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“—her bedroom,” Elise is saying. She’s Charlotte’s best friend, and is double-famous herself—I’ve heard people talk about her wedding cakesandabout her bakery in Brooklyn, Take the Cake. Triple-famous, if you count that she’s one of the Bettencourt daughters. I know about the late Bettencourt because he was frequently mentioned in the business pages, and if you’re too invested in attending law school, it’s very possible that you and your friends will spend their free time talking about mergers and contracts and lawsuits brought by rich men. Elise hovers near Charlotte’s chair in a pair of leggings and a crewneck sweatshirt with the name of her bakery on it, waiting to bring Charlotte anything she needs. “As in, sewing in her bedroom, packaging pieces in her bedroom, and sending them off in the mail. And now look at her.”
“Yes, look at me,” Charlotte says, tone wry. “Leaking boobs. Oversized T-shirt. Mason’s sweatpants. I’m the height of fashion.”
“I’m not an expert, but I think you’re totally pulling it off,” I tell her.
She tips her head back and laughs, her hands still holding a pin in place on the voluminous skirt of my wedding dress.
Myweddingdress.
“Thank you, Lily.”
“We could take a break,” I suggest. “If you’re tired. You, like, just had a baby. There’s no way you want to be making a dress.”
Charlotte’s smile softens. “Actually, it’s nice to have a project like this to work on. I couldn’t do much the last month or so, and I’ve been antsy.”
It’s just such akindthing to say. It makes my chest go hot and embarrassed and weighted. I’m no one to these people. I showed up out of nowhere with a beat-up Jameson and a grandfather who might or might not be out to get us. I’m the one who started our whole fake engagement. I’m the one who kept up the joke until it was real.
“Lily.” Charlotte pats the front of the dress, which has slowly begun to take shape over the last few days. “Are you okay?”
“Are you sure? Because this is a lot to ask of a person. And of, like, a family. I’m sure all of you had other plans before I barged in and monopolized all your lives.”
Charlotte glances up at Elise, and they have a silent conversation at the speed of light.
“Honestly?” Charlotte guides the pin through the length of lace she’s pinning to the white fall of my dress and sits back. “I think you did us a favor.”
I raise my eyebrows at her.
She laughs.
“Look, I don’t want to step on anyone’s toes, or share things that people would rather keep to themselves or—”
“I don’t care that much,” Elise puts in. “Mason and Gabriel have been worried about Jameson for a long time. They were beside themselves when he took off after the promotion. Theyboththought he might do something they couldn’t fix.”
“Like kidnap a woman and get fake-engaged to her?”
Elise snorts. “I don’t think they sawthatcoming.”
“Nope,” Charlotte agrees. “That was new.”
“Well, that’s a relief. I wouldn’t want to be the latest in a long line of kidnapped girlfriends.”
“Oh myGod.” Elise breaks into a fit of giggles. “You’re perfect for him. OhGod.” Her face snaps into a horrified expression. “I didn’t mean to make light of the situation. You probably have complicated feelings about it, and I—”
“Actually,” I announce, as grandly as possible. “My feelings about Jameson aren’t that complicated.”
Charlotte’s eyebrows go up. “Really?”
“I’ve tried to make them complicated, believe me. I’ve tried to think he—you know.Wasn’thot. I’ve tried to be furious with him. I’ve tried not to like him. Except—” I’m about to sayI love him,but despite literally being on a pedestal being fitted for the dress I’m going to wear when I honest-to-parole-reform marry Jameson, I’m not ready to say it. For alotof reasons. “I know none of this is ideal, but I don’t mind the idea of marrying him and figuring the rest out later. Especially if it makes everything else safer. And…”
I glance up at the mirrors in an arc around the pedestal, my eyes catching on myself. It’s hard to look away.
“And this is fun,” I finish. “Having a real wedding with, like, the trappings of a wedding was never in my life plan, so I didn’t think I’d get to do this. I had kind of convinced myself I didn’t want it. Plus, it was never going to be traditional, because my mom—oh,crap.”
“Here.” Elise hands me a tissue. I wonder if she knows she always smells faintly sugary and sweet. I bet she does. “Hey. It’s okay. Everybody cries when Charlotte makes them pretty.”
“I’m not making her pretty,” Charlotte says. “Look at her. She’s already gorgeous.”
“Stop,” I choke. “This is a bad time to get emotional.”
