Page 165 of On Edge

The wedding dress hangs like a ghost against the far wall. It’s as I remember it, swathes of white silk and lace. A dress fit for a virgin, though I am no longer one.

Just like my father wanted.

My insides feel like a knife is ripping through them.

The stylists work for hours, pinning my hair up in a soft but elaborate style that frames my face with loose curls. Applying makeup that makes me look fresh and innocent with blush that blooms on my cheeks, and lipstick that gives me that just-been-kissed look.

“You’re very quiet,” says the lead stylist, Sam, I think her name is, applying another coat of mascara. “Wedding day nerves?”

I clench my fists lightly. “Something like that.”

“Come on, let’s get you into that beautiful dress.”

I suddenly remember. “Oh.”

“What is it?” asks Sam, unsure if she should continue. “Everything okay, love?”

“I was supposed to sew my name into the dress.”

“I’m sure you can do it after,” she assures me with a gentle smile.

“No, I have to do it …” I trail off.Before midnight.My mother told me explicitly not to forget, or it’ll bring bad luck to the bride and groom.

It’s too late now. Bad luck has already found me, so I let them button me into the gown.

“All done.” Sam steps back.

I barely recognize myself in the mirror. I look…not quite real, ethereal-like, pretty, of course, I’m in a wedding dress, but too much like the spirit of my dead sister. I close my eyes and try not to throw up into the wastebasket.

The wedding car arrives at the mainland dock at 1:30 pm. I’m surprised to see Pete driving, but happier for it. He gives mea respectful nod as Gwen helps me with my massive skirts and fusses with my shoes as I step out of the helicopter.

“You look very lovely, Miss Lovett,” Pete says as I’m carefully maneuvered into the back of the car like a giant, billowing marshmallow.

“Is everyone at the church?” I can’t help but ask.

The unspoken question hangs in the air:Is Troy at the church?But I can’t ask that. What kind of bride would I be if I asked where my groom was?

“Everyone’s waiting for you,” Pete replies, smiling warmly.

And that makes me feel slightly less anxious.

36

SAGE

The church, St. Dunstan’s in Old Fleet, is all worn stone and stained glass, towering so beautifully among the quaint Fleet stone cottages at its feet, that in a way, it reminds me of Grayfleet’s gothic twin.

My father waits at the entrance, checking his watch. “You’re on time. Good. Do I need to remind you not to ruin this deal, Sage?”

“Of course not, Father.” The promise comes out automatically.

Though I’m not that girl anymore, his dutiful daughter who has never known a man. If only he knew just how much I’m already ruined.

We enter through the side door, which leads to the bride’s waiting room, small but beautifully arranged, with lavender flowers and white roses entwined and draped everywhere. I’m alone at first, and that’s when the doubt creeps back in.

What if Troy doesn’t show?

What if last night was goodbye?