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August steps in, gently settles a section of my skirt into another position, and shows me the right angle for the portrait with his fingertips on my upper arm.
It puts me in line with a full-length mirror.
His shutter clicks, these sound barely noticeable in the background. He might be the only one who can see what I look like, seeing myself in my dress on my wedding day for the first time, because I can’t look away from the dress to see my face.
It doesn’t matter that I was in the room when Charlotte was working on it.
I’mstunned.
I look like a princess, with a full skirt and a neckline that reminds me of my favorite, dearly departed leotard. It doesn’t go up to my neck, but it has the same vibe.
And thelace.
Black lace sleeves bleed into the black lace neckline, and it sweeps down into the ivory fall of my dress like wings.
Like I might take flight.
“This way, Lily,” Julien says.
He’s a half-step to August’s right, so when I turn toward his voice, I end up looking at the camera instead.
August manages to take alotof different photos in the space of a few minutes. With my bouquet. Without my bouquet. My hands on my bouquet. With my bridesmaids. Alone again.
“It’s time,” Ashley says, just as August lowers his camera and nods at Julien. They go out ahead of the rest of us.
I follow the procession out into the hall, my heartpounding.I need an excuse.Anyexcuse.
“Five seconds.” I hand my bouquet to Elise and gesture at the bridal suite.
“Do you want me to come with you?”
“I won’t be gone that long.”
I gather up all my skirts in my arms and rush back through the suite and into the bathroom. All I can think isoh, God, oh, God, oh, God.
The results are there on the screen.
I read them, know them, and shove them into the back of my mind.
Not now.
It’s time to get married.
I drop the test back into my purse and rush back out. “See?” I call to Elise. “I’m right—”
“Here,” someone says.
Amansays.
He’s standing in front of the entrance to the bridal suite, the door closed behind him.
I’ve never seen him before, but Idon’tlike him. I don’t like the rough look of his face. I don’t like his cold gray eyes. And Idon’tlike the way he’s grinning at me, like he’s won some game I didn’t know we were playing.
“Excuse me.” I pull myself up to my full height. “You need to let me through.”
“Not yet.” His grin gets wider. “I brought you a gift from your grandfather.”
21
