Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
Ivy
Cynthia steps out of the dressing room in a midi satin cowl neck. The ivory color is gorgeous against her dark skin. And the fabric drapes perfectly over her long, narrow body.
Really, in this, even in her bare feet, she looks like a model.
But then again, now that we're at outfit number seven, I'm pretty sure Cynthia looks like a model in everything.
She's not just beautiful.
She's absolutely stunning.
She turns to the three-panel mirror and studies the smooth fabric. "I don't know. It just doesn't say, 'I'm a bride, but on my terms.'"
I can't agree. It says exactly that. It's in the white family, and it's formal, but it's also shorter and sexier and infinitely less fussy than most wedding gowns.
It's perfect, really.
Like half of her selections.
For a woman who lives in shorts, she's awfully picky.
But, hey, it's her wedding. Even if it's a casual one.
"Can I send this one to Meredith?" I ask. "See what she thinks?"
"Okay, but I won't change my mind," she says.
"Sure." I hold up my phone and snap a photo. It's not the world's best lighting, but it captures the angles. And Cynthia is kind enough to strike a few cheeky poses. Though she does so with considerably less enthusiasm than last time.
This is the third photo I've sent Meredith. The other two were of a truly terrible, and a truly wonderful, dress. I wanted to get a range. And get her opinion on what's working and what isn't.
I send the photo with a woosh. Then I check my texts from Romeo.
He wants a favor.
A favor with Cynthia specifically.
He thought about it, and I'm right. He sees Daniel's concern about their chemistry. And he wants me to reassure him. Somehow.
How?
I don't have some sort of therapist Jedi mind trick here.
I talk to people like anyone else.
Although—
I do have an idea.
Ivy: I'll see what I can do. Are you getting into trouble without me?
He sends me a picture of his kitchen, covered in baking supplies.
Romeo: Don't tell Cyn we're trying to recreate the cake from their first anniversary.
Ivy: That's sweet. They're a good couple. I'm glad we're helping them.
Even if it is by less honest means than I'd prefer.
I let my fake boyfriend return to his baking, and I send Meredith the picture of Cynthia.
While I wait for her feedback, we try to talk about what Cynthia doesn't like about the dress. Despite her model looks, Cynthia has little grasp of fashion vocabulary. She can't articulate whether it's the color, cut, hem, silhouette, or fabric.
She speaks in vibes.
And it's just not the right vibe.
We go through a few more dresses. A frilly princess number in white. Which is really not it. Another ornate dress, in a vibrant shade of red. This time, at least she knows she likes the color, likes that it's untraditional, but she hates the rest.
That's something.
Progress.
I'm not exactly Miss Fashionista, but I think I'm getting somewhere.
I find a few more dresses I think she'll like, bring them to the dressing room, and give her time to assess them.
Finally, Meredith sends a reply with instructions.
Stick with the simple cuts. She looks gorgeous in a sheath, but it may feel too staid for her. A shorter cut might be fun, especially if it's something sassy with a skater skirt. Or hell, go full cocktail and show off those long legs.
Ivory is classic and it looks great, but if she really can't stand how bridal everything is, the answer is color. Color is a hammer though. It takes a dress from a bit bridal to not at all bridal.
I think that fits what I've got, but just in case, I go and grab two more.
As I hand the dresses over the door, I ask, "can I confess something to you?"
"If it's not 'I'm jealous you're so slim.' Or 'you look like a model.' I used to shop with friends, but they'd never stop with the, 'oh my gosh, Cynthia, you're so lucky you can eat whatever you want and stay so thin,' as if I'm lucky I get so anxious I can't eat, you know?"
Uh… I do, actually. "What if I'm only jealous you're so tall?"
"Hmm… I'll allow it, but only because you're tall, so you know about the downsides already." She laughs. "My five-foot-two friends always wish for my legs, but do they want to have to scrunch to fit into an airplane seat? I don't think so."
"No, uh, it's about Rome."
"Oh? Well… you did sorta yada yada over those details, Ivy. I get you don't want to share just exactly how he blew your mind in the bedroom, but, 'we had great sex, and I really liked hanging out with him, so I'm here' isn't the story of a relationship."
"You're right. I, uh, that's kind of what I'm confessing here.
" This is true, at least. Well, mostly true.
"See, Rome and I have been dating, but it's been more casual.
I do like him. A lot. But I'm not ready to be a part of someone's family again.
I'm not ready to be in someone's life. I just… it's too fresh. Since my divorce."
"I get that," she says.
"But one morning, his mom called, and she heard me, and she got the idea to invite me, I guess. Or the idea to ask Daniel to offer Rome a plus-one. I’m not sure, exactly.”
“It could go either way with the two of them.” She laughs.
This is an easy conversation for her. I try to match her energy. I take a deep breath and exhale slowly. All true so far. Here goes the big move. "I was going to say no. Especially when he focused on the business. I mean, I appreciate what he's going for, but I'm not married to the idea."
"Or to him. It's only been a few months. You should be able to sit back and enjoy the sex."
"Right." A laugh spills from my lips. That is certainly something I enjoy. "Then he told me something else… that he was worried his brother had the wrong idea about you two."
"What?"
"Yeah." I take a deep breath. "He worries Daniel thinks you still have feelings for him. Or he has feelings for you. I'm not sure exactly."
"No," she says.
"Yeah."
"But that's…" In the dressing room, she stops moving. "That explains a lot, actually."
"And I thought it was silly until I saw you two together.
" I play with my purse. I guess I am nervous to hear what she says.
Because what if she does have feelings? What if he doesn't realize his?
"You have so much chemistry. And you are gorgeous.
And I… I guess I felt it too, that same worry that Daniel must feel. You have this rapport."
"You have rapport too."
"Maybe, but we'll never have history the way you two do. I'll never be able to compete with that."
"Huh." She lets out a low sigh from behind the door.
"We haven't, I never… I mean, we have kissed.
I don't know if he told you that. Probably not.
I never told Danny. But we did. When we were young.
It was my idea. I did like him. But it was fucked up, honestly.
He was always a consolation prize to me.
That's why I never talked about it. Because I always wanted Daniel, and I didn't use Rome to get to him or anything. I just…"
"Were young and he's beautiful," I say.
"And they look very similar," she says. "And I let myself imagine it was Danny. But he's just not. We weren't. It didn't work. There was no magic, you know?"
"I do."
"Can you get my zipper?" She unclicks the door.
I push it open.
She's standing there in a long gown with a square neck. It's beautiful and simple and positively bridal, except for its vibrant purple color.
I pull the zipper up her back. "Sorry if I overstepped."
"No. It's a fair question. And Rome and I never talked about it. I was embarrassed. I used him. And I felt bad about it. So, we just pretended like it never happened and… I don’t know. Do you think I should tell Danny?” She turns and looks at me. “Or would it feel like a secret I’ve been keeping?”
“Has he ever asked?” I ask.
“If anything happened with me and Rome?” she asks. “Not in so many words.”
“I don’t know,” I say honestly. “Would you feel better if you told him?”
She nods.
“How do you think he’d hear it?”
“I don’t know. He might hear the secret. Or he might hear, ‘I’ve known I only wanted you for a long time.’”
“You’ll have to take that risk.”
She bites her lip and looks down at the dress. She doesn’t say and I'm supposed to get married in a few days, but it hangs in the air anyway. "How is it?"
"Beautiful." I step into the main room.
She follows.
As soon as her eyes go to the mirror, she knows.
This is it.
Her wedding dress.
The perfect mix of formal and fearless.
Like the woman herself.
Like their relationship.
Like the person I need to be.
Well, the fearless part anyway.