Her fiancé removed his boutonniere.
Lila saw him.
“Ryan?”
“I asked you where the money for your new studio came from.”
“Ryan, please.”
“You said you earned it.”
“I did!”
“Mara’s wedding isn’t your job.”
He walked out.
Lila stared after him.
For the first time that afternoon, I almost felt sorry for her.
Almost.
Mom rounded on me.
“Are you happy now?”
There it was again.
The oldest weapon in our family.
Make the person who exposes the wound responsible for the bleeding.
“You’ve destroyed your sister’s relationship.”
“No.”
I met Lila’s eyes.
“She did.”
My mother laughed bitterly.
“And what about your wedding? Have you thought about what you’ve done to that?”
She gestured around the ballroom.
“Three hundred people are watching you tear your own family apart. Do you actually think this is how a bride should behave?”
Daniel moved closer.
But I touched his hand.
Not yet.
There was one thing left.
I picked up my bouquet.
“You’re right.”
My mother blinked.
I looked down at myself.
“At least about one thing.”
The crystals shimmered beneath the chandeliers.
The enormous skirt surrounded me like armor I had never asked to wear.
“Everyone has been staring at this dress all afternoon.”
A few guests laughed nervously.
My mother sensed danger.
“Mara.”
I smiled.
“You wanted them to remember it.”
Her eyes widened.
I reached behind my back.
Lila whispered,
“What are you doing?”
My fingers found the hidden zipper.
Not the original zipper.
A second one.
Installed four days earlier by a seventy-two-year-old seamstress named Mrs. Bellamy and three exhausted assistants who had worked through two nights to help me.
My mother took one step forward.
“Mara, don’t.”
I pulled.
A soft metallic sound traveled through the microphone.
The jeweled bodice loosened.
Gasps rippled through the room.
I slipped my arms free.
Then unfastened two hidden clasps at my waist.
The entire glittering outer skirt fell away.
For one glorious second, nobody moved.
The twenty-eight-thousand-dollar Celestine gown collapsed around my feet in a glittering silver-white circle.
And underneath it—
ivory satin.
Simple.
Clean.
Perfect.
My dress.
My real dress.
Someone screamed.
Then the ballroom exploded.
Applause.
Laughter.
People rising to their feet.
Daniel’s mother covered her mouth.
My aunt Rebecca started crying.
The string quartet violinist actually clapped.
I stood in the gown I had designed eight months earlier, and for the first time all day, I felt like a bride.
My mother looked as though the floor had disappeared beneath her.
“How?”
I ran my hands over the smooth satin.
“Bellamy Bridal never destroyed the original pattern.”
Mrs. Bellamy stood near the back.
A tiny white-haired woman in navy blue.
She raised one hand.
The applause grew louder.
