Chapter 15
Catherine
“This is hopeless.”
Hallie sipped champagne from her spot on the bridal salon’s tufted couch. “Stop being dramatic. You could wear a feed sack and people would call it couture.”
Across the bespoke dress shop, a giddy bride was trying on her own selection of dresses. Her eyes landed on the gown I was in, and she offered a sympathetic smile before turning to her friend. “That’s Miss Virginia,” she whispered. “She’s marrying into the Wilder family.”
The friend took one look at me and the poufy dress that looked like it had been made from a whole flock of geese and grimaced.
My stomach sank at the stark reminder of the reputation I had to live up to. Hallie had been fielding endless calls from entertainment magazines and news outlets wanting to cover the wedding or be the exclusive outlet to publish the wedding photos.
“I thought this would be like gown shopping for pageants,” I said with a groan.
Desperation and frustration were a toxic combination.
The feathers swished as I turned from side to side, trying to find some redeemable quality in the dress.
I had already tried on all the gowns I usually would have gravitated toward.
The glitter. The sequins. The beading. The dramatics. None of them were right.
This wasn’t just any old wedding. It needed something special to satisfy the expectations of all of Honey Hollow.
Not only did it have to look perfect, but I had to find a floor sample that fit. Hence why I was in feathers. It was a Hail Mary that had missed by miles.
“So,” the consultant said as she appeared with an armful of garment bags. “What do we think of this one?”
I forced a polite smile. “I don’t think it’s the one.”
Frankly, I didn’t know if “the one” even existed. Most brides dream of their wedding dress for years before getting engaged. Two weeks ago, getting engaged wasn’t even on my radar. Hell, being in romantic proximity to a man wasn’t on my radar.
“Alright,” she said with a phony customer service smile that did nothing to hide her frustration. “Let’s get you in another gown.”
Bells jingled overhead as the door to the shop opened and closed.
Savannah blew in like a tornado, whirling between dress displays in a flurry of denim and leather.
“I’m here,” she said as she plopped down beside Hallie.
“Sorry. Traffic was awful. I hate the city.” She took one look at the feather dress and wrinkled her nose.
“Dear God. Why are you in that? Who put you in that?” Her eyes cut to the bridal consultant. “Did you make her try that on?”
The consultant huffed. “Sometimes it helps to try something out of the box.”
Savannah was flabbergasted. “That dress never had a box. Did you pull it out of an active dumpster fire?” She was off the couch before the consultant could even answer. “Shoo. We’ll holler if we need you.”
I watched as the lady scurried off. “Did you just fire my bridal consultant?”
“If that’s what she put you in, it was only going to go downhill.” Savannah found a fresh bottle of champagne, popped the top, and took a swig straight from the bottle. “Let’s get to work.”
While I stripped out of the dress and slipped into a robe, Hallie caught Savannah up on the dresses I had already tried on.
“No wonder y’all haven’t found anything,” Savannah said as I walked out of the dressing room. “It’s not prom. It’s not a pageant. It’s the Wilder Estate we’re talking about.”
“Are you sure you can’t sew me something?” I begged.
“Not in a week,” Savannah snapped as she positioned me in front of the mirror and circled me like a hawk. “Why is your hair down?”
“I was planning on wearing it down.”
Savannah shook her head as she scooped my hair up, twisted it into an elegant chignon, and tied it in place. “Have you ever seen Hayes’s grandma’s wedding portrait?”
I raised an eyebrow. “Have you?”
She nodded. “It’s in the foyer of the house.”
Well, that explained it. I never used the front door.
“And it was included in the newspaper article that ran about your engagement,” Hallie said as she pulled up the article on her phone. “There was a write-up on the second page about the history of the estate and Walt and Mildred’s love story.”
Savannah rolled her eyes and grumbled, “A two-page newspaper spread, and she pretends like this is just dress shopping.”
I ignored her indignation and studied the screen. I had faint memories of the portrait of Hayes’s grandmother, but it had been so long that I’d forgotten how beautiful she was.
“Now that’s a wedding dress,” Hallie said.
The photo was taken with Mildred Wilder standing on a cascading staircase.
Her wedding dress was simple—a graceful boatneck and an A-line skirt.
But that’s where the simplicity ended. The train was miles long, dramatically swooping down the staircase.
What seemed like thousands of buttons in a neat line ran from her back to the hem.
She wore tight white opera gloves and a cathedral-length veil.
The same ring that was on my left hand was on hers, over top of the gloves.
