Page 30 of A Week To Wed
I let my fingers run over the curve-hugging material, the embellishments, and … oh gosh, the feathers.
This dress.
Lincoln went back and paid for it, even after I canceled it for a more affordable one.
Tears bubble up, but I force them back. No way will I ruin this dress with my big baby tears.
Lincoln. Lincoln freaking Hall did this for me. He didn’t ask me to opt for the cheaper dress. I had just assumed.
And now I’m standing here in the ultimate gown of my dreams. No questions asked.
I would have bought it myself had Lincoln not been so stubborn. He knows I would have. And I know that he would have let me have whatever I wanted for the wedding, even if he — and not I — were bankrolling the entire event.
But most importantly, the one unshakeable fact here is that he didn’t veto me.
He sees me. And he approves.
For the first time in my life, I’m standing in front of a mirror, looking at a woman who is truly loved for who she is. Unconditionally.
Besides the salesperson helping me, three more appear from all corners of the shop, scrambling to gape at me in the mirror.
“You look like a dream,” one of the saleswomen gasps, clutching the yellow fabric measuring tape draped around her neck. She’s about my mom’s age, shape, and height, with gorgeous silver hair. This quick comparison dredges up something that I hadn’t paused to think about until now.
I wish my mom were here.
Sure, my mother was with me when she signed the check for my original dress, which I was supposed to wear at my wedding to Godfrey. Mama had been so excited and happy that day. Even though I felt lukewarm about the gown that Mama and I compromised on, she’d been so happy for me in that dress shop back in Dallas. I didn’t love that princess ball gown with a heart-stopping amount of tulle, offset by a fitted, beaded bodice, but Mama loved me in it. I’d never seen her so happy for me, and my heart aches that she’s not here to be pleased for me, having found the love of my life. I’m more than melancholy that she’s not here to see me glowing and excited.
Because I am glowing and excited to be not just someone’s bride, but Lincoln’s bride.
But would she be happy? Or would she scowl at me and scold me, or look at me as if I’d made the dumbest decision of my life?
I think I know the answer to that, as much as it pains me.
A young salesman stands behind me, gently fluffing out the bottom hem of my dress for the perfect photo, while another hands me a tissue.
Bless them for not making a single comment about me lacking an entourage for my gown fitting. Yet, how odd this must be for them.
Alright, you silly girl. Suck up those tears because this is a happy moment.
My tears turn to a wide smile as the sales associates fuss over me, posing me this way and that, snapping photos with my phone.
Later, sitting in the car, I weep as I scroll through the photos of myself.
I love that grouchy, stubborn, and stupidly-sexy cowboy more than I love this dress. More than I love oxygen. And I need him just as much.
I arrive back in Darling Creek in time for my appointment at Hattie’s Hair Cuttery, where I’m treated to a manicure, pedicure, foot massage, and facial, all paid for by Lincoln. Hattie herself works on my hair, resulting in old-Hollywood finger waves that I’d never have been able to pull off on my own.
“Everything ready for tonight?” Hattie asks while putting the finishing touches on my hair.
I nod excitedly.
The bluebonnets for my bouquet have been flown in from a nursery in Japan, and have to be stored in our gracious local florist’s heated greenhouse. The local baker worked closely with me to ensure I got exactly what I wanted. The tables and chairs and tents are already in place.
“Everything is perfect.”
Of course, I had to jinx it by saying that out loud.
No sooner are the words out of my mouth than I get a call from the officiant in Bozeman.
