“Nothing. Just wedding jitters,” I deflect, turning to examine the back of the dress.
Carmen squeezes my hand. “Every bride gets nervous, querida. It’s normal.”
“Let’s talk about something else,” I suggest, desperate to change the subject. “What do you think about switching the bridesmaids’ dresses from teal to sea foam? The sample color looked different in person.”
Jasmine holds up fabric swatches against her skin. “I think sea foam would be prettier with the flowers you’ve chosen.”
We’re debating shades when the boutique door chimes. I freeze as I hear a familiar French-Canadian accent.
“Ah, there you are!”
Vivienne glides into the fitting area with Frédérique trailing behind her. My stomach drops.
“Vivienne,” I manage, “what a surprise.”
“Clearly,” she replies, her smile tight. “I saw the car my Connor bought you parked outside and decided to come in. I can’t help but notice every important woman in your life is here for this moment.” She gestures around the room. “Everyone except your future mother-in-law.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, not entirely meaning it. “I didn’t think you’d be interested.”
“Not interested in my son’s wedding? Ma chère, how could you think that?” Vivienne circles me slowly, inspecting the dress. “It’s quite... revealing, isn’t it?”
Carmen straightens. “It’s elegant and beautiful.”
“Perhaps in Brazil,” Vivienne says dismissively. “But for my only son’s wedding? Something less risqué would be more appropriate.”
“Vivienne,” my mother’s voice cuts sharply through the phone. “My daughter looks beautiful. The dress is perfect.”
As Vivienne continues her critique, I feel my secrets pressing in around me, threatening to spill out. If she knew what I’d done in Vegas, she’d have the ammunition she needs to convince Connor I’m not worthy of him.
“Actually,” Frédérique says as she interjects unexpectedly, “I find the dress is très élégante.”
All eyes turn to her.
“Merci,” I say quietly.
Vivienne’s mouth tightens into a thin line. “Well, we all have different tastes.”
The tension hangs in the air for a moment before my consultant tactfully suggests we move on to discussing veil options. The rest of the fitting passes in a blur of strained politeness, with Vivienne making subtle digs that Carmen and my mother counter with increasing irritation.
Three days later, Winter Bay is under a blizzard warning. Fat snowflakes swirl violently past the hospital windows as I hurry toward the cafeteria for my lunch break. The psychiatric ward has been unusually busy, with the weather triggering anxiety in several patients.
I’m scrolling through weather alerts on my phone, mentally rearranging the remaining wedding tasks on my wedding countdown checklist when I collide with someone, nearly dropping my phone.
“I’m so sorry—”
My apology dies as I look up into Dennis’s blue-gray eyes.
“Meesha,” he says with a smile. “Must be fate.”
My eyes immediately dart to the hallway behind him, seeking the nearest exit. The elevator is too far, requiring me to walk past him, but the stairwell door is just fifteen feet to my right.
I take a step backward. “What are you doing here?”
“Visiting,” he says smoothly, adjusting his coat. “I have a meeting with Connor, but have an hour to kill. Join me for lunch?”
Something in his demeanor feels off. His clothes are rumpled, and there’s an intensity in his eyes. My mouth goes dry as he takes a step closer, shrinking the space between us.
“Oh, um, I actually just finished lunch,” I lie, forcing a polite smile while my stomach twists into knots. “But thank you for the offer.”
