Page 45 of Wedding or Not

The boutique does stock some mainstream designers, but they specialize in lesser-known labels and bespoke dresses. Between Natalie, the influencer, the boutique owner, and the designers, five dresses have been picked out and sized for me to model and be photographed.

Today I’m supposed to choose one of them to get married in.

This first one is a gorgeous princess-style ball gown with a structured, beaded bodice and an enormous fluffy skirt.

“Oh my God!” Natalie exclaims when she gets it zipped and arranges the skirt. “It’s like something out of a fairy tale!”

“Come out and let us see!” That’s Sasha, the influencer. My sisters and I have watched her content for years, and it’s a dream come true to have her featuring me—or Blossom Park—in any way at all.

I do look like a princess from a Disney movie, even in basic heels and with my hair down. The skirt is gorgeously done, but it’s decidedly over the top.

There is a part of me that likes the cheesy romance of the dress, but a deeper part is cringing a little as I stare at myself.

Natalie laughs silently as she reads my expression. “Just play along,” she mouths.

I nod.

I understand the assignment, and I’m going to fulfill it to the best of my ability.

Natalie opens the door, and I prance out, swishing the skirt and beaming excitedly.

In the outer fitting room are Sasha with the owner of the boutique (named Marie), two of her staff, and Aunt Grace, who is seated on a velvet settee and knitting. Even Stew came along today just in case, but he’s waiting in the front of the store.

I look to her first. She glances up as I circle in front of her.

She shakes her head. “Beautiful dress, but not you.”

Of course she’s right.

Sasha gets a lot of photos and film clips of me in the dress, and then I go into the private room to change into the next one.

This one is a sleek, silk sheath with a strange lace train hanging down from my ass like a tail. It leaves nothing to the imagination, and I hate the way I look in it.

Natalie makes a face as she tries to get the tail to behave itself in a less embarrassing manner. But her voice is excited as she declares loud enough to be heard past the door, “This one is so stylish and sexy!”

Amid the chatter from outside, I whisper, “I can’t be seen in this dress.”

“You have to. Sasha collaborated with these designers. It’s a whole thing, and it’s really big for the designers. We can’t let them down.”

She couldn’t have said anything else that would make me put aside my personal feelings toward the dress so immediately.

Naturally the designers have a lot riding on this photo shoot. As much as we do. Being featured by Sasha is huge.

And it would be incredibly hurtful and unfair for me to arbitrarily decide to let one of them down just because the dress is not my style.

So I avoid my reflection in the mirror and suck it up as I step out.

Sasha and the boutique staff ooh and aah over the dress, so clearly my appearance is not as bad as I imagined.

But Aunt Grace, yet again, shakes her head. “Very glamorous but not you.”

The same pattern repeats with the third dress—a cute vintage number with stunning lace and a flattering cut—and the fourth, which looks like it might have sprung fully formed from the head of a nineties prom.

I’ve been saving the final dress for the end because I have the most hope for it. It’s soft and simple with a sleeveless bodice and a full, flouncy skirt.

“Yes, this is it,” Natalie murmurs even before she gets the straps in place.

I gasp as I look up. Even without the bodice fastened, I can tell the dress is perfect for me.