Chapter 37
Carla
Robyn is taking too long.
I’m in one of two cream-colored chairs along the wall, facing a row of three changing rooms with pale pink curtains.
There’s a small podium in the center of the space, surrounded by mirrors, and an arrangement of white peonies in a tall glass vase.
The whole shop smells faintly of flowers.
A classical soundtrack plays from speakers somewhere above.
I check my phone. We’ve been here for nearly two hours, which is fine, since I have nowhere else to be.
Robyn has been trying on wedding dresses. Two of them were beautiful on her. The third one was fine, and the fourth one was terrible. The cut was all wrong for her shape. At least we had a good laugh about it.
Now she’s been in there forever with the last dress.
I look up at the curtain, and there’s nothing. There’s no movement behind there anymore. What is she doing?
I wait another minute, listening to the soft music, and then I get up and walk over. “Robyn?”
She makes a noise that tells me she heard me, but that’s it.
“Hey.” I knock twice on the frame. “You’re very quiet in there. Do you need a hand?”
“I’m not sure about this one,” she says.
I press my lips together. “That’s why I’m here.” I put my hand on the fabric. “Come out and let me see it.”
I hear a big sigh.
“Robyn. Come out.”
The curtain shifts, and she steps out, and I forget everything I was about to say.
The dress is ivory, somewhere between cream and the faintest blush, and it’s long.
It hugs her all the way from the bodice to mid-thigh, then flares just enough to let her walk, the fabric rippling at the hem.
The neckline sits low across her chest, deep enough to be undeniably sexy but not by even a fraction too much.
There is lace over the bodice, delicate and fitted, with tiny buttons down the back from neck to waist. It’s structured and soft at the same time.
It’s classic, and it’s a little bit breathtaking.
“That’s the one,” I say. “You look incredible. Ridge is going to swallow his tongue when he sees you. He’s going to have a heart attack.”
“I hope not.” She giggles.
“You’re going to be at the reception for five minutes because he won’t be able to wait to get you out of that thing,” I say, looking her up and down.
She looks in the mirror and pulls a face. “Do you think so? I think it might be a bit much. I just don’t know. I thought I’d wear one of those poofy dresses. This is…it’s…”
“You look amazing, babe. Insanely beautiful and I’m not just saying that. I wouldn’t lie to you.”
From across the room, Marla presses both hands to her heart, and her colleague makes a sound that is technically professional agreement but is actually pretty much the same as what I’m feeling, which is that my best friend is getting married in this dress and it is absolute perfection.
“The lace,” I say. “The buttons. The way that goes from fitted to—”
“It does fall nicely at the bottom,” she admits, looking down.
“It’s you. It enhances everything that’s great about you. I mean, look at your breasts. Holy shit!” I take her by the shoulders and turn her gently toward the mirrors. “Look at yourself.”
She does, and her face softens as she smooths her hands over the fabric.
“Okay,” she says, after a moment. “Maybe you’re right.”
“I’m always right.”
Robyn laughs and rolls her eyes. “You’re so modest, Carla.”
“It’s true, and you know it. This reminds me a little of when you tried on that dress for the fundraiser. The one that had Ridge all tied in knots.”
She smiles at me. “It did a great job getting him all riled up.”
The saleslady, Marla, moves in with a small smile. “I think this could be the winner. I would be happy to bring out a few others if you’re still not sure.”
I look at Robyn, my brows raised.
“I think this is it.” She beams.
I clap my hands. “It’s perfect.”
“Okay, then,” Marla says. “Good choice. Step up onto the podium so that I can check the fit.”
Robyn does as she says. Marla runs an eye over the dress, pinching the fabric gently at the back to show where the alterations will go. She makes notes in a small leather-bound pad she keeps in her jacket pocket. Next, she takes out the tape and her pins. She measures and pins and makes more notes.
Her colleague goes in search of veils, which Robyn tries on.
We decide on a fingertip veil in the same ivory, finished with a thin trim of the same lace from the dress. When Marla pins it in place, Robyn gets teary.
My eyes mist up as well. “You look amazing.” I blink to stop from crying.
She sniffs a few times and wipes her eyes, having to stick her hand under the veil.
“You look stunning,” Marla tells her. “Perfect. Take it off, and I’ll put them to the side for alterations. You’ll need to come in a week before your wedding for the final fitting.”
“No problem. My sister will have to try on her dress then too.”
“I’ll make a note of it,” Marla says.
Robyn disappears behind the curtain to change.
Marla brings two dresses for me to try on. One is in a champagne color. She also suggested a soft green, saying it would be good for my skin tone.
I take the green one first and go into the open change room on the right.
I take off my clothes, trying not to look at myself in the harsh light. What is it about these places and the lighting?
I know it’s a bad idea roughly halfway through pulling it on.
