Chapter Twenty-Seven
Southern Charm Bridal Salon was the oldest wedding-gown shop in the area. Owned by a well-known and respected family for four generations, every southern Virginia bride aspired to buy her dress from this specific store.
I hadn’t been inside for decades, but I remembered the experience all too well.
“Wow,” Alicia said, stepping inside with an expression of hazy nostalgia. “This brings back memories.”
She’d joined me on the hunt for my perfect dress. I might’ve drop-kicked my mother into the river without Alicia present.
Soft classical music drifted from hidden speakers, drawing us into the vaulted foyer. Rows of chandeliers hung from exposed beams in the high, arched ceiling overhead. Enormous windows on two sides invited massive amounts of natural light.
Passersby slowed to enjoy the displays and occasional bride-to-be on a pedestal up front. Shoppers admired views of the river and rear patio in the back.
I’d found my wedding gown here, as had my mother before me.
She’d complained about the prices the entire time I shopped.
When I asked her to stop, she justified her behavior by saying her mother had done the same to her, and she could finally understand why.
I’d vowed in that moment to let my daughter, if I had one, choose the dress she wanted.
I’d married Robert in a discounted gown I didn’t love, because Mom wouldn’t spend more on the one I wanted.
I’d walked the aisle at a church he chose for the aesthetics, because neither of our families went to church regularly enough to lay claim on any specific one.
His mother had coordinated the details, taking liberties anywhere she chose, because she and Robert’s father were paying more than half the costs.
Traditionally, the bride’s family paid for the ceremony, but we simply couldn’t afford the tastes and demands of the Biancos.
So, they stepped in with their wallets and walked all over my family in the process.
Day one of more than eight thousand similar days to follow. “Did you just roll your eyes?” Alicia said, crossing her arms and lowering her brows.
“No.”
“Yes, you did. I saw it. What did we just talk about?”
I wrinkled my nose.
“Stop that.”
“I’m sorry!” I laughed. “That was an apology face.”
“Mama!” Camilla called. “Auntie Alicia!” She sprinted toward us in four-inch white satin heels, then pulled us into a group hug.
She’d rolled her jeans up her calves, presumably for a better look at the heels.
Her cropped green sweater brought out the flecks of hazel in her brown eyes.
“I was so excited I couldn’t wait for my appointment, so I came early,” she said.
“Isn’t it amazing that they could fit us in today?
I just called yesterday and poof! They had a cancellation!
We’re taking pictures of everything I try on to send to my bridesmaids as soon as I ask them.
” She covered her mouth and made wild eyes over the tops of her fingers.
“I want to send flowers or some kind of cute gift when I ask. I can’t decide what to choose. Why are there so many decisions?”
I smiled, warmed by her joy, and certain things between us would never be too bad to sort out.
A woman wearing a black pencil skirt and cream blouse appeared, and Camilla stepped away. “Luckily, we’re here to help,” the lady said. “We will be your decision helpers today.” She smiled at Alicia and me.
“This is Patti,” Camilla said. “Patti, this is my mom, Sophie, and my aunt, Alicia.”
Alicia and I took turns shaking Patti’s hand.
She smiled warmly. “Camilla was just giving me a rundown on her dream wedding,” she said. “We, here at Southern Charm, are prepared to do everything in our power to make those dreams a reality for her. I’m sure you are too.”
My smile tightened, but I told her how much I appreciated that instead of asking her to drop the thinly veiled sales tactics.
Alicia nodded approvingly when I glanced in her direction. Then she raised one thumb covertly.
We followed Patti across a sea of high-polished wooden floors, and past the bay of windows overlooking the river, to a large, private rotunda with a rack of wedding gowns on each side.
Two overstuffed armchairs and a velvet settee centered the space before a platform with umpteen mirrors and a single fitting room.
Camilla fizzed beside me, hands clasped to her chest. “We’ve already picked a few things out.”
I scanned the racks and laughed. At least a half dozen garment bags burdened each rack. “I see.”
“And I’m obsessed with these shoes,” she added, lifting one satin heel from the ground, then the other. “The dress has to match these amazing works of art.”
“Those will go with anything here,” Patti assured.
Alicia pinched me discreetly, and I straightened my face.
“They’re perfect,” I told Camilla.
Patti motioned to the central settee. “Sit. I’ll help the bride into a few gowns, and we can pinpoint her style from there.”
