Chapter 6 - The Dressing Suite Door
The door to the private suite didn't latch properly. It swung shut behind us and then eased open again an inch, letting in the low hum of the ballroom and the warm light from the chandeliers. I could still hear someone laughing out there, like they weren't sure if they were supposed to.
The suite was smaller than I'd remembered from the morning. Marble under our shoes, a three-way mirror, two rolling racks pushed against the far wall, and a low couch with my clutch still sitting where I'd left it. On the racks hung two black garment bags. Both had white luggage tags tied to the zippers.
I hadn't hung two bags there that morning.
Victoria went straight to the one on the left and rested her hand on it, not zipping or unzipping, just holding it. Lila stayed by the door. My husband — he still had the folded printout from the projection screen in his hand — stood between us holding the crystal outer layer I'd taken off at the altar, draped over his arm like a coat he didn't know what to do with.
"They brought everything in here after you left the screen on," Lila said quietly. Her voice was thin. "The coordinator said to keep it private."
I walked to the racks. The tags were handwritten in black marker.
One said CRYSTAL - BALLGOWN - V. APPROVED in Victoria's handwriting. The other said IVORY SATIN - BRIDE in mine, from three months ago when I'd packed it myself at the boutique.
I unzipped the first bag. Empty, except for a dry cleaner sheet and the faint smell of hairspray. The lining was snagged where a bead had caught. I zipped it back up and without looking at Victoria, I moved to the second.
This one had weight.
I pulled the zipper down six inches and the tissue paper showed through, folded thick around the shoulders the way the boutique always did it. When I touched it, the paper crackled. I pulled the top sheet back just enough to see the ivory satin beneath, smooth and cool, and the little sewn-in tag at the neckline.
I reached in and lifted the tag out with two fingers so they could see it.
It was white with a narrow blue border. BRIDE: E. HARRISON - IVORY SATIN OFF-SHOULDER - ORDER #8471. The number was printed, not written. Under it, a second tag from the alterations department: Hem confirmed 5/2.
I held it still. My hand wasn't shaking, but I could feel my breath caught high in my chest.
"This is the same number," I said. "From the invoice on the screen."
My husband stepped closer and looked down at the tag, then at the paper in his hand. He unfolded it. It was the delivery confirmation we'd all seen projected, but now up close, on letter-sized paper.
At the bottom were two signatures in blue ink.
The top one was mine, dated February. The second one, below the line that said RECEIVED IN STORAGE - AUTHORIZED SIGNATURE, was Victoria's. Clear, looped, with the little star she always dotted over the i.
He stared at it for a second longer than I expected. His jaw moved but he didn't speak right away.
"Why is your signature on my dress delivery?" he asked, not looking at her yet.
Victoria finally let go of the empty garment bag. She adjusted the bracelet on her wrist. The diamonds clicked.
"The venue manager gave me a key," she said. Her voice was even now, practiced. "I told him I was handling wardrobe for the family photos. He didn't ask. He just handed it over. I didn't steal anything. I moved it for safekeeping. That storage room is not secure, anyone walks through there."
Lila glanced at me, then away.
"So you had them bring the crystal one from the city?" I asked.
"I had it brought in because I was trying to help," Victoria said. "You were so stressed about the fit. That ivory dress looked unfinished in the photos you sent. I thought —"
"You thought what I ordered wasn't good enough for your ballroom," I said. It came out quieter than I meant it to. I folded the tissue back over the satin and smoothed it. The imprint of the folded fabric stayed in the paper, a perfect pale outline.
She didn't deny it. "I was trying to help," she repeated. "I didn't think you'd make a spectacle about it."
My husband set the crystal layer down on the couch. He kept holding the confirmation sheet. He ran his thumb over Victoria's signature once, like he needed to feel the ink.
"Mom," he said. "You signed for her dress and then you put a different one over it at the altar. You told Dad I picked it?"
"I told your father we upgraded," Victoria said. She looked at me then, eyes bright, not tearing, just wide. "And we did. That crystal gown cost twice what that simple satin did. Anyone with taste would see that."
The door was still cracked that inch. Outside, the string quartet started again, uncertain. Lila reached over and pushed the door closed with two fingers until it clicked.
May you like
No one moved to hang anything back up. The two bags hung there, one empty, one full. The confirmation sheet with both signatures sat on the little glass table between us, not crumpled, not hidden. I left the satin bag unzipped just enough to see the tissue, because I wanted it to stay visible.
Victoria stood with her hands clasped in front of her silver dress, as if she were still posing for photos, and said, "I handled the bags. I never forced you to wear anything."
