Chapter 12 #2
“Sexy elf,” Tarryn corrects, popping a chocolate-covered almond into her mouth.
“Still not it.” Sadie sighs.
And then—
“This one,” Tarryn says, holding up a gown like it’s Excalibur.
It’s fitted all the way down, mermaid style, with a dramatic flare at the hem and delicate beading that catches the lights. “Just trust me.”
Sadie hesitates.
It’s the kind of dress that leaves nothing to the imagination. It’s going to cling like it was poured on.
She crosses her arms. “That’s a lot of dress.”
I grin. “You won’t know until you try.”
Back in the dressing room, Sadie shimmies into it slowly, carefully, letting the fabric slide over her skin. She reports that it’s heavier than she expects—thick and structured, like armor and lingerie had a secret lovechild.
The dress hugs every inch of her—hips, waist, chest—like it was made just for her. Her curves are front and center. The neckline dips low, but not too low, and the beading catches the light like a constellation stitched across her skin.
Still, when she steps out, her arms fold instinctively. “It’s too tight,” she says. “I look like I’m worried Beckett is going to dump me.”
Tarryn scoffs. “You look like a knockout.”
“I look like white trash playing dress-up.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re a bride who knows what she wants. Which, for the record, is rarer than a groom who remembers to RSVP.”
Sadie glances back at the mirror, uncertain.
The silhouette is dramatic. Bold. It demands attention. It’s nothing like the poofy princess dress she thought she wanted, but somehow…it works. She looks fierce. Feminine. Strong.
From the corner, Aimee smiles. “You’re glowing.”
Sadie doesn’t argue. She presses a hand to her stomach. It’s not nerves. Not doubt. It’s…something else. “I don’t hate it,” she says, voice low.
Tarryn claps. “Okay! We’re documenting the moment. Hold still. Or don’t. Actually, twirl.”
She spends the next ten minutes snapping every possible angle of Sadie on the platform. High angles, low angles, over-the-shoulder, mirror shots, laughing shots, dreamy gazes. By the time she’s done, Sadie has blushed a deep pink.
“We’ve got other appointments,” Sadie says with a last look in the mirror. “We should keep moving. I still have to get out of this thing. I’m not going to forget what it looks like, though,” she calls over her shoulder with a laugh as she returns to the curtained area with Aimee.
Once Sadie has returned to her street wear, we grab lattes from the café next door and walk a few doors down to Bisou, a boutique so chic it makes Aimee’s feel like a mall store.
Tucked between a vegan bakery and a luxury consignment shop, Bisou smells like white roses and money, the kind of place where you don’t ask for prices.
You just whisper yes and pray your credit card doesn’t burst into flames.
Tarryn’s in her element the second we step inside. She starts flipping through racks with the bridal stylist assigned to Sadie. “This. This. Definitely this.”
She hands me half a dozen gowns, and the stylist immediately takes them to the dressing room. The boutique only carries sample sizes—meaning they’re designed for someone who hasn’t eaten since 2017. None of them are actually going to zip around Sadie.
In the dressing room, Sadie stands under fluorescent lights in her bra and underwear, surrounded by lace and satin somehow molded to her body with a complex system of pins and clips. From the back, she looks like a puzzle someone gave up on halfway through. But from the front…
Her mouth falls open as she stares at herself in the mirror. Her eyes get a faraway look, but then I watch her reel herself back in. She turns and takes in the rear of the dress. “I look like a toddler playing dress-up.”
I peek in from the side and snort. “A toddler with a killer rack.”
She twists, trying to see all angles at once.
“Obviously they’ll get you one that fits correctly,” I point out as a clip pops loose and a flap of silk droops over her hip. She still looks amazing. “You just have to use your imagination for a moment.”
Tarryn pops her head in through the curtain like a proud stage mom. “It’s couture. You look fantastic.”
Sadie groans. “I look like I’m trying too hard.”
“That’s the point,” Tarryn says with a shrug. “Trying too hard means you care.”
