I blink. “Fertility statues?”
“Some say they work, some say they don’t! But I always tell people: what’s the harm in a little magick?” she trills, her grin wide and infectious as she shoves an iPad into my hands.
“You just need to fill out a few details,” she chirps. “Nothing too intense—just your name, wedding date, style preferences, favorite colors, mood board links, venue details, guest count, all of your fiancé’s info, and”—she winks—“a promise to give us your firstborn.”
I bark out a laugh.
“Kidding.” She grins. “Mostly.”
I glance down at the screen like it’s suddenly sprouted fangs. The questions glare at me, demanding answers I don’t have. So, I fill in the only one I do.
NAME: GEMMA SUMMERS
It takes less than a second to bring back zero results. “It doesn’t look like I’m in your system. Maybe the appointment’s under—”
“Oh, you don’t need to do that if you’ve already got an appointment!” she says, cutting me off. “Shoot darn, I was supposed to ask that first.” Her laugh is breathyand nervous as she bobs on her toes and holds up two fingers. “It’s my second week.” She beams at me like that’ll explain everything. “And it’s almost June. You know what they say about a June bride…”
I don’t, but I nod along like I do. “It’s close to your busy season?”
“Sobusy!” She practically bounces out of her skin. “And we just got a new shipment of gowns, and my manager’s in the back dealing with that, so it’s a bit chaotic—”
“I can wait,” I offer.
“No, no, no!” Elsie insists, waving her hands. “It’s aspecialday!” She motions for me to follow her toward an antique desk tucked along the side of the sales floor where a computer sits nestled among crystals and lace swatches. “Yourspecial day.”
“Oh, it’s not my—” I start to tell her I’m the bridesmaid and not the bride, but she bumps into a toddler -sized clear crystal penis, and I have to catch it before it falls to the ground and shatters into a thousand pieces.
“Oh my goddess. Oh, wow,” she says, staring wide-eyed at my hands wrapped around the gleaming shaft. She looks at me, panicked now. “Sorry. I mean, thank you. I swear I’ve had some training. Enough training. Totally enough training.” She sits down shakily, fingers fluttering over the keyboard, and looks up at me. “So, what name is your dress listed under?”
I’m sure my smile is strained as I release the giant phallus and resist the urge to run.
“Roberts. Mackenzie Roberts,” I say, suddenly a 1960s action star. “I’m here to try on and pick up my dress,” I say, shifting my bag on my shoulder. “I submittedmy measurements online, but this is my first time being able to make the trip back home.”
Elsie nods enthusiastically, tapping away at the keyboard. “Ooh, exciting! Big trip home, huh?”
I hesitate. “Something like that.”
“Charleston istheperfect place for a destination wedding.” Elsie squints at the screen, her pale white skin blooming splotchy pink around her collar.
“It’s not really a destination wedding—”
“Aha! Found it!” She presses her palm to her flushed chest. “I was worried there for a minute that I’d accidentally deleted your file.” She straightens and clears her throat as if suddenly aware she’s oversharing. “What I mean is, come with me to the Spirit and Silk Suite. We’ll get you all set up, and I’ll bring in your dress.” She offers a nervous smile and gestures for me to follow.
The suite isn’t much bigger than a closet, but it’s trying very hard to be luxurious. Satin-lined walls gleam under the flickering glow of dozens of lit tea lights, and a puff of sandalwood-scented mist curls up from a corner diffuser.
My stomach twists. The dress that’s waiting for me isn’t free. Neither was the flight, or the rental car, or the gift I bought for Mackenzie, or the hotel I booked for appearances even though I should be staying at my parents’ house.
I shove the thought away as Elsie flutters around like an excitable fairy.
“Would you like tea, coffee, water, or maybe a mimosa?” She claps her hands, not waiting for my response. “Grapefruit mimosa, perfect for the occasion!”
Before I can protest that day drinking in my thirtiesonly leaves me puffy and tired, she disappears through a velvet curtain in a blur of red curls.
A moment later, she’s back, thrusting a crystal flute filled with pale pink liquid into my hand. “Here you go!”
And just as quickly, she’s gone again to fetch the dress.
“What the hell? Maybe this will be the thing that fixes me.” I swirl the liquid and take a sip.
