I picked up my phone and called Adrian.
He answered immediately.
“Everything okay?”
“Do you trust me?”
Silence.
Then his voice changed.
“What happened?”
“Do you trust me?”
“Completely.”
“Then don’t ask me what I’m about to do.”
Another pause.
“All right.”
“I mean it.”
“I know.”
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
I hung up.
My mother stared at me.
“What are you doing?”
I looked at her.
“Getting married.”
Madame Laurent answered on the second ring.
When I told her my gown had disappeared, she became completely silent.
When I described the photograph of Vanessa holding it against herself, she exhaled.
Then she said something I never expected.
“There is something your sister does not know.”
I moved away from my mother and stepped onto the balcony.
“What?”
“The gown she stole is not your wedding gown.”
I gripped the phone.
“What are you talking about?”
“There were two outer gowns.”
I remembered her mentioning additional construction during the Paris fittings, but I had assumed she meant muslin samples.
“The embroidery was too delicate,” she continued.
“I refused to transport the only version across the Atlantic.
So we made an exhibition duplicate.
Almost identical from several feet away.”
My heart began pounding.
“Almost?”
“The crystals on the duplicate are glass.
The pearls are cultured substitutes.
Most importantly, it does not contain your grandmother’s lace.”
I could barely speak.
“And the real gown?”
“Locked in private storage beneath the west wing.”
I closed my eyes.
“Who knows?”
“Adrian.
Myself.
The estate manager.”
“No one else?”
“No.”
Then she added, almost playfully, “And your real gown has another feature.”
“What feature?”
“The outer skirt is removable.”
I frowned.
“You never told me that.”
“I was saving it.”
“For what?”
“For after the ceremony.”
A smile entered her voice.
“Your grandmother disliked dresses that prevented women from moving.”
Despite everything, I laughed.
Underneath the elaborate pearl-covered overskirt was a second gown.
Simpler.
Sleek ivory silk.
Almost no crystals.
A narrow waist.
Soft lines.
And across the back and shoulders, restored lace from my grandmother’s veil.
The ceremonial gown was magnificent.
The dress beneath it was me.
Then Madame Laurent said something that made the hair rise along my arms.
“Claire, there is one more thing.”
“What?”
“Your grandmother left something with me.”
I stared across the lake.
“For my wedding?”
“Yes.”
“What is it?”
“I was instructed not to tell you until you were standing in the real dress.”
My throat tightened.
“She planned that far ahead?”
“Eleanor planned everything far ahead.”
I smiled through sudden tears.
Then I heard a knock behind me.
Mara opened the balcony door.
“Vanessa just sent the bridesmaids a message,” she whispered.
“What did she say?”
My stylist looked furious.
“She says she has a surprise planned for tonight.”
I wiped my eyes.
For the first time that morning, I smiled.
“So do I.”
The rehearsal dinner began at seven beneath a glass pavilion overlooking the lake.
Nearly one hundred guests attended.
My mother arrived twenty minutes late.
Vanessa arrived thirty minutes late.
She wanted everyone looking.
She got her wish.
Conversations died instantly.
Forks stopped moving.
A waiter nearly collided with another carrying champagne.
My sister walked through the pavilion doors wearing what every guest believed was my wedding gown.
The duplicate was convincing.