The silky material isn’t very flattering.
It’s too tight and too shiny, showing off every lump and bump.
The bodice does not meet in the way it’s supposed to.
My breasts have plans of their own. I’m sure there’s escape involved because they’re trying really hard.
By the time I get the thing zipped, which takes a valiant effort, I have made peace with the fact that this dress and I are incompatible.
I look in the changing room mirror. The fabric pulls at my ribs and drapes in a way that does absolutely nothing for my middle. I look like a green sausage.
I wish I hadn’t been so careless with my eating habits.
“Carla.” Robyn’s voice comes from the other side of the curtain.
I look at myself again. Nope.
“Carla, come out.”
“I look terrible,” I deadpan.
“Let me be the judge of that.”
“No!” I bark.
“Yes,” she insists.
“You’re going to laugh.”
“I would never.”
I tug the curtain open with the energy of someone who has accepted their fate.
Robyn’s expression does not change at all.
“Not a word,” I warn.
“I wasn’t going to—”
“I look terrible!”
“It’s the cut,” she says diplomatically. “It isn’t for every body type. This is entirely a dress problem, not a you problem.”
I laugh. “You’re a liar.”
“I’m not.” Her eyes widen a little. “Since when did you have such big boobs?”
“I have put on weight everywhere, including my chest area. You should see my ass.”
She laughs. “You’re being dramatic.”
“I’ve been dieting all week. I went to the gym every lunch break this whole week as well, and I’ve only lost one measly pound.
” I hold up a finger. “I gave up alcohol. Not that I drink much, but still. I’ve given up chocolate too.
I’m watching my macros like a hawk and don’t have much to show for it. I’m in a calorie deficit.”
“One pound is actually great,” Robyn says. “I mean it. Losing weight slowly is the right way to do it. You’ll keep it off that way. You should allow yourself a cheat day every few weeks.”
“What? So that I can put it all back on?”
“You won’t put it back on from one day, Carla. Listen to the voice of reason.”
She’s right. I know she’s right. It does not make standing here in this dress more fun.
Marla has been quietly conferring with her colleague on the other side of the room, showing no sign that she has noticed anything, which is professionalism of the highest order.
She now moves in with another dress over her arm.
This one is a different green. She holds it up as she nears us, and it has a completely different fabric and cut as well.
“Try this,” she tells me. “The champagne dress I already gave you is not for you either, but I think you’ll like this one. It’ll show off your narrow waist and your lovely arms.”
Lovely arms. She’s reaching.
“Okay.” I take it and go back behind the curtain.
I can’t wait to be rid of the silk and pull the other one on.
There is a gather at the hip, and it emphasizes my waist, like she said.
The sweetheart neckline works with me rather than against me.
My breasts look freaking amazing. I guess the added weight does have its perks.
The green is actually good against my skin.
I look in the mirror, and I don’t want to close the curtain on this one.
I pull open the curtain and go out.
Robyn smiles. “Yes,” she says. “I really like it.” She nods.
Marla nods too. She has a satisfied expression. “It’s a much better style on you. And the color is lovely. It makes your eyes pop. I think it’ll work better than the champagne, which you are welcome to try. I have it in the same cut and fabric.”
I turn to look at myself in the big mirror on the podium.
“I like it.”
“I love it.” Robyn glances at her watch. “Oh, no.” She looks up. “Carla, I’m so sorry, I have to run. I’m meeting Ridge at the bakery. We’re choosing the cake this afternoon. It can’t wait.”
“Go.” I wave her off. “You’re all sorted. I think I’ll try the champagne option just to be sure.”
“Sounds good, but I think you might have your winner. You look wonderful,” she says, coming to squeeze my arm.
“And don’t be so hard on yourself, okay?
Keep doing what you’re doing, and you’ll be a few pounds lighter by the wedding.
I think you’re looking great, my friend. I would tell you otherwise.”
I give her a look.
“I mean it.” She squeezes again. “I’ll call you tonight.” She gathers her bag and thanks Marla, and then she’s gone, leaving a faint waft of perfume.
Marla notes a few things about the fit and steps back. I step down.
Then she tells me she’ll bring me the same dress in champagne, and I nod.
I’m very nervous about this wedding. The more I think about seeing Magma again, the more nervous I feel.
I hate the thought of him with another woman.
It’s so silly. We spent a handful of days together and had some really great sex, and now it’s over, but I can’t seem to move on.
He’s made it clear that it didn’t mean anything to him.
He’s dating another woman and bringing her to the wedding.
My stomach physically clenches. I wish I didn’t have to go. I feel instantly irritated with myself for even thinking it because Robyn is my best friend and I’m the maid of honor, for goodness’ sake.
I need to get a damned grip. That and a date. I need a date.