Epilogue
Two years later
As the early morning sun casts a warm golden hue over Fitzwilliam Square, I stand at the basement window of By Grace Algar, my beautiful bridal store, looking up at the sky.
I’m a little apprehensive about taking a week off, but business is booming, commissions flooding in.
Thanks to Kathleen, word of my distinctive gowns spread through the bridal community like wildfire, here and abroad, after Carla Deliginue’s gold dress was copied by a chain outlet.
I’d hardly had time to catch my breath as work finished on my store.
I know I can leave my business in the very capable hands of the two amazing young designers I’ve employed and the very special intern from Inchicore College I’m mentoring, whom I have high hopes for.
By Grace Algar turned a significant profit last year, it’s become a go-to for major celebrities.
I still pinch myself. The sun peers out from behind the clouds for a brief visit and I think about that unprecedented heatwave summer in Dublin, two years ago now, when my life changed forever with Donal Kearney stepping into it.
Speaking of, I check the time on my phone in my hand.
It’s my wedding day.
But let me take you back to the proposal.
‘Hollywood hottie Nicola Pawley and Logan Hunter split in very public Las Vegas spat after a whirlwind marriage,’ Donal had read out to me from his phone on that snowy Christmas Eve last year, when I was just closing up the store.
‘Oh, well I hope they’ll be very happy apart.’ I rolled my eyes, turning the shop sign to closed. I honestly hadn’t thought about Logan since Belinda’s wedding day. I knew he’d moved to LA to try his hand at a movie career.
‘Me too, to be honest.’ Donal kissed me gently.
‘How did I get so lucky?’ I’d kissed him repeatedly.
‘We. How did we get so lucky.’ He’d run his long fingers through his beard.
It was much more manscaped since we’d moved in together to his house in Fitzwilliam Square after six months of dating.
I’d shut the door on my little flat in Old Camden Street with a bittersweet feeling.
I had to laugh when I received a huge bouquet of red roses from Emma Stark congratulating me on my success and wondering about a possible Emma Stark/Grace Algar cross-over collaboration?
First thing I’d noticed was how she’d put her name first. I’d sent her back a cute thank-you note, but had no intention of engaging any further.
The note had a secret double meaning for me: if it wasn’t for Emma, I’d never have met Donal Kearney.
If I hadn’t have been so desperately trying to avoid her in town that day outside Fallon eating and drinking and living life side by side, an equal partnership.
‘Let’s get you into the dress first?’ Mia suggests.
‘I can’t wait to see it on ya!’ Denise says.
‘Me, either.’ Amanda tries to peer around the red drapes.
‘No peeking!’ Kathleen laughs, phone in hand, waiting to snap me for her stories.
I step into the changing groom. The wedding dress that I’ve made for myself is hanging in one of my beautiful By Grace Algar dress bags. I zip it down slowly and take it off the hanger.
‘It all feels a bit different to the last time we got you into a wedding dress?’ Mia smiles at me with a quick wink.
‘Right!’ I laugh.
Mia holds it out and I step in. It’s a simple gown with clean lines and minimal embellishments, letting the elegance of my design speak for itself.
I wanted a timeless silhouette. A-line, crafted from soft, flowing silk fabric.
The neckline a classic sweetheart, providing a gentle frame for my face.
Mia takes me all in. ‘It’s so beautiful,’ she says as I turn to allow her to fasten the shank pearl buttons up the back.
‘The belt is around the hanger,’ I tell her and she retrieves it, hands it to me. I fold the soft satin belt around my waist. It adds a touch of sophistication without overwhelming the simplicity of the gown.
One of the girls has ‘(I’ve Had) The Time of My Life’ playing on their phone.
‘Perfection. Shall we have that little drink?’ Mia fixes her hand on her hip and I slip my hand through the crook of her arm.
We step out to gasps and tears from my wonderful group of friends, and soon to be sisters-in-law.
‘Oh! Glasses!’ I say, and opening my china cabinet, remove five, delicate crystal, champagne flutes. I place them all carefully on the table.
‘You’re a glass short. There are six of us for champagne.’ Mia looks at me and instantly her hand flies to her mouth. ‘Shhiiiit!’ she gulps.
But my face has erupted into the greatest smile ever.
‘Fuck a duck! You’re pregnant!’ Belinda booms.
‘I am,’ I tell them, nodding like a bobblehead.
‘Well, isn’t that just the greatest news ever!’ Kathleen can’t stop her tears flowing.
‘So exciting! Bagsy being the fun aunt, you can be the responsible ones!’ Amanda shrieks.
And they all surround me, hugging me, kissing me, celebrating me.
I look at their faces, the excitement in my store is palpable.
With a gentle smile, I place my hand over my stomach, to the sounds of the champagne cork popping.
A vision of Donal’s face when I told him crosses my mind.
Joy was simply too small a word to describe his reaction.
He had been ecstatic. Although I have had to tell him to stop fussing over me a few times already!
‘To the bride-to-be and the baby-to-come!’ Mia holds her glass aloft.
‘Let the battle for godmother commence!’ Denise toasts.
‘To Grace!’ they all shout together as they clink.
Surrounded by the whispers of my future, and the flutter of tulle, I realise that life can surprise you in the most beautiful ways.
As I move to get a bottle of water with my gown flowing gracefully to the floor, I pass the floor-to-ceiling mirror.
I stop. The face that stares back at me in the reflection can hardly remember the broken-hearted, struggling wedding-dress designer.
It’s the face of a woman who really knows herself and what she wants, both professionally and from a relationship.
Something everlasting.
Something that I, Grace Algar, fully deserve.
Something that we all deserve.