Chapter 28 Sierra
SIERRA
Six women in a bridal boutique is a lot. Six opinionated women who all love me and have conflicting ideas about what I should wear? I’m going to need more champagne.
We sweep through the door of the boutique like a small hurricane.
My mom, Harper, Sarah, Audrey, and Matteo’s mom, all talking over each other about parking and whether we should have eaten first or if anyone remembered to feed the meter.
I’m somewhere in the middle of it all, trying not to look as overwhelmed as I feel.
The shop is small and upscale, with soft lighting and crystal chandeliers. The kind of place where everything is displayed like art and there are no visible price tags, which means I probably can’t afford to breathe in here, let alone buy something.
A woman materializes in front of us before we’ve taken three steps.
Black blazer, long skirt, statement earrings that look like they weigh more than my head.
She’s got to be in her sixties, but she moves like time is money, sweeping toward me and threading her arm through mine like we’ve known each other for years.
“Welcome, welcome! You must be Sierra.” Her smile is so polished I can almost see my reflection in it. “I’m Celeste, the owner. I cannot wait to help you find the dress of your dreams.”
Owner. Not associate, not consultant. The owner of the whole shop is handling my appointment personally?
I shoot my mom a look. She looks just as confused as I am. But when I glance at Matteo’s mom, she’s serene as a Buddha, like VIP treatment at bridal boutiques is just how things work in her world.
Which, now that I think about it, it probably is.
Celeste guides us toward the back, chattering about fabrics and silhouettes, and that’s when I realize something weird. The shop is empty. Not just quiet. Completely, utterly empty. No other brides flipping through racks. No stressed-out mothers clutching tissues. No one but us.
“Are we the only people here?” I ask.
“Of course, dear. You’re a priority client.” Celeste says this like it should be obvious. “I’ve cleared my entire afternoon for you.”
My cousin Audrey’s eyebrows shoot up. “Priority client?”
“The whole afternoon?” Harper adds, and there’s something in her voice that makes me glance over. A tightness around her mouth. “It’s just one dress for a small ceremony. No bridesmaids or anything.”
Ah. There it is. Harper’s been a little off since I told everyone about the wedding plans.
She’d expected to be a bridesmaid, and honestly, she would be if things were different.
If I were having a real wedding with all the trimmings instead of a forty-person ceremony that’s technically a trap for my psycho ex-boyfriend.
But I can’t explain that, so I just offered her an apologetic smile when I broke the news, and she said she understood, and neither of us has brought it up since. The wound is still fresh, though. I can tell.
“I wanted to make sure there was plenty of time,” Celeste says smoothly, “to find exactly the right dress for Miss Dixon. These things can’t be rushed.”
She says my name with a little extra emphasis, and I catch her glancing at me like she’s checking to make sure I’m properly appreciating the treatment I’m receiving. Which tells me everything I need to know about how this unexpectedly private appointment came to be.
Matteo.
He didn’t say a single word about this when I told him about the appointment. Didn’t hint that he’d done anything special, didn’t wait around for a thank you. He just quietly made sure I’d be taken care of, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
The man is more thoughtful than he gives himself credit for.
Celeste deposits us in a sitting area with velvet couches arranged in a semicircle, facing a raised platform and a tri-fold mirror.
Very dramatic. Very “say yes to the dress.” An assistant appears with champagne on a silver tray, and everyone takes a glass except Sarah, who pats her baby bump apologetically, and Ma, who declines with a polite shake of her head.
I take a very generous sip of mine.
“Now,” Celeste says, turning to me with an eager gleam in her eye, “tell me about your vision. What kind of dress do you see yourself in?”
I open my mouth. Close it. Open it again.
“I have absolutely no idea,” I admit.
Most people would be annoyed by this. Celeste looks delighted.
“Oh, wonderful. A blank canvas! I’ll pull some options and we’ll discover your style together.”
She disappears into the racks with the kind of enthusiasm usually reserved for treasure hunters, and I’m left with my champagne and my family and the growing realization that I’m about to try on dresses. For my wedding. Which is happening in less than two weeks.
When did my life get so weird?
“You okay, honey?” Mom asks, studying my face.
“Fine.” I take another sip. “Just processing.”
