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As I pull out my phone, I notice the time. Still a while before I need to meet Jack. I scroll through messages and stop at one I sent Emily this morning.
My mother insisted I tell Emily about one of the best bridal dress shops in town—an upscale place with a long waiting list, but apparently, I could pull some strings. Emily had only replied with a quick “thanks.”
I dial her number and wait as the phone rings. She picks up after a few rings.
“Hey,” I say, keeping my tone casual. “Just wanted to check in. Did you get the dress?”
Emily’s voice is cool but polite. “I’ve been busy with work, but I made an appointment for later this week.”
The words hit harder than they should.Busy?This is our wedding—even if it’s for business, it’s still important. A strange feeling of jealousy creeps in. Did she take this long when she was supposed to marry Daniel? Why does it feel like she’s pushing this aside?
“I see,” I say, trying to keep the edge out of my voice. “It’s important to get this done, Emily.”
She lets out a soft sigh. “I know. I’m handling it.”
There’s a pause, before she speaks again. “Your mother called me yesterday,” she says, her tone changing slightly, sounding a little uncomfortable. “She offered to go dress shopping with me.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “What did you say?”
Emily hesitates. “It didn’t really feel like I had a choice. And, well, I didn’t invite her the first time around, so I said yes.”
My mother has good intentions, but she can come off as overbearing, abrasive even, without meaning to.
“I’ll talk to her,” I say, my jaw tightening. “She means well, but I don’t want you feeling pressured.”
“It’s fine,” Emily replies, though her tone says otherwise. “I’ll manage.”
We exchange a few more words before I hang up. My mother bulldozing her way into Emily’s dress shopping? Not what we need right now. This situation is already awkward enough. I dial her number quickly.
“Andrew, darling,” she answers, her voice cheerful.
“Mom, did you push your way into dress shopping with Emily?” I ask, cutting to the point.
There’s a pause before she responds, not quite defensively, but close. “I should be there, Andrew. She’s going to be my daughter-in-law, and I’ve never had a daughter. This might be my chance to have one. Goodness knows I shouldn’t hold out hope for Daniel.”
I sigh. “I get it, but go easy on her. Let her choose her own dress. Don’t force your opinion.”
“I would never do that,” she says, sounding offended.
I smile to myself, knowing full well how she takes charge of…well… pretty much any and everything. “Of course, you wouldn’t,” I say, sarcasm thick in my voice.
Then, as if flipping a switch, her tone softens, concern lacing her words. “Have you had any more episodes?”
The question makes my stomach drop, and the lightness in my mood disappears. My family treats my PTSD like it’s something they have to monitor constantly. It pisses me off.
Most of the time, I’m fine. It only bothers me at night, when the nightmares come. I don’t need everyone hovering over me, waiting for me to crack.
“I’m fine,” I say curtly, not wanting to discuss it. “I’ve got to go.”
I end the call before she can dig any deeper, clenching my phone in my hand for a moment before slipping it back into my pocket.
I take a few more minutes to oversee the work at Camellia Condos, talking to a few contractors, making sure the project is still moving, despite the setbacks.
By the time I finish at the site, it’s nearly time to meet Jack. I text Robert to meet me at the front. The ride to the boutique gives me a chance to go over my email and respond to the ones my PA has marked as urgent.
The front of the boutique on Newbury Street has frosted glass windows that give nothing away as to what kind of store it is.
Inside, shelves of meticulously folded fabrics line the walls, ranging from rich wools to luxurious silks. Jack is lounging in a chair, his rugged form looking out of place among the refined fabrics and measuring tapes.