Page 99 of Married in Michigan
“And it was altered by a master seamstress working with a fashion historian, along with Vera Wang herself.” A dreamy look comes over Julie’s face. “What an honor that was.”
I blink. “Of course,” I sigh. “Paxton.”
“Paxton,” Julie agrees.
“Camilla really is going to shit puppies.”
Julie’s eyes widen. “You don’t even know. She tried to get someone to alter it so she could wear it at her wedding, but the executors of the deBraun archival estate wouldn’t let her.” She grins. “Paxton got permission somehow, but he had to sneak it out from under his mother’s nose.”
I sigh and then laugh. “He’s really going out of his way to rub her nose in this, isn’t he?”
Julie nods, stepping back to admire me in the dress. “Very much so.” She turns me around to face the mirror. “There, now look.”
It’s delicate, ivory from age, and if it has indeed been altered, it was done with such consummate skill that I can’t tell. It’s full-sleeved and the neckline is high, but the sleeves from shoulder down are sheer lace, and the neckline is a crisscross web of silk and sheer lace over my cleavage, so that while the gown bows to Edwardian notions of modesty, it’s graceful and elegant and even sexy, in a demure sort of way; the silk falls to mid-thigh, where sheer silk embroidered with delicate flowers twine around my legs, the hem scalloped above my feet and draping behind me in a long train.
It’s so beautiful, so elegant, and bears such personal history that I have to fight back tears.
Julie is crying, too. “I’ve worked for the family for a very long time, and this is my favorite moment, ever.” A sniffed laugh. “At least, until Camilla sees you.”
“How does he manage this stuff?” I ask.
“He’s Paxton deBraun.” She glances a tiny silver watch. “Speaking of which, it’s time.”
I swallow hard. “I’m suddenly not ready.”
Julie pats me on the cheek. “Yes you are. And anyway, this part isn’t for you, it’s for Camilla.”
“This part?” I ask.
Julie’s eyes widen and she shrugs, face suddenly blank. “I just mean…” She waves a hand. “I don’t know what I mean.”
I hear organ music somewhere far away, and while it’s not the wedding march, it’s a signal that it’s time for me to take my place at the doors.
I follow Julie, swallowing nerves. A young woman from the glam squad finds me and walks backward in front of me, touching up my makeup, while another fiddles with my hair, and they fuss and fuss until I huff.
“Enough,” I say, trying not to snap at them out of nerves. “Thank you. I think it’s fine.”
They vanish, just like that, and it’s me and Julie and we’re gliding down a long dark hallway, and I see a pair of wide double doors, and Liam is waiting on this side of them, in a tuxedo of his own.
Liam is Paxton’s best man, and he’s also giving me away—I never knew my own father, and I still haven’t met Paxton’s, and so Liam is the only man I know other than Paxton...and we’re best of friends, after these months of being driven around by him and guarded by him and pranked by him.
He offers me his arm, and I tuck my hand around his elbow. His smile is dangerous and eager and comforting. “Ready?”
I sigh. “No.” I lift my chin, steel my spine. “Yes.”
“Attagirl,” Liam says, in his deep, raspy soldier’s voice. “Focus on Paxton, all right? Don’t worry about anyone else.”
“If I trip, will you catch me?” I ask, feeling wobbly on the delicate ivory heels, clutching the bouquet of white roses in a death grip.
“You know it.” He eyes me. “Cold feet?”
I smile at him. “Nervous, but no. His mom is going to hate me.”
“I’m not sure there’s anyone she actually likes, so that’s okay.”
I feel a wave of melancholy. “I wish my own mom was here.”
Liam is oddly silent on that, and only pats my hand. “Of course you do.”
