“Says who?” Kate called back.
“Says convention. Says taste. Says the entire bridal industry that markets white to twenty-three-year-olds.”
They just looked at each other, biting back a laugh, while Tessa came out in another lighter cream—too poofy—and a baby pink that had potential but fell back into the Mother of the Bride category.
They practically heard her sigh of resignation from where they sat and gave their glasses a knowing clink.
A minute later, the curtain opened and there she was—a vision in white satin.
The dress was a simple slip silhouette that skimmed Tessa’s frame without clinging, with thin straps and a soft cowl neckline that draped across her collarbone. It fell to the floor in aclean, unbroken line, and the fabric caught the light from the chandeliers and turned it into something liquid.
No lace, no beading, no embellishment. Just Tessa, in white satin, looking like she’d stepped out of a photograph from another era.
“Oh,” Vivien breathed.
Kate put her champagne down. Her sister stood on the platform in front of the three mirrors, looking at herself from every angle with an expression Kate hadn’t seen before, like the slow recognition of a woman finally seeing herself clearly.
“This is brand new,” Akari said softly. “It’s called the Carolyn, inspired by the Bessette-Kennedy gown from the nineties. I’ve been saving it for the right bride.”
Tessa gave a soft hoot. “Perfect, since I was obsessed with him when I was a teenager. But…” She turned to look at them. “I don’t look like a teenager in this.”
“Nope.” Vivien said. “You look like a woman born to wear that gown.”
Kate felt the tears burn and didn’t fight them. Vivien had already grabbed a tissue—strategically placed on the end tables for just this purpose—and dabbed her eyes as she took in the sight.
“Tess,” Kate sighed. “That’s it. That’s the dress.”
Tessa turned back to the mirror. She ran her hands down the satin, smoothing fabric that didn’t need smoothing, and Kate saw the full weight of what was happening land on Tessa’s narrow but oh-so-strong shoulders.
“I need a minute,” Tessa whispered.
“You all need a minute,” Akari said. “Relax. Wear the dress for a bit. Make sure it feels like skin. I’ll get my pins and we can hem and take it in just a scooch under the arms.”
As she left the room, Kate and Vivien stepped onto the platform and flanked their sister, the three of them reflected inthe mirrors—Tessa in white satin, Kate in her glasses and messy bangs, Vivien with some streaks in her makeup.
With soft exclamations of “this is the one!” they hugged and kissed and leaned into a moment that was more than thirty years in the making.
“Can I drink champagne in this thing?” Tessa asked.
“Well, if you can’t, it’s the wrong dress,” Vivien told her.
Kate took her hand and led her to the sofa. “Just becarefy, Cinderelly.”
Tessa laughed at the old inside joke from their favorite childhood cartoon, taking the half-full flute Vivien carefully offered.
They toasted to brides and friends and sisters and love and…a shared history.
“And speaking of shared history,” Tessa said, sliding into a chair like she owned the elegance of the dress. “Why is that shadow in your eyes, dear sister?”
Kate drew back, ready to dismiss the comment, then her shoulders fell. “I don’t want to talk about anything but you, the wedding, and that dress.”
“Too bad. I do.” Tessa took a sip and leaned forward, setting her glass on the coffee table between them. “And if there’s one thing in this world I know, it’s when the very sister I shared a womb with is struggling. What’s wrong, Kate?”
“Can we not?” Kate asked, her throat tightening.
“No, we can.” Tessa volleyed back, relentless. “Just give us the quick and dirty. Did you and Eli fight? Is something up? Is it Emma? What’s going on with you?”
Kate huffed out a breath and took off her glasses, handing them to Vivien. “Hold these or I’ll go home without them.”
