18 - The Reluctant Bride
Scarlett sat on the edge of her unmade bed, the morning sunlight slipping through the half-drawn curtains and casting soft gold across her cluttered room. Her phone vibrated in her palm, its hum steady and familiar. She didn't need to check the screen. She already knew who it was.
Sarah.
Again.
Scarlett's fingers trembled. She stared at the screen without answering, breath caught in her throat.
Sarah, Ethan's mother, had called nearly every day since the wedding planning began—each conversation another twist of guilt that burrowed deeper into Scarlett's chest. The woman's warmth, her kindness, only made the deception worse.
"I can't keep doing this," Scarlett whispered to herself. Her thumb hovered over the green icon. "But I can't back out now... not after everything."
She inhaled deeply, lungs stretching tight beneath her ribs. The breath did nothing to ease the weight inside her. Finally, she swiped to accept the call and tried to inject a note of ease into her voice.
"Hello, Mom."
Even to her own ears, the cheer sounded brittle.
"Scarlett, dear! I hope I'm not disturbing you," Sarah's voice lilted through the receiver, sweet and soothing—like sunlight in late afternoon or a warm kitchen on a rainy day. It only made Scarlett's shoulders curl tighter inward.
"I just wanted to check in about the wedding venue. Have you seen the pictures? Do you like it?" A pause. Then, gentler: "If there's anything you want to add, just let me know. I want everything to be perfect for you."
Scarlett's heart twisted. She stood and crossed the floor barefoot, pressing her forehead against the windowpane. Outside, the world moved on—someone walking their dog, a cyclist cruising past, a couple chatting at the corner. No one knew the storm inside her.
The truth pressed against her throat. She wanted to tell Sarah everything: that the wedding wasn't a culmination of romance or joy, but a carefully spun performance. But the words refused to come.
"I love everything," she lied, trying to sound light, effortless.
"Oh, that's wonderful to hear!" Sarah sounded delighted. Papers rustled faintly through the line. "I just knew you would. And Ethan? Is he treating you well? Are you two getting along?"
Scarlett's grip on the phone tightened until her knuckles blanched. She turned, catching her reflection in the mirror—a pale, drawn face, dark circles under eyes that held more truths than she dared speak aloud.
Getting along? Sometimes Ethan grated on her like sandpaper—his arrogance, his stubbornness. But other times... other times, he looked at her like she was the only person who mattered. And that terrified her far more.
"Yes, we're getting along," she replied, laughter catching in her throat, sounding hollow. She twisted a strand of hair around her finger, the nervous tic grounding her.
"That makes me so happy," Sarah sighed with audible relief. "I knew you two would find your way."
Scarlett didn't respond. She bit her bottom lip, sinking back onto her bed, Sarah's words echoing in her ears. Find their way? She wasn't searching for a path with Ethan. She was searching for a way out.
But Sarah wasn't finished.
"Actually, I was calling about something else," she continued, a pen tapping lightly in the background.
"I want to book an appointment for you and Ethan to pick out your wedding attire.
The sooner the better. I found this exquisite boutique downtown—designer gowns, the works. You'll look absolutely stunning."
Scarlett's heart stuttered. Wedding attire. Her stomach dropped, icy panic lacing through her veins. The phone nearly slipped from her grasp.
She hadn't even come to terms with the engagement yet. The ring still felt like a shackle. Now she was supposed to pick out a dress? Make this all real?
She scrambled mentally, desperate for an escape route.
"Oh! Actually..." Her words rushed out too quickly. "I was thinking of designing my own wedding dress. So I don't need an appointment."
Silence.
The pause stretched like pulled thread. Scarlett's heartbeat pounded in her ears. Had she pushed too far?
Then Sarah let out a delighted laugh. "Really? Oh, Scarlett, I love that! It shows you're really interested in this marriage. I am happy to hear that from you. I can't wait to see your design. When it's ready, send it to me, and I'll arrange Ethan's fitting to match."
Scarlett exhaled sharply, lungs stinging.
