Chapter 4
ROSALINA
A dress that took three favors from her father, and two threats from me, but it was worth it.
The bodice is fitted and smooth, hugging her waist before the skirt flares into a soft bell shape, full without being overwhelming.
A wide, graceful neckline frames her collarbones, with short sleeves resting neatly on her shoulders, timeless and composed.
It suits her perfectly. A true classic. I can’t believe this will be one of the last memories I will have of her. It’s perfect anyway.
“Daddy, stop, you’ll make me cry,” Erin says, her satin white gloves hang in her left hand as she dabs her eyes with her right.
“I can’t help it,” he beams, stepping closer and tucking a stray curl behind her ear. “I am so proud of you, Jelly.”
I smile at the nickname Erin hates, because there was a time she would only eat grape jelly on toast when we were kids. I doubt we will ever hear her being called Jelly by our dad again after this, and that realization lands like a quiet ache in my chest.
“Both of you,” he adds, messing up my loose curls that I had pinned to go down my back. I lean into his caress, not knowing the next time he will touch me with such tenderness.
“It’s just a wedding, Papa, not a coronation,” I smirk, fixing my curls once he stops messing them up.
Seamus studies her reflection for a moment longer, his smile softening into something more fragile.
“You look just like your mother today,” he says gently.
“She would have been spinning around this room like a madwoman by now, telling everyone what to fix, what to move, what you forgot. This was one of the days she dreamed of.”
“Yes, and if she was here I would be wearing her ugly wedding dress,” Erin mumbles as she presses her forefinger into the lip gloss on the edges of her lips.
“Hey,” Seamus barks, pointing a finger at us. “Your mother looked beautiful on our wedding day.”
We all look at one another in a brief, heavy silence before Seamus breaks it with a deep, hearty laugh, the sound cutting cleanly through the emotion.
We all know exactly what he is thinking.
Mama’s wedding dress was a wild, oversized, custom monstrosity, all puffed sleeves and layers upon layers of fabric, the kind of gown that looked impressive only until the bride started to melt inside it.
She overheated halfway through the reception and spent the rest of the night in her slip dress, smoking cigarettes out back and playing poker with anyone reckless enough to buy in.
A perfect wedding day, in my opinion. And despite knowing full well how horrendous that dress was, Mama would have insisted Erin and I wear it one day for luck, tradition, and sheer stubbornness, because some things, in her mind, were worth repeating no matter how ridiculous they looked in retrospect.
“She was much more beautiful in that slip!” Erin lets out a shaky laugh that breaks halfway through, her shoulders lifting as she tries to breathe around it.
“I preferred her that way, anyway,” Seamus adds, but Erin and I both twist our lips and shake our heads.
“Eww Papa,” I groan, but he just swipes his hand in the air and continues to smile as he reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulls out a small velvet box, holding it out to her like it’s something sacred.
“Well, here is one good thing she wanted you to have,” he says. “Something blue?”
Erin looks at us through the mirror with wide eyes. “Her hairpin?”
“Yup,” I nod, taking the pin from the box, my fingers closing around the cool weight of the stone. It’s delicate but sturdy, a deep blue that catches the light even in this quiet room, faceted sapphires clustered like frozen petals along a slim silver comb. “Let me put it in.”
Erin meets my eyes in the mirror as I step behind her, carefully sliding the sapphire hairpin into her curled updo, anchoring it just above her ear where it glints softly against her hair.
She turns then, dress rustling, and Seamus pulls her into his arms without hesitation. They hold each other tightly, the kind of embrace that tries to memorize shape and warmth and breath all at once. I look away, because I know he doesn’t know the weight of this moment.
A knock echoes through the room, and I step back to look at the door as Erin pulls away from her father.
“Come in,” she calls out, wiping her eyes yet again.
“Alright,” Patrick says, walking into the room with a fifth of Jameson and a lit cigarette between his fingers. “ I can’t keep entertaining the Italians. I feel like I am losing a brain cell.”
“Hey, those are our allies,” Seamus corrects, a smug smile on his face as he skips over to Patrick and slides the Jameson out of his hand. “My future son-in-law. You watch your mouth.”
