Page 2 of Storm in a Teacup (Love in Edinburgh #3)

Six Months Later

Linny

My fingers delicately trace over the silky white fabric of the dress hanging before me.

The bodice is fitted with buttons going up the back and paired with a light, flowing skirt lined in flower-stitched tulle.

It’s the most gorgeous wedding dress I have ever seen. Far prettier than the one I picked out.

The one the shop allowed me to return because no alterations had yet been done.

Melanie, my cousin, slips back into the dressing room, a pair of white, satin heels in her hands. “These should do,” she says, handing the shoes to me. “Not an exact match, but the same heel height. I cannot believe I left the shoes back at the flat.”

“Exactly the same height?” I ask jokingly. “Because a single half a millimeter could—”

She cuts me off with, “Oh, quiet, you. You know I measured the damn heel. Now put those down and help me into my dress.”

I set the heels on a small stool in the corner of this compact dressing room.

We’re in a bridal shop in London picking up Mel’s wedding dress after its second round of alterations.

The dress ended up too big in the bust after the first round, so we’re back again, hoping to get it right this time since her wedding is in less than two months.

“You know they have shop assistants who are meant to help you into the dress,” I remark.

“I don’t need a random shop assistant commenting on my knickers. You’ll be helping me into the dress on the day, so you may as well have a practice.”

“And Julien will be helping you out of it,” I tease with a wiggle of my eyebrows, referring to her fiancé. I remove the dress from the plush hanger.

She snickers as she undoes her trousers, dropping them to the ground, followed shortly by her shirt. I hold the dress open for her to step into, and together we guide it up her body.

“I can understand why you didn’t want anyone else to see your neon pink thong,” I say as I start to button the microscopic back buttons of the dress.

Mel reaches into the bodice to pull her boobs into a more desirable position. “It’s the same style as the pair I bought to wear on the day, but I’m saving those.” She starts to fuss with her blonde hair, shuffling her bangs over her forehead, then pushing them back again.

“The fringe was a mistake,” she whines.

“The fringe looks great,” I argue, still buttoning. “But if you keep touching your hair, it’ll get greasy and it won’t look great.”

She exhales a groan, reluctantly dropping her hand while I finish the buttons and then step back. As I do, I yank open the curtain of the dressing room right as Kensie, Mel’s closest friend and maid of honor, enters the shop, clackity heels echoing on the tile floor.

“Sorry I’m late!” she shouts, long, dark ponytail swinging aggressively behind her. “I took a bus because it was more direct than the tube, but the traffic today is horrendous.” She drops her leather bag in a chair, then looks up, slapping her hands over her heart. “Oh! Mel, you’re gorgeous!”

She approaches as Mel steps fully out of the dressing room and onto the little raised platform in front of a three-way mirror.

I say lightly, “It looks like it fits. Does it feel like it fits?”

Mel stares at herself in the mirror, eyes watering.

“Shit,” Kensie and I say together. We step onto the platform, taking our places at Mel’s side.

“You’re beautiful, Melly,” I say, squeezing her arm.

Kensie hums in agreement, hand finding its place on Mel’s shoulder. “This is the perfect dress. Are you happy?”

Mel nods, a tear slipping down her cheek. “It’s perfect,” she whispers.

Kensie thinks quickly, hopping back down from the platform to fetch tissues from her bag. Stepping back up, she offers the pack to Mel.

Mel takes one and dabs at her tears. “Sorry,” she says. “I don’t know why I’m getting so emotional.”

Kensie nudges her. “Because you’re excited.”

“And hot,” I add.

“I do look hot, don’t I?” She’s practically glowing, so elated. So in love.

When I was engaged, I was never at the level of excitement Mel is.

Don’t get me wrong, I loved Atticus at the time, but marrying him would have been a mistake.

I was happy, sure. There were a lot of things to be happy about during my engagement, and I embraced them all, but I wasn’t this level of happy about marrying the man himself. So, I’m very glad I didn’t.

Marriage isn’t really for me, anyway. I’m not anti-marriage, I’m just anti me being in any sort of romantic relationship. They never work out, and that’s okay.

The tailor comes out and claps her hands together. “Oh, gorgeous, darling. It’s perfect. How does it feel?”

Kensie and I step aside so the tailor can fuss over Mel.

I ask Kensie, “Anything you need me to do for tomorrow?”

Mel’s bridal shower is the following day, which is the main reason I’m in London for the weekend.

