Chapter 20
POPPY
Let’s get this over with are not the words I imagined myself thinking on my way to try on wedding dresses. But I can’t help wishing I could fast-forward through this, get to the credits already.
Ever since I told Ethan I’d take over more back end work and leave the café in his capable hands, I can no longer ignore the stack of boxes full of loose papers Aunt Dahlia never had the wherewithal to organize.
She was always a free-spirit, and apparently that meant she didn’t organize anything when it came to the business.
Between trying to get a handle on what it will mean for me once the deed to the café is transferred to me—if the deed gets transferred—and Brooke in my ear about wedding planning, my capacity for shopping is at an all-time low.
I’ve already used all my capacity for decision-making on which fine China I want, whether I want napkins with a blue border or silver, whether I want pink roses, or white.
It’s mentally exhausting.
And today, instead of being elbow deep in invoices and tax returns like I should be, I’m about to be elbow deep in frilly chiffon, tulle, and lace.
I might feel differently about it if Jett was the man I wanted to marry, if I thought this was my one and only shot at having a wedding. But every day I’m reminded that that’s not the case, that this isn’t real.
Last night at the bowling alley was yet another reminder.
I thought he might have kissed me when we were alone, but I guess that wasn’t part of the agreement.
Other than our first kiss, which I realize now he did as a favour to me, we agreed to dating lessons as part of the publicity stunt. Not in private.
We’ll be husband and wife on paper and to the public, but behind closed doors, we’ll be nothing more than roommates.
Wren is waiting for me in the lobby of the bridal salon when I arrive. I didn’t want anyone but her coming with me. I had a hard enough time keeping up the lie to all our friends at the engagement party.
Whatever anxiety and dread has been looming as this day has approached is replaced by a comforting calm when I see Wren, her bright red lips forming a warm smile as I greet her with a hug.
Before we can get into debriefing the party, a woman in a crisp pantsuit calls my name, and gestures for us to follow her into the back.
She introduces herself as Lily, as she guides us through the store, pointing out different racks.
They’re all laden with layers upon layers of silk, satin, chiffon, and lace.
The store is much more expensive for my taste—or my budget—but I have Jett’s credit card in my purse and strict instructions to spare no expense on the wedding dress.
Lily lets us browse and pull a few dresses that pique our interest, taking them from us and hanging them in the private fitting room area reserved for me. When we’re done perusing, she brings Wren and I both a glass of prosecco before leading me to the staging area behind a thick velvet curtain.
Her strength takes me by surprise as she reefs on the strings of the corset of the first dress. When she finishes tying me up, she throws open the curtain, and the rest of the bridal salon comes into view.
Wren is sitting opposite where I’m standing on a pink velour couch, sipping her bubbly.
I grab a fistful of the skirt and twirl it, as I look up to the mirror.
Wren’s face scrunches when she takes in the swaths of fabric adorning my petite frame, the skirts—plural—bunching and billowing around my feet.
Whatever dress I do decide on, they’ll need Cinderella’s mice to make it fit me properly. I’ll need magic to make it seem like I have any sort of shape to my body. Any semblance of curves would be nice.
I wasn’t a late-bloomer, I was more of a never-bloomed, and seeing how the dress puckers across my non-existent boobs makes my stomach sink.
Doesn’t matter. I’ll get to pick out the dress of my dreams whenever I get married for real. Until then, I need to keep my eye on the prize.
“This one is fine,” I say. Not exactly a glowing review for a bride, but for a staged wedding, it’ll do.
“Not it.” Wren cuts me off. Her face still scrunched.
I tilt my head in the mirror to look at it from every angle, but no matter what I do, I look like a child playing dress up in my mother’s clothes.
“Come on,” I argue. “It looks like a wedding dress. It just needs a bit of tweaking, and it’ll be perfect.”
Perfect, in that I won’t have to try on any more of the billowy monstrosities that are hanging in the dressing room.
Wren’s gaze darts between Lily and I before she speaks.
“Poppy, this is your wedding. We’re not leaving until you find something you feel beautiful in.”
Lily is already nodding her head in agreement, and then she starts rifling through the dresses we picked, eventually holding up one of the clear plastic bags.
This one is thinner, and I can already tell there’s less tulle and lace.
It’s one that Wren picked earlier, and her eyes light up when she sees it.
Lily closes the curtain around me again, helps me into the dress, and as soon as she slides the smooth satin up over my hips and helps me put my arms through the sleeves, I know it’s actually perfect.
There’s a slight gathering under the bust, but then the satin falls to the ground, hugging my hips perfectly as Lily does up the long row of covered buttons in the back.
It’s elegant, it’s classic. It’s simple. But it almost has a vintage look that I like. It’s the wedding dress I would choose for myself one day.
