisted her hair and paced the length of my room. “My veil was on the delivery truck that got crashed into by some bastard using his phone in a lorry!”
Well, this was a new one. Even for me.
I couldn’t say this was a problem I’d ever encountered before.
“Right, okay,” I said slowly. “Hazel, take a deep breath, and I’ll sort this out, okay?”
“How? How can you sort this out? That was a handmade veil, Sylvie! There’s nothing else like it in the world! You can’t get another one made between now and the wedding!”
An excellent point.
“Okay, I know, but all you’re doing is getting yourself into a tizz, and that’s not helpful for anyone.” I grabbed her shoulders and guided her to bed. “Lie down. Put your feet up on the wall. Close your eyes. Let me see what I can find out, all right?”
Hazel did as I said, and I could see her hands shaking as she pressed them against her stomach. “My veil,” she whimpered.
I picked up my laptop and left her lying there, closing the door behind me.
Nana was going to have to calm her down.
There was no chance I’d be able to do it.
Besides, right now, she needed wedding planner Sylvie, not big sister Sylvie.
***
“All right, yes, thank you… Thanks, bye.” I hung up and stared at my phone screen, pressing my lips together.
Gramps handed me a cup of tea. “Well?”
I met his gaze. “Can you put some booze in that tea?”
“That bad, huh?”
“Unfortunately, yes. The veil was due to be delivered to Polly’s dress shop like Hazel had requested, but the van is nothing but a burnt shell. The driver is in intensive care due to his burns. Thankfully he should be okay with time and some surgeries, but the van and everything in it was destroyed in thefire.” I sighed and leant against the kitchen counter, putting my phone down so I could cradle the mug for something to focus on. “Veil included. There’s no way to get it or even think about salvaging it.”
An uncomfortable silence settled over the kitchen as my words sunk in. Two weeks until the wedding, and my sister’s personally designed, handmade veil was currently a pile of ashes on the M65.
I was heartbroken for her. She’d wanted it specifically to tie in aspects of our family and Julian’s, and it was almost as important to her as her dress was.
If not more so.
She could find another dress like the one she’d chosen.
There would never be another veil like that one.
“Bugger it,” Gramps said after a couple of minutes of silence.