She shakes her head. “I think it’s all sorted. I have all the party favors packed into my girlfriend’s car and have printed out all the games and such. You and Mel just need to show up.” She squeezes me on the arm. “She is so happy you were able to come for this.”

“Yeah,” I say. “Me too. It’s not that far of a trek, though.”

“For an American, I suppose. You lot act like it’s perfectly normal to drive three hours one way for a concert.”

I laugh because she’s right.

Kensie continues, “Anyway, she knows it can be hard to step away from the shop.”

I manage an antique shop up in Edinburgh. My Auntie Carolyn owns it, but as she is aging, I have taken more and more control of everything. “Carolyn gives me grief about not stepping away from the shop more than I do.”

Mel finishes up with the tailor as they decide the dress does indeed fit perfectly. Kensie helps her take the dress off, then we pack it into a garment bag and are on our way.

The sky is dark by the time we leave, so Mel hands the garment bag to Kensie to carry and loops her arm through mine. “Steps,” she says as we exit the bridal shop, down two concrete stairs.

I squeeze her on the arm and mutter a thanks. I saw the steps, but she’ll warn me about them in broad daylight as well. I took one little tumble down a step exiting a shop once, and now she expects me to take that exact tumble every time we come across any variety of stairs.

Mel says, “Do we want to head back to mine? Julien is still away, so we could have a girls’ night.”

Julien is up in Leeds for business, which is part of the reason why we chose to have the bridal shower this weekend.

“Sure,” Kensie says. “Shall we make a pitstop for wine?”

We stop in at a Tesco for a cheap bottle of white before getting on a bus to head toward Mel’s place. Mel and I sit side by side with Kensie behind us, the garment bag draped over our laps.

“I cannot believe I am taking my wedding dress on a bus,” she moans. We don’t have a car with us, so it was either the bus, the tube, or a cab—and cabs are more expensive than buses. So here we are.

Once we get back to Mel’s flat, we change into sweats. Kensie borrows a pair from Mel, groaning in relief when she removes the heels she chose to wear today.

“They went with the trousers!” she argues when Mel gives her a hard time. “I have no shoes besides those heels that go with those trousers. Linny, do you have any crystals that will help my feet?”

“The crystals can’t erase poor decisions,” I say, twisting the amethyst band I wear on my right ring finger. “I don’t generally travel with ones I can’t wear, anyway.”

“Damn,” Kensie exhales.

We all pile in front of the TV. Kensie suggests a romcom or some show called Crestwater , but Mel says, “No, no, let’s watch Buffy .”

So, we turn on Buffy the Vampire Slayer , a show all three of us have seen more than once all the way through.

Mel’s current rewatch has placed us in season two, so the debate of Angel versus Spike comes up, Mel arguing how Angel is good for Buffy and Spike is not, to which I counterargue that when Angel doesn’t have a soul, he is the worst , and when Spike doesn’t have a soul, he’s annoying at best but capable of good and remorse, something soulless Angel is not.

It’s an argument we’ve had many times before.

Kensie laughs along, saying, “I’m only here for Daddy Giles.”

Mel squirms in her seat. “I hate that you call him that.”

“I love it,” I say, sipping my wine. “Daddy Giles all the way.”

Kensie cackles. “I will never not call him that. I may be a lesbian, but Daddy Giles can get it.”

Mel shoves her lightly. “Shush, you.”

I settle back into the couch. I love hanging out with Mel and Kensie, and miss them when I’m home, but I also love my life in Edinburgh.

It’s been my home for five years and I have no plans to leave, despite Mel’s constant begs for me to move to London.

My dad lives here, and it’s where I was born, but it doesn’t feel like home.

When Auntie Carolyn mentioned she was considering closing the shop, I knew I couldn’t let that happen. So, I moved to Edinburgh from Syracuse, New York, where I grew up, and it instantly felt right .

It’s just a shame I’m alone there.

…

The presents have all been opened and the games have all been played, so now I am sitting in the emptying event space where we held the bridal shower, nursing my drink.

Mel is off handling the barrage of people coming up to her offering their best wishes for the fourth or fifth time, though I suspect all she wants to do is go home and look through her gifts.

She hasn’t given me the “Rescue me!” signal yet, so I assume she’s fine.

I locate Kensie standing in a separate corner of the room in deep conversation with another one of the bridesmaids, Imani.

I know Mel’s other bridesmaids, but none of them as well as Kensie.

Kensie, on the other hand, is friends with all of them, which makes sense.

She’s the one who is truly a part of this group.

I’m the American cousin who lives up in Scotland.