Chapter 3: The Fitting They Locked
The appointment was for ten a.m. on Thursday, forty-eight hours before the wedding. The boutique had pulled the curtain and put a little sign on the dressing suite door that said Reserved — Isabella.
I arrived five minutes early. My hair was still damp from the shower and I wore the soft cotton robe they kept on the back of the door. The older woman was already there, perched on the velvet bench in her navy lace dress, her purse upright on her lap like she was at a board meeting.
The seamstress, a woman named Maris with silver pins in her sweater, wheeled in the crystal gown on its tall stand. It caught every light in the room and threw it back at me.
"We finalized the alterations last night," Maris said, not looking directly at me. "To your exact measurements. It fits like a second skin now."
I reached out and touched the sleeve. The beads were cold. "Where's the other one?" I asked. "The ivory lace?"
Maris hesitated and glanced at the older woman. On her worktable behind her, the ivory gown hung on a plain hanger inside a half-zipped garment bag. A pink tag hung from its zipper pull. RETURN TO DESIGNER — HOLD EXPIRES 5PM FRIDAY.
"That one was never ordered," the older woman said. Her voice was even, pleasant. She didn't raise it. "We kept it here as a reference for sizing. Maris was kind enough to store it, but it needs to go back. The foundation board expects elegance, Isabella. That crystal gown photographs. It says family, it says legacy. The little lace dress says county craft fair."
I didn't answer right away. I could hear the quiet tick of the wall clock and the hum of the steamer in the corner. I walked past her to the worktable and pushed the garment bag open a few inches. The ivory lace was soft under my fingers, the floral embroidery slightly raised, the tiny fabric buttons cool to the touch.
And in the inner side seam, where the lining formed a small pocket, the edge of cream paper showed.
The envelope was still there. I hadn't imagined it four months ago. I slid my thumb along it. The script monogram on the flap was my mother's handwriting, the looping M she'd used since I was a kid. My breath caught and I curled my hand around it so neither of them could see.
"Is everything okay?" Maris asked.
I tucked the envelope back down into the seam, pressing it flat. "I want to try the lace one on again," I said. "Just to be sure."
The older woman stood. She smoothed her dress. "There's no time for that," she said. "We have the rehearsal dinner seating to confirm. The photographer is waiting to lock the shot list." She looked at Maris. "Please return it this afternoon. And help Isabella into the crystal gown for her final press."
Maris's mouth tightened, but she nodded.
The older woman walked to the suite door, stepped out, and I heard the soft click of the lock turning from the outside. The little gold bolt slid into place.
Maris stared at the door. "She asked me to keep it locked while you change," she whispered. "She said you were getting nervous and might get confused."
I turned back to the ivory gown. My hands were shaking, but not from nerves. I pulled the envelope halfway out. It was sealed, the flap unbroken, my mother's ink dark against the cream.
"Can you keep a secret?" I asked Maris quietly.
She didn't move for a second, then she stepped closer and lowered her voice. "My daughter had a mother who picked her dress too," she said. "She still won't look at her wedding pictures."
I held the lace gown against me. "I paid the hold deposit on this dress in my own name," I said. "That's why it's still here. I want to keep it. I'll pay the full balance today, right now. Not as a reference. As my dress."
Maris looked at the pink return tag, then at the locked door, then at me. "You'd be paying for two gowns," she said.
"I know."
She took a slow breath. "And the crystal one is altered for Saturday. It's expected."
I laid the ivory gown flat on the bench and smoothed the skirt. "What if they weren't two gowns?" I asked. I ran my finger down the center-back seam of the crystal shell where the zipper was hidden under a row of false buttons. "Can you take the crystal gown apart just enough to make it a shell? A removable overlay? Put the hidden zipper down the center back, so it can go right over this one. Two layers. One look for them, one for me."
Maris knelt and lifted both dresses, weighing them, checking seams, linings, how the shoulders would sit. She pinched the crystal tulle and then the lace bodice underneath, testing.
"The lace has the corset and buttons, it'll hold the weight," she murmured, almost to herself. "I'd have to open the crystal side seams, add a silk lining so it doesn't snag, and the zipper has to be invisible under the beading. It would be tight, but I could do it overnight. No one would see the lace underneath until you wanted them to."
"Can you do it without telling anyone?"
She looked at the locked door again. The handle jiggled once as the older woman checked it.
"She'll expect the crystal gown back by tomorrow morning for transport to the ballroom," Maris said. "If I rework it as a shell, it will still look exactly the same on the hanger. She won't know unless she tries to unzip it herself. And the envelope?"
I pressed the envelope back deep into the inner side seam of the lace gown, right against the ribbing where it wouldn't shift when I walked. I felt the monogram under my fingertip one more time and left it sealed.
"It stays with the lace," I said. "Tucked where it is. Please don't move it."
May you like
Maris nodded and reached into her drawer for her shears. "Pay at the front desk before we unlock the door," she said softly. "I'll mark the lace as sold. For the hybrid, you come back tomorrow at seven a.m. before the boutique opens. We'll fit the two together then."
I zipped the garment bag back up over the ivory gown, the cream envelope hidden inside, and slipped my card from my robe pocket. Outside, the older woman knocked once, lightly, and said through the door that we were running behind schedule. Maris walked to the register with both dresses over her arm, and I followed, my heart beating so loud I was sure they could hear it through the lock.