Sadie raises an eyebrow. “Or it makes people think I’m marrying Beckett for the money.”
Tarryn smirks. “Please. That dress says you belong at his side, not because of what he has, but because of who you are. Do you like it?”
After a moment, Sadie nods, almost as if she’s embarrassed to admit it.
In an instant, Tarryn’s dialing her phone.
“Tarryn, don’t—” Sadie hisses, but it’s too late.
She angles the screen toward us like she’s unveiling the next contestant on The Bachelorette.
And there she is. Vicky Paradise, in full midday Saturday glory.
“Mom,” Tarryn coos, “tell me Sadie doesn’t look drop-dead in this.”
Sadie stands awkwardly in the center of the dressing room, surrounded by three-way mirrors and a sea of abandoned tulle.
The dress she’s wearing makes her look radiant.
Not like the ballerina princess she thought she wanted to be, but something infinitely more sophisticated and fabulous.
This dress is her, even if she doesn’t quite believe it yet.
She waves shyly at the screen. “Hi, Vicky.”
Vicky’s eyes light up. “Oh, sweetheart,” she croons. “You’re stunning. That neckline? Divine. Your figure? Perfection. You look like a Vogue editorial.”
Sadie blushes and glances at me like she’s not sure what to do with the compliment. Vicky is a force, the kind of woman who can pack a fundraiser hall, calm a room full of parents, and diagnose a toddler on sight. She makes you feel lucky just to be standing in her orbit.
“She does look amazing,” Tarryn agrees, smug as ever. “And wait until you hear the best part. This baby is just forty-two thousand dollars.”
Sadie seems to choke on air. “What?”
My eyes widen, but Tarryn nods. Yep. Forty-two thousand. Not including alterations. Or emotional trauma.
Forty-two thousand dollars.
I swallow hard, trying not to let my expression crack. I’ve always known the Paradise family had more money than my family, but this is a lot more money. Their whole world is polished and bright and expensive. I know what it’s like to make something priceless. But I’ve never felt less valuable.
Tarryn grins like a game show host unveiling a luxury prize package.
Vicky doesn’t even blink. “Well, of course it is. That lace is handmade. See the detail along the bodice? And those pearls are South Sea. Very rare, very elegant. I’d love to buy it for you, Sadie. It would be my honor. You’ll be absolutely radiant walking down the aisle in it.”
Sadie’s mouth opens, then closes. She fidgets, fingers toying with a clip near her hip as she looks in the mirror again. “I just… I don’t know what people are going to say.”
“That you look like a goddess,” Tarryn responds, fussing with the train.
Vicky’s tone shifts, the glamour fading into something softer. “I was very close with your mother. You know that. And I know she’d want you to have this. She would’ve loved this dress for you.”
This is a dress that will be worn once. It’s more than some people make in a year, more than Sadie used to make in a year. I can see how acutely aware of that she is. But I’m pretty sure bringing up her mom did the trick.
The room goes still. Sadie’s gaze drops to the floor. Her arms fold around her waist, not like she’s hiding, but like she’s holding herself together. When she finally looks up, her eyes are glassy.
“Okay,” she whispers. “Yeah. Okay. I would love to wear this dress. Thank you.”
Tarryn lets out a squeal and throws her arms in the air. “We have a dress!”
Sadie blinks like she’s still in a daze but then smiles. It’s soft, but real.
And for once, I don’t roll my eyes at the drama. Because, in that moment, everything feels right. I have to smile too. This? Every second it took to get here and every second in Vancouver was worth it. This is what it’s about.
The magic, the memories, and the people who remind you that you deserve them.
Then, as if someone flipped a switch, the attention turns to Tarryn and me.
“We still need a dress for the maid of honor,” Tarryn declares with a dramatic sweep of her hand, “and one for me.”
But suddenly I’m not thinking about the dress or the Champagne or the room full of mirrors. I’m thinking about Ryker. And how being here, surrounded by dresses and promises, makes me realize how much of my heart I’ve opened to him, without noticing until now.