Chapter 2
The showroom was so quiet that all I could hear was the hum of the air conditioning.
Ethan's outstretched hand went rigid for a moment. Then he drew his phone back as though nothing had happened.
His mouth tightened with a familiar weariness, as if he were dealing with an unreasonable, demanding client.
"Claire, don't start." He kept his voice low, half scolding, half coaxing.
"Vivian was just trying it on for fun. We took a couple of pictures, that's all. This was supposed to be a happy day. Do you really have to embarrass everyone in front of our friends and the staff?"
"Exactly, Claire…" Vivian immediately let go of her skirt, her eyes reddening as I watched.
She took a timid half step back, suddenly desperate to get out of the lavish gown as though it had burned her.
Her voice was small and wounded. "I'm sorry. I honestly had no idea trying on a dress would upset you this much… I thought, after seven years of friendship, you wouldn't mind a little joke like this. If I'd known you'd be unhappy, I wouldn't even have touched it."
One of the groomsmen frowned and immediately stepped in. "Come on, Claire. That's enough. Vivian's always been so straightforward. Why make such a big deal out of it?"
Their stares pricked at me like needles, as if I were the inconsiderate one who had ruined the entire outing.
"This isn't a joke, Ethan."
I looked into my fiancé's eyes. My voice was level, but everyone in the showroom could hear me clearly.
"I told you last week what this dress meant to me. I went to three stores, booked this appointment two weeks in advance, and specifically kept today free because you said you'd be here for me. You promised."
But Ethan didn't even have the patience to let me finish.
He gave me a quick glance, then turned and stepped over to Vivian, slipping an arm loosely around her shoulders.
His voice was so gentle it almost sounded deliberate. "Vivian, it's okay. Don't cry. Claire's just been under a lot of stress with the wedding. This isn't about you."
He was busy comforting the woman crying in my wedding dress, his back turned to his bride-to-be.
The last aching surge inside me went completely still.
I didn't ask another question. I didn't wait for Ethan to turn around.
I took a deep breath, lifted the heavy skirt, and headed down the hallway.
"Claire…" The attendant, who had been standing nearby the whole time, hurried after me, her eyes full of sympathy.
"Could you please…" I pushed open the fitting-room door and stood in front of the cold, full-length mirror. "Help me out of this dress."
The attendant gently undid the intricate row of concealed hooks down my back. With each one she loosened, a little more cold air reached my skin.
Ten minutes ago, I'd still been looking forward to Ethan lifting my veil himself.
Now this expensive white fabric left me feeling suffocated, caught in something so absurd I couldn't put it into words.
Once I was back in my beige trench coat and black flats, I picked up my bag and opened the door.
Vivian had already changed out of the gown. She was sitting on a sofa in the lounge area, drinking water while a few friends murmured reassurances around her.
The showroom fell silent again when I came out.
Ethan hurried toward me.
He glanced at my plain, everyday clothes, and a flicker of panic crossed his eyes. Then he slipped back into his practiced peacemaker routine.
"Why'd you change so quickly?" Ethan reached for the strap of my bag, his voice bright with an appeasing smile.
"That dress actually looked good on you. Don't be mad, Claire. Vivian's about to go touch up her makeup. I didn't get a full-length picture of you earlier, so go put it back on. I'll take dozens to make up for it, okay?"
I stepped back out of his reach, pushed open the glass door, and walked into the chill of Boston's late-autumn wind.
"Don't bother, Ethan." I didn't look back. My voice was so calm I barely recognized it. "I don't want to wear it for you anymore."