“The gown she stole is not your final gown.”
I sat down.
“What are you talking about?”
Because the crystal embroidery was too delicate for international transport, the atelier had created two nearly identical outer gowns.
One traveled as a backup.
The other had been hand-carried to New York under separate security.
Only the final gown contained my grandmother’s lace.
Only the final gown carried Mireille’s microscopic silver authentication emblem beneath the train.
And only the final gown had one feature nobody except Mireille, Adrian, and I had ever discussed.
The entire pearl overskirt could be removed, revealing a second dress underneath.
A fitted ivory silk gown.
Simple.
Elegant.
Exactly the kind of dress my grandmother loved.
My voice came out as a whisper.
“Where is it?”
“In Bellmont’s secure storage room.”
I closed my eyes.
Then, for the first time that afternoon, I smiled.
“Does Vanessa know?”
“No.”
“My mother?”
“No.”
“Keep it that way.”
That evening, Vanessa entered the rehearsal dinner wearing the stolen gown.
Conversation stopped.
Actually stopped.
A waiter carrying champagne nearly walked into a pillar.
My cousin Lauren covered her mouth.
My aunt Susan whispered, “Oh my God.”
And my mother—
my mother actually applauded.
Vanessa slowly descended the staircase beneath hundreds of candles.
The crystal train swept behind her.
She had styled her hair almost exactly the way I planned to wear mine the following day.
When she reached the bottom step, she looked directly at me.
“Oh, Claire.”
Her smile was poisonous.
“I hope you don’t mind.”
The room went silent.
Vanessa turned slightly so everyone could admire the dress.
“It looked better on me.”
Every face turned toward me.
They were waiting.
For tears.
For screaming.
For me to grab the gown.
For the entertainment my sister had promised them.
Instead, I lifted my champagne glass.
“You look beautiful.”
Vanessa blinked.
I smiled.
“Really.
Enjoy it.”
My mother’s expression changed first.
Vanessa’s followed.
They had prepared for rage.
They had prepared for humiliation.
They had no idea what to do with indifference.
I walked away.
I slept nine hours that night.
The following morning, Vanessa told two bridesmaids that I had probably canceled the ceremony out of humiliation.
My mother arrived in my suite at eleven wearing diamonds and a pale-gold designer gown.
I was drinking coffee while Camille worked on my hair.
My mother glanced around.
No dress.
She smiled.
“Maybe you should wear something simple.”
I looked at her in the mirror.
“You don’t need to compete with Vanessa.”
That almost made me laugh.
“You’re right.”
She hesitated.
“I am?”
“Absolutely.”
The next six hours were extraordinarily peaceful.
At 5:40 p.m., Mireille’s assistant brought the real gown upstairs under security escort.
