Page 112 of Seale the Deal

I think with all the excitement about the wedding, people forget that Remi’s friendship is the reason I met Ruger, I say.

She nods. True. Speaking of the wedding, you haven’t said anything about what I’m holding.

I look down at the white fabric in her hands. What is that?

Feel. She holds it toward me.

I touch it. Stiff, kind of wire-like.

Organza?

Some of it. She lets it fall to the floor.

It’s a wedding dress. Organza covers the silk skirt while the long-sleeve top is covered in a lace design. Romantic, bohemian… I’d guess late sixties or seventies.

It’s beautiful, I murmur, still trying to piece it together.

Do you know why I love clothes? Beryl asks.

I shake my head.

They tell a story. Sometimes that story is short. Sometimes it’s long. Sometimes… the story isn’t finished.

My brows furrow. Slowly, everything clicks.

This is… your wedding dress.

Beryl nods. Now, I know it’s not your style. You seem more classic than hippie. We also don’t have a lot of time, so I’ve drawn up what I think—goodness, child, what’s wrong?

The knot in my throat is impossible to swallow. Tears blur my vision, and my face flushes.

Are you giving me your wedding dress? My voice cracks.

Beryl’s concerns soften into warmth. I didn’t like the idea of you in a simple dress. You need a gown. This is your wedding.

I shake my head. I can’t take this.

Yes, you can, she insists. This dress’s story isn’t done. It needs a happily ever after.

I wipe a fallen tear. Didn’t it already get one?

Beryl looks down at the dress, lip quivering. Audrey’s father was a brilliant, wonderful man. A boating accident… well, we never walked down the aisle. Luckily, I soon found out he left the best part of him behind.

Audrey.

She looks at me. I have a design and everything. We can work on it together.

Beryl, this is too much. You’re making flowers and now this. I don’t know what to say.

Say ‘thank you,’ she says simply.

But it’s anything but simple. How do I let her give me this dress, thinking it will get its happily ever after, when I’m not so sure myself?

Thank you, I finally whisper, but the words feel hollow.

Beryl looks at her watch. Oh dear. I have an appointment.

Let me walk you out, I say.