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Much to her credit, Lisa, all in black like her staff, didn’t let grass grow under her stilettos. Within a few phone calls, she found a seamstress who lived three blocks away.
She now taps her two-way headset and utters clipped syllables to her employee on the other end. “What’s the status of the seamstress?” She paces the length of the dressing room as she waits for an answer. “ETA what? Two minutes? Okay. You lead her back here…no, do not point. Walk her back here.”
What seems like an eternity, but in reality, is less than a couple of minutes, a knock sounds at the door and a small woman with bright eyes and a happy smile enters.
“You!” Lisa points at a young blonde on her staff. “Tell them that the wedding will be–”
“No announcement!” I shout, then lower my tone, “Let’s just fix the dress and get on with it.”
No one but a select few know I was stood up at the altar. Maybe I’m being silly, but an announcement that this wedding will suffer a delay seems like a jinx.
Lisa shrugs her shoulders as the seamstress, Mrs. Wilhelmina--call me Willy, dear--Wallington, assesses the situation and gets to work. Willy touches a lot more than she bargained for in mending the tear, but this is no time for modesty. With nary a protest from me, Willy finishes the last stitch sooner than I expected.
“You’re all set, dear,” she says in a heavy Scottish accent.
I have less than a second to thank her before she is ushered out by the young blonde.
“Now, let me see what Mrs. Doubtfire has done.” Lisa studies the seamstress’s handy work with an expert eye. Lord knows I can’t be the only one this has happened to.
“Looks good,” she says, nodding in what I hope is satisfaction. “It will hold you through the ceremony and pictures well enough. You throw your bouquet or shimmy off that blue garter, your girls will be out and feeling the breeze. Got it?”
My nod is but the merest tip of my head. I’m not taking any chances.
At the doors, my parents don’t link their arms through mine, instead they place their hands on my forearms while I hold my bouquet of lilac and white flowers in the region of my belly button instead of mid-chest like I’d practiced.
Lisa has her staff pull back the doors. The music begins. The talking stops. Everyone stands.
This is it…
I promised myself I wouldn’t cry.
I do.
Tears that would ruin my foundation if I had any on, spatter on my chest. Faces blur as does the ground. I have to rely on my parents to steer me in the direction of the altar.
To Royce… my soon to be husband.
He looks so damn handsome in his tux. Dark hair in perfect disarray. Tall, proud, and what…is he crying too? Yep, his vulnerability leaks from his hazel eyes in man-tears so sweet, my heart flips.
He swipes at his eyes and gives me his billion dollar smile. I knew he wouldn’t worry. My man believes in me. I couldn’t ask for anything more.
Reverend McNare begins the service. As he speaks, Royce and I have words.
“Left it to the last minute, didn’t you?” he says softly.
I whisper back. “Sorry. Wardrobe malfunction.”
“I’ll take it out on you later.”
His eyes, so full of heat, combust my already aching ovaries and dampen the lace at the apex of my thighs.
“Promise?” I ask, unable to resist fanning the flames.
A shiver goes down my spine as he nods, a corner of his full bottom lip sliding under his teeth.
For those that don’t know, that gesture is Royce speak for: You can count on a night to remember.
GENESIS