Mildred’s hair was pulled back the way Savannah had just done for me. The look on her face was demure, but the way she held herself was regal.
“She looks incredible,” Hallie said.
“She was incredible,” I said. I remembered Hayes’s grandma as a sarcastic woman who laughed loud, hugged hard, and always had ice cream on hand. This woman was a breathtaking force to be reckoned with.
Savannah pointed a finger at the screen. “That’s what we’re doing.”
My brows creased.
“This is why you haven’t found the dress when you look amazing in all of them,” Savannah said.
“You’re looking for the magical moment where you fall in love with a dress that you can’t wait for your future husband to see you in.
Spoiler alert: You can’t fall in love with a wedding dress if you’re not in love with your husband. ”
“Shush!” I whispered as I looked across the shop to make sure the other brides hadn’t heard. The last thing I wanted was a rumor going around that Hayes Wilder’s fiancée wasn’t in love with him.
“You’re playing a part, Cath,” she said quietly. “You’re not supposed to look like a bride. You’re supposed to look like the next Mrs. Wilder.”
Right. I knew that.
We divided and conquered, perusing the racks for the dress.
I was stuffed back into the fitting room with just one gown. The bridal consultant slipped in to help me, wielding a buttonhook like a fairy godmother’s wand.
The dress fit like a glove. Savannah wouldn’t even need to alter it. I hiked up the bulk of the skirt and strutted out.
They stopped in their tracks.
“That’s it,” Savannah said. Hallie nodded in agreement.
I stepped onto the pedestal in front of the mirrors as they fluffed the train so that it lay neatly.
Having my hair pulled back made a world of difference. It made me stand taller, hold my head higher.
Savannah handed me a pair of opera gloves that stretched up to my biceps. “You don’t need a necklace,” she said. “The neckline is high enough.”
I adjusted the gloves and took a long look in the mirror.
The boatneck was similar to the one in the portrait of Mildred Wilder.
So was the fabric—clean white satin with a muted shine.
But where her gown had a wide skirt and miles-long train, mine was fitted, then flared out gracefully just past my knees.
“You look like a million bucks,” Hallie said.
“More like a few hundred million,” Savannah said as she fastened the veil into my bun. “Or whatever Hayes’s bank account is looking like these days.”
My stomach soured at yet another reminder that this wasn’t real. It was just a childish game of dress-up and I had to stop playing pretend.
I stepped off the pedestal and headed for the dressing room. “Put it on his card. I need a drink.”
—
After the drive back from DC, we reconvened at Pony Up, Honey Hollow’s only bar, for an impromptu dinner Savannah had declared was my bachelorette party.
I didn’t care what we called it. I was celebrating. I had found a wedding dress, and thanks to Hayes’s fancy credit card, it hadn’t cost me a dime.
He was also paying for our dinner and drinks. He just didn’t know it yet.
Maybe I should give him a heads-up…
I paused beneath the neon glow of a beer sign to fire off a text but found one from my future husband waiting for me.
Hayes: You didn’t even get close to the daily limit on my credit card.
I tried to fight a smile, but it was no use. Hallie snickered as she bumped into my back. “Ooh! Cath’s got a gentleman caller!” She fanned herself. “My, my. How scandalous!”
Savannah joined in on the antics. “Heavens be! A gentleman caller!”
I laughed. “Will you two knock it off?” Quickly, I texted him back.
Me: How many shots at Pony Up do you think it will take to get to your credit card limit?
Hayes: You could buy the entire bar, and it still wouldn’t touch my daily limit, sweetheart. Think bigger.
Me: Something bigger…Is that old wives’ tale about big hands being an indicator of “size” true?
Hayes: How many of those shots have you had already? Also yes. The old wives’ tale is accurate.
Heat crept across my cheeks as I gaped at the screen.
One of the many things I loved about Hayes was how direct he was.
To him, the truth was always the simplest answer, and I appreciated that.
He didn’t try to woo me with some fake romance.
He simply said he needed a wife, and exactly why he needed one.
What I didn’t expect was how hot the truth would be.
Me: There may have been champagne at the bridal salon and it was delicious. Don’t worry, Hallie drove me back to Honey Hollow safe and sound. But apparently this is my bachelorette party, and Savannah’s buying, so I might need to use your credit card for some bail money.
“You can flirt with your fiancé later. What’s the plan for the reception?” Savannah asked as she dragged me across the dance floor to a high-top table just big enough for the three of us.