A soft knock at the door had her turn. Valentina, a young designer friend of the Harringtons, stepped into the room, a cream satin garment bag across one arm and an oversized tote over the other. “Hi, hello. How are we doing? All good?”
Molly nodded. “All good. But do you have your sewing kit on you? Storm has a loose button.”
Valentina laid the bag on the bed and stood back in admiration. “Storm Harrington. Look at you! So pretty.”
The little girl got to her feet. “But I got a wonky button.”
“That’s an easy fix.” Valentina rummaged in her bag and pulled out a sewing kit. With needle and thread in hand, she turned Storm around and secured the offending button in less than a minute. “There you go, sweetie. Now let me see.”
Storm did a shy twirl, then returned to her LEGO.
Valentina smiled at Molly. “Are you ready for this?”
Molly nodded. “I’m ready.”
The younger woman raised a brow. “What’s with that blue G-string lurking underneath your slip?”
“Midnight blue is Jake’s favorite color, so it’s my something blue. Will it be visible through my dress?”
“We’ll see.” Valentina chuckled. “And that is entirely too much information, but I like your style.” She picked up the garment bag and unzipped it. “Right, let’s get this dress to the party.”
Minutes later, with Valentina fussing around her, Molly stood in front of the mirror, her fifties-inspired dress skimming her upper curves before falling into a full skirt from the waist. Valentina stepped back to admire her own handiwork before adjusting the bow on the back. “That blush color looks amazing on you. Suits your skin tone really well.”
“Yes, I love it.” Feeling more beautiful than she had in her entire life, Molly turned left, then right. “Can you see the G-string?”
“Nope. Not at all.” Valentina peeked through the window and across to the tennis court. “That tent is huge. I thought you said it was just an intimate affair.”
“It was supposed to be, but…”
“Well, you look stunning. I’m so happy for you both.”
“Thank you. You’ve done an incredible job.”
“My pleasure. I’ll see you in the garden.” As Valentina began gathering her bits and pieces and shoving them into her bag, Tim, the photographer, knocked on the open door.
“Is it okay if I just hover about?” he asked.
Molly smiled. “Of course it is.” She crossed the room and opened the door to the small guest living room. “Mum, you can come in now.”
Wearing mother-of-the-bride floral, Molly’s mother gasped when she saw her daughter. “Now that’s what I call a dress! Oh, darling, you look sensational.”
They both leaned in for a hug. “Thanks, Mum.” She looked down at her mother, now in tears, and rubbed her back. “Hey, you promised not to cry.”
“I promised no such thing.Weddings and tears go together so well, don’t you think?”
“Of course they do.”
Molly checked the time on her phone, and when she looked up, her father stood in the doorway, tall and distinguished-looking in a charcoal-gray suit. He pulled a white handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed his eyes. Molly had seen her mother cry many times, but never her father, and as he hugged her, she swallowed past the lump in her throat.
He stood back in admiration. “My little girl’s getting married. I’m so proud to be your father, of the woman you’ve become, and the way you love so completely.”
“Thanks, Dad,” she whispered as she blinked back her tears.
“Right, let’s get this show on the road,” he said.
“But what about the flowers?” her mother said.
Right at that moment, CeCe breezed into the room, a long cardboard box in her arms. “Good news. The flowers have arrived, finally.”