We obeyed and were handed mimosas as our reward.
Patti followed Camilla behind the pink curtain, and I downed half my drink.
“This is even fancier than I remember,” Alicia said. “Remember my wedding dress? My mama’s gown from the nineteen seventies. It was atrocious, even with the alterations I could afford. The cheapest tag on anything in this place is fifteen hundred.”
I choked on my second sip and coughed violently into one hand. “Dollars?”
She pointed a finger at me. “Sophie Grace, stop making that face.”
“I’m choking!” I told her.
Once the store added sales tax to the purchase, the price would reach nearly two grand, and that was only if Camilla chose a dress in the lowest price range.
Darn our old Southern traditions. Not to mention, throughout Camilla’s childhood I’d rebelliously spent Robert’s money on her because I could, and I knew he hated it but wouldn’t complain too much because a nicely dressed child reflected well on him.
As a result, she knew what she liked and didn’t like, and she knew quality.
My banking app probably wept the moment Camilla sent me the text asking to meet her here.
I finished a second mimosa before Camilla exited the fitting room in gown number one. She looked like an angel in white satin. The material hugged her youthful curves and draped elegantly along her décolletage. Sweet. Classic. Understated.
She smiled, but I saw uncertainty in her eyes. “What do you think?”
Patti loved it.
Alicia told her she looked like a page from a magazine.
I shrugged. “It’s a beautiful dress, and you look incredible in it, but I wonder if this is the right one for you.”
“Yeah,” she said. “I agree. This would be perfect for the reception, when I want to dance and mingle without hauling around a massive gown, but—”
And there it was. Camilla didn’t want to “haul a massive gown” around the reception, but she did want to make her big appearance in one at the back of the church.
Patti jumped into action. “Say no more. We’ll focus on full skirts for now. How do you feel about embellishments?”
Camilla’s shoulders relaxed as she followed Patti into the dressing room.
I set my empty glass on a little table at my side.
The next time Camilla emerged, she wore something shaped like a cupcake and grinned.
“Too full?” Camilla asked.
I gave the gown a look and grinned. If Alicia, Patti, and I formed a circle around Camilla and attempted to hold hands, ring-around-the-rosy style, we couldn’t.
“A little,” I told her.
Camilla laughed, and it opened something in my heart.
After that, I took photos of every gown and hated that I’d missed the first two. Alicia and I finished the pitcher of mimosas, and Camilla tried on dress after dress until sweat beaded on her brow.
“Last one,” she said, trooping back inside the fitting room. “Tell me we can get something to eat after this,” she called through the curtain. “We can review the gowns I’ve tried. I want your honest feedback.”
“Sounds like fun,” Alicia said, wiggling her empty flute.
“Agreed,” I said. “Anything but French food. It’s my day off. Don’t make me go to work.”
“I’m thinking tacos,” Camilla said. “Or pizza.”
I perked at the idea of having both. “How about the food trucks by the water? We can grab a table and enjoy the decent weather before temperatures drop.”
Behind the curtain, everything fell silent. No more rustling of material or whispering voices.
Patti stepped into view and held the pink curtain aside so Camilla could follow.
Tears filled her eyes, and a heavy blush spread across her cheeks.
The gown was gorgeous. Layers of white chiffon crisscrossed over a corseted top, accentuating her trim waist and delicate collarbones.
I could imagine my mother’s pearls on her neck, the “something old” portion of her good-luck charms. Chains of organza flower petals fell in ultrafeminine loops from her shoulders.
The skirt was full without bulk or structure, just layers and layers of the most weightless-looking fabric I’d ever seen stretching out behind her.
The whole aesthetic was ethereal, as if she were part of a dream.
“Mama,” she whispered.
My heart broke on that little word, and I knew. This was the dress.
We couldn’t leave here without it.
I nodded. “Perfection.”
After long minutes of staring into the mirror while Patti, Alicia, and I fawned over her, Camilla changed into the clothes she’d arrived in and returned the dress to Patti.
“I have to think about it,” she told her.
“And I’d better use the ladies’ room before lunch.
” She pointed the latter comment in my direction.
I waited for her to leave the room, then rushed for a look at the price tag. Alicia kept pace at my side. “How much is this one?” I asked.
Patti returned the gown to the rack, then smiled knowingly as she revealed the tag.
I nearly vomited on the number printed there.
Alicia gripped my arm. “That says seventy-two hundred dollars.”