“It is a lot. And it is fast.” She reaches over to squeeze my hand. “But it’s exciting, too. My baby, getting married.”
Her eyes are already going soft and misty, and we haven’t even started yet. I have a feeling I’m going to be drowning in maternal emotions by the end of this appointment.
“So,” Audrey says, swirling her champagne, “what’s everyone’s wedding dress story?”
My mother laughs. “Oh, mine is not glamorous. Your uncle and I were broke when we got married. I borrowed my dress from my cousin Patty.”
“You borrowed a wedding dress?” Harper looks mildly horrified.
“Patty had gotten married the year before, and her dress was gorgeous. To me, anyway. Shoulder pads up to here.” She holds her hands practically up to her chin. “Lace sleeves. Very Dynasty.”
“Shoulder pads?” Audrey wrinkles her nose. “In a wedding dress?”
“It was 1987, sweetheart. Shoulder pads were the height of fashion.”
“I feel like that can’t possibly be true.”
“It is. I have photographic evidence.”
“Please burn it.”
Mom swats at her, laughing. I love watching them bicker. It’s familiar and warm, and it makes me feel like maybe this whole day won’t be as stressful as I feared.
“What about you, Harper?” I ask. “How did you pick your dress?”
Harper’s expression softens the way it always does when Julian comes up. “I knew I wanted something classic. Timeless. Something Julian would love.”
“You picked your dress based on what Julian would like?”
“I picked a dress that I loved and that I knew he would love too.” She shrugs, but there’s a small smile playing at her lips. “We have the same taste. Always have. It’s like we share a brain sometimes, I swear. He knows what I’m thinking before I say it.”
“That’s sweet,” Ma offers.
“It’s practical,” Harper says, but she’s still smiling. “Why waste time arguing about things when you’re already on the same page? Julian is my person. Everything I do, I’m thinking about how it affects us. Both of us. That’s just how it works when you’re really connected to someone.”
She says it simply, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. And maybe for her, it is. Harper has always been devoted to my brother. From the day they met, he’s been the center of her universe, and she’s never made any secret of it.
It’s kind of beautiful, actually. The certainty she has. The way she builds her whole life around their partnership.
I wonder what that feels like, to be that sure about someone.
Celeste returns before I can spiral too far down that thought, her arms overflowing with white fabric.
“I’ve selected four very different styles,” she announces. “We’ll try them all and see what speaks to you.”
The first dress fits perfectly.
It’s also absolutely hideous on me.
I step out of the dressing room and onto the platform. I’m bracing for reactions to the dress when Harper’s gaze snags on my arm.
“Si, what happened?”
I’d been waiting for someone to ask. I don’t look at the bandage. Looking at it would make this feel like a bigger deal than I want it to be.
“Oh, just a work injury. Wet floor plus the world’s sharpest ice bin equals me learning a valuable lesson about running in non-slip shoes. Which, by the way, are a lie. They absolutely slip.” I shrug. “It looks worse than it is. Promise.”
Mom frowns, but before she can push, Audrey cuts in.
“You’re a mess. Now can we focus on how bad this dress is?”
I take the out gratefully, pushing down the guilt of lying to my family. Again. The dress deserves my attention, anyway, and not in a good way.
The dress is strapless, fitted through the hips, then flaring out at the knee. On the hanger, it looked elegant. On me, it looks like I’m being slowly consumed by a mermaid costume.
“The beading is pretty,” Mom offers weakly.
I turn to face the mirror and wince. My boobs look like they’re staging an escape attempt. The silhouette is all wrong, cutting me in weird places. And the flare at the knee makes me walk like a penguin.
“Next,” I say firmly.
The second dress has sleeves. Long, lacy, suffocating sleeves that make me feel like I’m being swallowed by a doily.
“The neckline is nice?” Harper tries.
“I look like I’m auditioning to haunt a Victorian mansion.”
“A little bit,” she admits.
Next.
Third dress: ballgown. Massive. So much tulle that I can barely fit through the doorway. I look like a wedding cake topper.
“Very... princessy,” Sarah says.
“I can’t feel my ribs.”
“That’s probably not ideal.”
Next.
Fourth dress is too plain. Fifth is too busy. Sixth makes me look like a satin-wrapped sausage. Seventh is somehow both too plain and too busy, which I didn’t even know was possible.