"Of course," she said faintly. She leaned back against the pillows.
"Perfect," Sarah cooed. Her voice softened, tender again. "I just want the two of you to look like a dream on your big day."
Scarlett pressed a hand to her chest, feeling the ache blooming there. How much longer could she live in this lie?
"That sounds... lovely," she murmured.
"I won't keep you," Sarah said cheerfully. "Call me if you need anything. Day or night. You're already like a daughter to me."
Scarlett barely managed a reply before the call ended. She stared at her phone, the screen black and reflective. Her face looked back at her, but it was blurred, unfamiliar.
She dropped her head into her hands, elbows braced on her knees. Everything was spiraling. She had no dress. No design. No plan. And no real way to stop this wedding without shattering Sarah—and maybe damaging her own family's precarious future.
She pressed her palms against her eyes until stars flared behind them. She had to fix this. Somehow. Before it became irreversible.
The boutique bell jingled sharply as Scarlett burst through the door the next morning, the cold outside air clinging to her skin. The cozy scent of fabric, coffee, and Linda's vanilla perfume filled her lungs, but it offered little comfort.
Her heart hammered as she spotted Linda at the front window, arranging silk swatches in the light. Her bangles chimed softly as she moved.
"We have a problem," Scarlett declared, breathless.
Linda turned, one brow arched. Her gaze took in Scarlett's mess of a bun, the wrong-buttoned coat, the earrings that didn't match.
"What problem?" she asked calmly, folding her arms.
Scarlett dropped her bag onto a nearby chair and paced.
"Last night I told Ethan's mom I was designing my wedding dress."
Linda blinked.
"You what?"
"It just came out! She was going on about fittings and designer gowns, and I panicked. Now she's expecting sketches!"
Linda stared for a beat longer—then her lips curled into a slow, wicked smile.
"Darling," she said, stepping closer, "this isn't a problem. This is an opportunity."
Scarlett gaped. "What?"
Linda clapped her hands. "You're our first client. This is the perfect way to launch our boutique! And your dress? A showpiece. Our debut. No more panicking—let's get to work."
Scarlett blinked, stunned. But slowly, as Linda's excitement grew, the edges of Scarlett's fear began to blur. Maybe this didn't have to be a disaster. Maybe it could be something else.
She straightened her spine. "Okay. Let's do it."
"That's my girl!" Linda beamed. She cleared off their design table in a flurry of fabric and sketches. "Now, do you have any ideas?"
Scarlett stepped up beside her, more certain than before. She picked up a pencil and sketchpad.
"I do," she said, the words surprising her.
Her pencil moved in soft lines. "The skirt will be layers of silk tulle—so light it floats when I walk."
Linda leaned in, eyes glittering.
"The bodice?" Scarlett continued, shading as she spoke. "Chantilly lace and illusion fabric, with floral embroidery. Like it was stitched by nature itself."
Linda exhaled softly. Scarlett pressed on.
"The neckline—off-the-shoulder, with tulle draping like mist. And the beading... tiny pearls and crystals, like dewdrops."
She paused, sketching the train. "Cathedral-length. Flowing like moonlight. I want to feel like I'm gliding through a dream."
When she stopped, silence fell. The city hummed outside. Linda stared at the sketch, lips parted.
"Scarlett," she said, voice hushed, "it's breathtaking. This isn't just a dress—it's poetry."
Scarlett smiled faintly, tracing the lines she'd drawn. "At least the dress will be something I love."
Linda heard the ache behind the words. She reached across the table and took Scarlett's hand, her touch warm and grounding.
"No matter what happens," she whispered, "I'm here. And this dress? It's yours. Your heart. No one can take that away."
Scarlett swallowed hard, moved beyond words. Linda had always seen her clearly. In a world built on illusion, that honesty meant everything.
She nodded. "Let's get started."
And as she reached for the fabric samples, something shifted inside her. The wedding may not be hers—but this dress would be. Beautiful. Real. Hers.
And maybe... just maybe, that would be enough.