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“I’ve noticed you don’t seem all that excited to participate in the wedding planning,” I say as tactfully as I can, half wanting to shake her. This would be the chance of a lifetime for countless women.
“No,” she says simply, scrutinizing herself for another moment until her eyes cut to me, a sadness in them that’s there every time I see her. “I’ve been preoccupied with a few other things.”
I hold back a snort. No kidding.
“I’m on the board of several New York charities,” she continues. “So it’s hard to fit in this wedding planning between meetings.”
I stare at her. So were all those times she claimed she had to leave for legitimate reasons? “Why didn’t you say something? I can easily work around your schedule.”
“I don’t like being a bother,” she demurs, crossing her arms over her stomach, hunching in on herself.
“Serena, it’s not a bother. I’m here to make your life easier.”
She turns to face me rather than my reflection, and pleads, “Can you just do it all then? All the rest of it? I don’t want to deal with it anymore. Don’t want to think about it.”
“If you want,” I agree, slightly taken aback at the first true emotion she’s shown. “But why did you agree to this then if you hate the idea so much?”
She bites her lip, looking conflicted for a moment before she admits, “I thought I was marrying his brother, Archer.”
Yeah, that much was obvious during our initial meeting.
“Dad said it was Harold Bishop’s son and I assumed… well, you know what they say about that.” Her nails dig into her sides, my heart jumping at the damage she might do to the dress. “Anyway, it’s too late to back out now. And I… I shouldn’t be talking about this to you, should I?”
“No, it’s fine,” I reassure her. “I signed an NDA. You can talk to me anytime you want.” Now that I know where she’s coming from, at least her behavior is more logical.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her she should make an effort to get to know Gabriel better, that he has more to offer than anything this Archer guy could, but I stay silent instead.
I get the sense few people truly appreciate Gabriel, and a part of me wants to keep that side I see of him between us. Something private. Something earned.
It’s selfish of me, but I can’t bring myself to give it up.
“Thanks, Mackenzie,” she smiles sadly. “I’ll take this dress.”
“Don’t you want to see what the others look like?”
“No, I’m good. Can you unlace me?”
We return to the dressing room and I dutifully untie the corset, helping her step out of the many layers and back into her designer dress. “We’ll have to alter it to fit you-”
“How about I just send you my measurements? It’ll be fine. I actually have a meeting soon.”
“Okay,” I agree warily, watching her pick up her bag and exit the small room, the sound of the bell over the shop door chiming a few moments later.
I collect the gown she chose, wondering if she knew it was secretly my favorite out of the hundreds of dresses I scoured through that Louise keeps in stock. I hold it up to myself, wishing I could afford something as stunning as this one day. Standing at the altar, a tall, dark, and handsome man at my side, one with bright blue eyes and a wide smile. Who keeps making my heart race despite myself, who keeps showing me unexpected kindnesses, who isn’t at all the man I thought when we first met-
“Mackenzie?” Louise’s smoky voice interrupts my delusional thoughts. “I saw your bride leave. Did she choose anything?”
“Oh, yes.” I nearly drop the dress before realizing she can’t see me pretending to wear it. “She wants the ball gown.”
“Oh, wonderful,” she claps. “You didn’t get a picture of her, did you?”
“Uh, no.” Damn it. Where is my head? If nothing else, we could have used it as social media fodder.
She makes a tsking noise and I exit the dressing room, carefully handing her the gown, now wrinkled in a few places along the sides.
“Can you hold it for a few days? I’m not sure if Mr. Bishop or Mr. Montague will pay for it.”
“Of course, of course,” she assures me, dollar signs in her eyes. She just unloaded a pricey piece of merchandise. “When will she be back for a fitting?”