By the time I’ve tried on half a dozen dresses, I’m exhausted, moderately sweaty, and starting to wonder if maybe I’m just not a wedding dress person. Maybe I should get married in a nice sundress. Or jeans and a cute top. That’s fine, right?
“I think I need a break,” I tell Celeste, slumping against the dressing room wall.
She studies me for a moment, head tilted, before her eyes light up.
“Wait here,” she says. “I have one more thing to show you.”
She disappears, and I hear her rummaging around somewhere in the back of the shop. When she returns, she’s carrying a single dress. She has the triumphant look of someone who’s just solved a difficult puzzle.
The dress is ivory satin with a lace-covered bodice. Even on the hanger, it’s beautiful. Simple but elegant. Classic but not boring.
“We just unpacked this one this morning,” Celeste says. “We haven’t even put it on the floor yet, but I think it might be exactly what you need.”
She helps me into it, the fabric sliding over my skin like water. Cool and smooth and perfect.
When she finishes buttoning up the back, I step out of the dressing room and onto the platform.
Silence.
Then my mother makes a sound. A small, choked noise that could be the beginning of a sob.
I turn to face the mirror.
Oh.
The bodice is delicate lace over satin, fitting like it was made for me.
The thin straps sit perfectly on my shoulders, crossing elegantly behind my back.
The skirt is layered, not quite a ballgown but close, skimming the floor with just enough drama to feel special.
And down my spine, a row of pearl buttons catches the light.
Ma appears behind me, and when our eyes meet in the mirror, hers are shining with tears.
“It’s perfect,” she says softly. “You’re perfect, Sierra. I’m so happy my son is going to marry you.”
My mother joins us, stepping in front of me and placing her hands on my shoulders. Her eyes are wet too.
“My beautiful girl,” she says. “I’m so happy for you.”
She means it. They both mean it. And they don’t know the half of it.
Ma knows the truth. But she’s looking at me like she sees something I don’t. Like maybe the truth is more complicated than either Matteo or I realized.
The satin is cool against my skin, but I’m flushed underneath, my pulse ticking high in my throat. Standing here in this dress, with both of our mothers crying over me, the guilt hits sharp and twisting. I’m lying to my family. Letting them believe something that isn’t true.
But underneath the guilt is something worse.
Longing.
I want this to be real. I want to walk down the aisle toward Matteo and mean every word of my vows. I want Sunday dinners and motorcycle rides and waking up next to him every morning for the rest of my life.
I want to deserve the way these women are looking at me.
The wanting is so big that it scares me. I’ve wanted things before. Believed in things before. And Viktor taught me exactly how that ends.
But Matteo isn’t like Viktor. He’s proven that a hundred times over. And standing here in this dress, looking at myself in the mirror, I can almost believe that I’m allowed to have this. That I’m allowed to be happy.
Almost.
The moment passes. I blink, and the tears retreat back to wherever they came from. I smile at our mothers and let them fuss over me for another few minutes before going to change.
Celeste takes my measurements with brisk efficiency, promising the alterations will be done in plenty of time. “Rush jobs are my specialty,” she says with a wink, and I suspect that’s another thing Matteo arranged.
Matteo’s credit card is on file, so there’s no bill to deal with. Another thing he handled without being asked. Another quiet kindness from a man who insists he’s only good for violence.
We leave the shop together, everyone in high spirits, discussing where to go for lunch. I feel lighter than I have in days. Whatever else is true about this situation, I found a dress I love, and that feels like a victory.
Harper’s phone rings.
She pulls it out and frowns at the screen. “Unknown number.”
“Spam,” Audrey quips. “Don’t answer.”
“It might be important.”
She steps away to take the call. The rest of us keep chatting, debating between Vietnamese and Italian, when I hear it.
A gasp. Sharp and sudden.
Then the clatter of a phone hitting the sidewalk.
I turn around. Harper is frozen in place, her face drained of color, her hands shaking at her sides.
I’m in front of her in three steps, grabbing her shoulders.
“Harper, what is it? What happened?”
Her eyes find mine, glazed and distant. Like she’s looking at me from very far away.
“Julian,” she whispers. “He’s in the hospital.”
My stomach drops.
“What?”
“He was hit by a car.”