Wren’s mouth falls open when Lily sweeps the curtain to the side this time.
“This is it,” she says, before I even get the chance to give her my opinion.
Her eyes get misty, and she waves her hand in front of her face as if it will stop her from crying. Lily walks over and hands her a handkerchief without having to be asked, and Wren dabs her beautiful dark eyes. She’s always stunning, and put together, even when she’s crying.
But Wren never cries, and the sight of it triggers a stinging behind my eyes that I blink back. I look past her into the floor length mirror and take in the image. I look like a bride. A real bride.
I’m not, though. One day I might be, but not this time.
One day I might get the chance to have the wedding of my dreams. With a man who isn’t my opposite in every single way.
A man who matches me. Who’s a homebody like me, who’s a little bit introverted like me.
Who won’t start to resent me when I can’t keep up with a lifestyle that isn’t me.
Who I won’t be planning on divorcing after a year.
“It’s stunning, Pops.” Wren dabs her eyes with the small piece of white cotton. “Dahlia would have loved this on you.”
Emotion wells up within me, threatening to burst as I think of my aunt, of what this wedding means, of what a fraud I am.
The dress is suddenly squeezing my middle, even though the fabric hugs my body like it was made for me. I can’t breathe. The ground sways beneath me, and I need air before I end up laying on it.
Hopping down off the pedestal, I bolt through the store, picking up the skirt of the dress so it doesn’t get dirty on the ground.
“You can’t leave the store with the dress!” Lily calls out behind me, and I whirl around and catch Wren going through my purse, pulling out Jett’s credit card.
“Just charge it to this,” I hear Wren say, but her voice is muffled, far away, as I turn back toward the exit.
The crisp, fresh air outside hits my lungs and I take a deep breath, followed by an exhale that puffs around my face in a misty cloud.
“Poppy,” Wren calls as she catches up to me, wrapping her arms around herself to keep warm. “What’s going on?”
“I can’t do it, Wren,” I heave, the cold only now starting to seep through to my bones as the adrenaline wears off. “This dress is perfect.”
Wren gives me a confused expression.
“And?”
My voice trembles as I try to still my quivering chin. “And I never thought that I’d be getting married like this. Without Aunt Dahlia. To Jett.”
Wren heaves a long breath and looks off down the street. When she glances back, her eyes are full of something I haven’t seen in a while, not since before I told her about this marriage scheme.
Acceptance. Determination.
“You know, at first, I thought this was a terrible idea, marrying Jett.”
I flash her a withering glare. “I thought you were on board.”
“I was, I am. I’m team Poppy, always,” she says.
“I think Jett is team Poppy, too. Hudson could not stop talking about how he was with you at the bowling alley. I didn’t know what you meant when you said he was different, but I’m starting to see it.
He’s always put himself first, and if he can win on his own and gloat about it, he’ll do it.
I know why he made us all play on teams. It was because your arthritis was flaring, wasn’t it? ”
I nod, and sniffle, bouncing the balls of my feet and regretting my decision to dart outside into the cold.
“See, this whole thing might actually work with Jett. Sure, he has his own motives, but I think he wants to help you, too. You can do this, Poppy. If not for yourself, do it for Dahlia. She might not be able to be here today, but she would want you to embrace this experience. She’d want you to wear a fucking kick ass dress and feel amazing in it. ”
I chuckle softly and think back to all the over-the-top gowns she used to love, the big jewelry, the expensive perfume. I glance down at myself, at the thin satin clinging to my shivering body. This isn’t the dress she would choose for herself, but it’s certainly the one she’d choose for me.
“Now, come on.” Wren loops her arm through mine. “It’s fucking freezing out here.”
When we get back in the store, Lily is standing at the counter, waiting for an explanation as to why we left.
“This is the one,” I say instead, and her expression shifts into a broad smile.
“I knew it was.”
Lily leads us back in front of the mirror, and hands me a bouquet of white roses and greenery, just like what I told Brooke I wanted, and fastens a long veil to my crown.
This dress is gorgeous. And it looks gorgeous on me.
I examine myself in the mirror again, this time with the words Wren said outside replaying in my mind and settling somewhere deep in my heart.
Yes, I’m doing this for Aunt Dahlia. Yes, I want to embrace this day as the start of a new chapter, of going after what I want.
But it’s something else Wren said that’s ringing louder in my mind, drowning everything else out.
I think Jett is team Poppy, too.
An image flashes in my mind. It lingers for only a split second, but it was there, and it sent a ripple of excitement fluttering through my core. I try my best to stifle it.
But as much as I can tell myself this isn’t real, I can’t stop thinking about the look on Jett’s face when he sees me walking down the aisle.