Seamus takes a sip of the alcohol, looking around the room as it falls into silence, before saying. “I’m just pulling your leg. Why did you think I came in here?”
We all chuckle for a bit, and my chest tightens again at the finality of this moment, especially when I look over at Erin and see her smile not reach her eyes. Seamus walks back over to her and pulls her into a hug again.
“Dad, my dress,” she fakely whines.
He whispers against her forehead. “This is my last time hugging you as my daughter. Just let me.”
She sinks into the hug, and I avert my eyes again landing on Patrick who pulls on his cigarette firmly and watches them with narrowed eyes.
“All right,” Seamus says at last, his voice thick but steady as he releases her. “I’ll meet you outside the church in fifteen minutes.”
He presses a kiss to her forehead, gives me a look I do not return because I cannot trust my face, and then he’s gone, leaving Erin glowing softly in the mirror and me fighting to keep my composure intact long enough to get us through this.
Erin clears her throat, straightening a little. “We don’t have enough time for you to just stare at me.”
“I’m not staring,” I lie, dragging in a careful breath and swiping at my cheek with the heel of my hand.
We move fast after that. Erin steps out of the gown carefully, lifting the skirt and easing out of the bodice without rushing, making sure nothing catches or tears.
“Rosie, I can’t thank you enough,” she starts for the third time today.
“No time. Shoes,” I order, kicking off my own.
“You have to let me thank you,” she huffs, kicking me the shoes and handing me the dress as soon as she is free, and I take it, spreading it open while she reaches for the clothes waiting on the chair.
“No, I don’t. This is my job,” I say, as I step into the dress she just removed, settle the bodice into place, and smooth the fabric down.
She pulls on the black sweatsuit piece by piece, sweatpants first, then the zip-up jacket, tucking her hair back as she goes. “Bullshit, Rosie, this is more than a job, and you know it.”
I do, but if I think about how much I love her right now, I will cry without ever stopping, and I can’t stop.
“Erin, I love you,” I say as I tighten the bodice around my waist which is a few inches smaller than Erin’s. “That’s all that matters.”
“Rosie, if anything happens to you I swear to God--” she says faintly out of breath as she finishes tying her sneakers.
“Nothing will happen to me,” I assure her, despite me not being able to believe it myself.
By the time she looks up, I am dressed for the ceremony, and she is ready to escape. She looks me over and then her hand flies to her hair and she starts to yank out her mother’s pin.
“No,” I stop her. “Keep it. Your mom wanted you to have it.”
She closes her fingers around it without arguing, nodding once as her tears crest at the edges. “Rosie--”
The door opens and Dolan steps in, already dressed, already focused. “It’s time,” he says gently.
I look at him then, really look at him, and my voice wobbles despite my best effort. “You bring her back to me,” I say. “You keep her safe.”
“With my life,” Dolan answers without hesitation, the words landing solid and certain enough to hold me upright.
Erin is in my arms a second later, clutching at the back of my dress like she used to when she was small and scared of the dark. “I’ll let you know when I’m safe,” she murmurs into my shoulder.
“I know,” I whisper back, pressing my cheek to the crown of her hair and breathing her in one last time.
“Thank you,” she breathes into me.
“I love you,” I whisper back, pulling her hoodie over her head, before pulling away.
“Come on,” Dolan whispers, his voice holding a level of sadness as he gently pulls Erin away and I close my eyes not wanting to see her leave through the door.
“Rosie,” she gasps, but I don’t look at her, my throat growing the biggest knot of salt. “I love you.”
Dolan guides her toward the door, and I am left with the echo of her warmth and the knowledge that there is no more time to linger. I draw in a deep breath, lift the long lace veil, and let it fall over my face, the world softening and blurring as it settles into place.
When I step outside, Seamus is waiting beside the cathedral doors, tall and immovable.
The entrance looms behind him, heavy stone carved dark with age, the double doors thrown open and framed with thick arrangements of white roses that spill outward in careful abundance.
Their scent hangs in the air, sharp and clean, carried on a breeze that does nothing to cool the tightness in my chest. Guests murmur beyond the threshold, movement and sound filtering out in fragments that make everything feel closer, louder, harder to escape.
I take my place next to him, hands steady at my sides, veil hiding everything I cannot afford to show.