Chapter 6
The knock came twenty minutes after I'd locked the suite door.
It wasn't the soft, tentative knock of hotel staff. It was three quick raps, knuckles against wood, familiar like someone who'd already decided they'd be let in. I was sitting on the edge of the vanity bench with the sapphire brooch closed in my palm, my beaded gown draped over the back of the chair. I'd changed back into the short white dress and nude heels after reclaiming the room, and my veil was folded neatly on the counter.
"Celeste?" Bianca's voice came through the door, a little breathless. "It's me. Can we talk for a second? Please?"
I didn't answer right away. I could see her shadow under the door, the light from the hallway cutting across the carpet. The air conditioner hummed. Somewhere down the hall, a cart rattled.
"Rafael told me you left," she said. "I didn't know you were in here. I just want to explain."
I stood and crossed to the door. My hand hovered over the lock. Through the peephole, I saw her. The hallway was empty except for her, and the sight stopped my breathing for a half second.
She was still wearing it. The gown. Not mine exactly — I could see now it was an approximation, but close enough to make my stomach turn. Same beaded white bodice, same pearl waistband, same sheer veil clipped at the back of her head. She'd pinned her hair up to show the pearl earrings. She held the skirt slightly lifted with one hand, like a bride posing for photos.
I unlocked the door and opened it six inches, my shoulder against it.
Her eyes widened when she saw me in the short dress. "Oh," she said, and then she recovered with a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "You changed."
I didn't move the door any further. "What do you need, Bianca?"
She glanced down the hallway, then back at me. "Can I come in? Just for a minute. This is so awkward in the hallway."
"No," I said quietly. "You can say what you need to say here."
She pressed her lips together. Her hands smoothed over the beaded skirt, a nervous flutter. "Look, I know how this looks. But it wasn't — it wasn't what you think. Rafael suggested it. He said it was like a tradition, a joke for the guys. The Substitute Bride thing. It's stupid, I know, but he said you wouldn't mind. He said you'd think it was funny."
I watched her fingers trace the pearls at the waist. My mother's pearls. My brooch was in my palm, sharp against my skin.
"He said I wouldn't mind someone else in my wedding dress," I said.
She laughed, a short sound. "Not your actual dress. This one — Rafael had it made. He said it was a copy, so yours would stay safe. It was supposed to be just for photos before you walked in. A surprise."
A copy. I looked at the beadwork again. The pattern was close, but the thread was looser, the pearls plastic instead of freshwater. Someone had tried hard and missed the details that mattered.
"Did you ask if it was okay with me?" I asked.
Her smile faded. "I thought — Rafael said it was fine. We've known each other since we were kids, Celeste. He's like a brother to me. It was just supposed to be silly."
"It wasn't silly to me," I said. My voice stayed low, even. I wasn't going to give the hallway an argument to overhear. "That gown is my family's. The brooch was my mom's. You wearing it without asking, even a copy, tells everyone my place can be filled five minutes before I walk down the aisle."
She stared at me, and for a moment her composure slipped. "That's not fair. I didn't try to take your place. I was just — he asked me to. I didn't want to make it weird by saying no."
"You could have said no," I said.
She looked down at the dress, then at my folded veil on the vanity behind me. "Are you going to tell everyone I stole it? Because I didn't. Everyone knows you're the bride."
"I'm not going to tell everyone anything," I said. "But I'm not going to pretend this was okay. You should take that dress off, Bianca. It's not yours to wear tonight."
She took a small step back, as if I'd pushed her. "Rafael said you'd be cool about it. He said you were chill."
"I'm not chill about my wedding," I said.
The hallway was quiet again. A door closed somewhere far off. Bianca's hand dropped from her skirt. She looked at me one more time, not angry exactly, but calculating how much ground she'd lost.
"Fine," she said softly. "I'll go. But I hope you know I never meant to hurt you."
May you like
I didn't answer that. I held the door, and she turned and walked back toward the ballroom, the beaded skirt swishing against her nude heels, the veil trailing. I watched until she rounded the corner, and then I closed the door and locked it. The dress was still on her. The tension between us was named now, hanging in the air where she'd stood, not resolved, just finally out in the open.
I opened my palm and looked at the sapphire brooch, still safe, still mine.
