Page 84 of My Ex-Best Friend's Wedding

“He does have remarkably good taste, doesn’t he?”

“Ha!” she retorts.

“Ha, yourself!”

?“I can’t believe we’re really here.” Bree is out of the taxi and accosting a passerby—not always the best idea in the Big Apple—begging her to take a photo of us in front of Kleinfeld before I’m all the way out onto the sidewalk.

We pose with our arms around each other directly in front of the double glass entry between two canopied display windows. “Please make sure you can read the Kleinfeld signs!”

We smile big smiles as the stranger, who is also a tourist and therefore doesn’t disappear with the camera or tell Bree where she can shove the signs, complies.

As eager as Bree is to get inside, she thanks the woman profusely then scrolls through the photos and texts the best to Lily. Her smile wavers slightly when there’s not an immediate response.

“Don’t worry.” I link my arm through hers. “I’m sure you’ll hear back.”

Daria, who has the long-limbed grace of the dancer she isand a truly beautiful smile, is waiting for us in the elegantly appointed lobby with its spotlit silver signage, marble-topped reception desk, and Corinthian columns, all of which Bree photographs.

“I’m glad you could make it on such short notice.” She leads us through the dress-filled sales floor to a large, equally elegant dressing room. “Spencer gave me some input on what you might like and I’ve pulled a few things to get us started. But I want you to tell me if you have any other styles or specific designers you’d like to see.”

She opens the door and we get our first glimpse of the gowns she’s selected. Some are sleeveless, several are strapless; their shapes, shades of white and cream, and decorative details differ but each has a simple, classic, sophisticated elegance.

“Oh,” Bree breathes, holding up her phone to photograph them. “They’re so beautiful.”

“They are, aren’t they?” I’ve never even imagined wearing anything other than THE DRESS and I’m feeling slightly guilty at how much I like these.

“Your fiancé has stellar taste,” Daria says. “Now that I’ve seen you and your reaction I’d like to pull a few more gowns. Would you like some champagne?”

I stand for a moment after she’s gone, contemplating the gowns. I’m trying to shove away the images of my mother helping me into THE DRESS at the Sandcastle and everything that followed, when Bree steps up beside me.

“I believe THE DRESS will forgive us.” She runs her fingers down the creamy satin of a strapless Audrey Hepburn–worthy sheath. “It would be criminal not to try these on. And even worse not to enjoy it.”

“Agreed,” I say, laying my hand on top of Bree’s as if we’re making a pact. “This is an exploratory mission. We need to make the most of it.”

Daria returns with two more breathtaking gowns. When thechampagne arrives she asks Bree to pour then helps me into the first dress. The halter neck leaves the back open to just below my waist, after which it skims over my hips before widening.

“I wouldn’t have thought to ask for a mermaid silhouette,” I admit as I twirl in front of the mirror.

“I know,” Bree says as she snaps a photo. “But I love how it hugs your body and emphasizes your curves.”

The next is a strapless ball gown with a drop waist and a taffeta skirt.

“Oh my God. I love those long white gloves with that dress,” Bree says. “And that tiara!”

She snaps another photo and pours more champagne.

I try on a one-shoulder bell-shaped gown embellished with crystals, a high-necked halter, and a short-sleeved lace number with a high-low hem.

“Ohhhh...” Bree sighs when I stand in front of her in the long satin sheath with the slit up one side. “I know I should be jealous that you look so great in everything, but... I can’t because... you look so great in everything.”

“You do,” Daria says as she helps me step out of the sheath and into an A-line with off-the-shoulder long sleeves of illusion lace. “Excuse me for a minute. I need to take a call.”

When she leaves Bree pours the last of the champagne. A mischievous look I haven’t seen in years comes over her face.

“How many times would you say we watchedPretty Woman?” Bree asks.

“At least a thousand,” I say, even though I’m pretty sure that’s a conservative estimate.

“This is not Rodeo Drive and Daria couldn’t be more helpful,” Bree says. “But the whole time we’ve been here there’s this line that keeps going through my head.”

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