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I approach the rack, feeling weirdly nervous. Between telling Sarah the truth and choosing a wedding dress, it’s beginning to sink in that there are more people than Luke and me involved in this fake marriage.
There will be people invited to this thing. People like Sarah, who got invitations.
Hell, I don’t even know who’s on the guest list. Or where the event is.
Maybe I should have asked to be more involved in the planning.
I turn to the sales attendant. “Could I have a moment alone to look at the dresses?”
The sales attendant is surprised, but she covers it up quickly. “Of course, miss. Please press that button if you need me.” She gestures to a discrete button by the door, and then slips out the room.
I run my hands over one dress, then another. Each is more gorgeous than the last. Silk, tulle, velvet. I’m pretty sure there’s one with real diamonds sewn into the neckline.
I don’t know much about high end fashion, but I’m pretty sure each one of these dresses costs more than a year of rent on my old apartment.
I swallow past my nerves. “Where am I getting married, by the way?” I ask Sarah, trying to sound casual.
“One of the fancy hotels by Central Park,” Sarah says. “I forget the name. I was a wee bit distracted.”
I nod, feeling a little numb. “Did it say anything else about the event?”
“The words ‘small’ and ‘intimate’ were used,” Sarah says.
I blow out a sigh. That’s reassuring. I’ll only be making a fool of myself in front of a few people.
“How’s Luke’s autobiography going, by the way?” Sarah asks around a mouthful of macaron. “I got so caught up in the wedding news, I forgot to ask.”
“Getting Luke to talk about himself is like pulling teeth,” I say. “But I’m starting to get pieces of him. He’s more complicated than I thought.”
“Sure,” Sarah agrees. “What simple man would fake his own wedding?”
I laugh.
“Which dress do you like best?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “They’re all so beautiful.”
“Then there’s nothing for it. You’ll have to try them all on and give me a fashion show.” She pulls out her phone and cranks up a sunny, happy pop playlist.
It’s the kind of music you can’t help but smile to.
What the hell, I think to myself.Yes, I’m faking a marriage and lying to almost everyone I know. But I’m also trying on amazing dresses, living in a gorgeous apartment, and writing a book about a fascinating subject.
I grab the second glass of champagne and drink it in one long swallow.
Then I pick the most expensive dress I’ve ever worn and try it on.
When I turn around so I can check myself out in the mirror, Sarah gasps.
“Hazel,” she says, her voice hushed. “You look like a bride.”
“That’s the plan,” I remind her.
But I know what she means. I don’t look like a woman in a last-minute wedding dress.
I look like a woman about to walk down the aisle to the love of her life.
This time when I reach for the champagne, I drink straight from the bottle.
