Dress Fittings

The Gushing Bride was made of mirrors and myth. Every surface reflected itself in triplicate, every rounded rail and fluted arch sugared over with the kind of decorative plaster that was only one generation removed from a wedding cake. The smell was a swirl of rosewater, steamed silk, and the unspeakable sweetness of vanilla-tinged dry cleaning. The place looked, and smelled, like the aftermath of a fairytale duel: acres of white and cream, and every third step a little too sticky to be real.

At the center of the shop, Melisande herself—patron of all brides, or at least the one who measured them for size—circled Dawn Moreno on a low velvet dais. She was Mildred, but unlike any others, solicitous and saccharine, and apparently very excited to get each bride the perfect wedding dress. Dawn’s hair was pulled back in a starchy bun, her borrowed dress a half-completed marvel of hand-stitched lace, off-the-shoulder and backless to the curve of her tailbone. Melisande moved in swift, gliding loops, pinning and re-pinning the hem as Dawn turned for the mirrors.

Two other Mildreds waited at attention to the side, their faces fixed in identical customer-service delight. On the far end of the floor, three more hovered around Chloe and Riley, whose baby was cradled against Riley’s chest in a soft blue sling, now napping after a feed. The Mildreds watched the infant with blank, humid interest, their eyes never moving, except to track the smallest limb as it wiggled or twitched.

Chloe, her face pink with fluster, huddled beside Riley and tried not to look at the three Mildreds. She failed. Riley, who had no such hangups, occasionally made eye contact with one Mildred or another and bared her teeth in a slow, deliberate grin, then went back to shushing JJ when he made fussy noises in the crook of her arm.

On the next platform, Claire was a study in contrasts: the dress she wore was so understated you might have missed the hand-embroidery on the cuffs, but the cat ears on top of her head gave her away at a glance. Melisande had pinned Claire’s dress to the shoulder blades, but not to the arms; the sleeves drooped off one shoulder in a way that would have made a Parisian seamstress weep, if only for the waste of linen. Claire gestured at Melisande for a pause, then pantomimed a spin, which Melisande granted with the slow, solemn nod of a judge at a gymnastics meet. Claire twirled once, caught sight of herself in the mirror, and wrote something in her notebook.

Liesa and Myra watched from the plush chairs at the side, Emily's knees tucked under her, her arms fanned out behind her in a deliberate imitation of the Mildreds. Emily laughed, delighted, when Claire spun, then nudged her notebook across to Myra.

Myra read aloud, “‘If I pass out from joy, lay me in a pile of tulle so the last thing I see is heaven.’” She giggled, Emily joined her, and Claire, giving her a small nod, lifted both hands in a double thumbs-up and pointed one at Melisande, as if to say, You did this.

Melisande cocked her head, then bent to remove the pins, re-pinned the neckline in an extra inch, and stepped back to assess. “Much improved, my darling. You will leave a trail of broken hearts and possibly minor civil lawsuits in your wake.”

Claire wrote again: I will take that as approval. She handed the notebook to Melisande, who read it, giggled (giggled!), and then tore and tucked the page into her own pocket as if to keep it for evidence.

Across the room, Emi was up on a stool. Melisande had fitted the dress to her torso, but stood back now, tape measure coiled in one hand, studying the sleeve problem with the expression of a general reviewing bad terrain. Six arms. Four extra sleeves. The math was not in anyone’s favor.

“Emi, dear,” she said finally, with the gravity of a woman delivering a medical prognosis, “I am going to suggest something radical.”

Emi’s top pair of arms perked up. “Radical.”

“Sleeveless.”

A beat. Emi looked down at her six arms, then back up. “Is that not a little… scandalous?”

Melisande’s expression did not change. She gestured, slowly and deliberately, at the room around them—the mirrors, the Mildreds, the woman on the next platform with cat ears, the other woman with two fox tails, the infant in the blue sling, the naked green woman with huge boobs at the shoe display.

“Emi, dear. This,” she said, “is Harem Hotel.”

Emi opened her mouth. Closed it. Held all six arms straight out to her sides like a human compass rose, and looked at herself in the mirror for a long moment.

“Sleeveless,” she said. “Obviously. Yes.”

Myra buried her face in her hands. Chloe laughed so hard she had to grab the nearest Mildred for support.

In the midst of all this, Liesa prowled the aisles with a clipboard. She wore a tailored blazer over a pencil skirt, her own hair (down today, strawberry blond and haloed by the lights) pinned back with a feathered comb. She looked every inch the wedding planner. She ran inventory on Melisande’s progress, checked off names, and occasionally called out the next victim with a whistle.

“Erin!” she called, scanning the lineup for a flash of mint-green skin. “You’re next if you want it.”

Erin did not so much walk into the fitting area as stride through it, a study in confidence that would have been enviable if she’d been wearing anything at all. She moved like a Greek statue that had been dipped in mint ice cream and then left on the steps of a museum, only to come to life and develop a taste for high-end sneakers. She was, at the moment, wearing the aforementioned sneakers, a thin gold chain at her ankle, and nothing else, her J-cup breasts unbothered by gravity or gaze.

Chloe watched Erin’s approach with open admiration, the way one admires a lioness from behind a sturdy fence. Riley, ever the shit-stirrer, nudged Chloe’s elbow and stage-whispered, “It’s not too late to change your mind, you know. Mint green is the new ivory.”

Chloe, caught, colored from chin to hairline, which only set off her L-cups all the more violently against the borrowed guest dress Melisande had pinned to her. The three Mildreds orbiting them leaned in, as if hoping to overhear a secret, but only succeeded in making Riley cackle louder.

Melisande finished the pinning on Dawn, pronounced her “a vision of feminine fertility,” and swept across to Erin. She paused a half-step away, as if preparing herself for the metaphysics of it, then extended both arms. “My precious bride!” she exclaimed, voice rich and warm as honey. “You have chosen the path of absolute confidence. We adore it. But even the path of confidence needs a little—” she made a rolling gesture with her wrists, searching for the word “—accessory?”

Erin grinned, neither challenging nor mocking, but with the pleasure of someone who had chosen her skin a long time ago and was not giving it back for tulle or tradition. “Honestly? I thought you’d just let me go up the aisle like this. I don’t have any illusions about what happens to the first dress you put on me.”

A hush fell over the area, the kind that happens only when a truth is said out loud that everyone else had been avoiding.

Liesa, clipboard tucked under one arm, stepped in. “We can do what you want, Erin. I just thought it might be nice, even if just for a minute, to try on something before the shoe and jewelry round. For posterity, if nothing else.”

Melisande, arms still outstretched, said, “It is not about the clothing. It is about the vision of the self. But if you wish, we have veils—many veils. Or we can affix artful bouquets.” Her eyes glittered. “There are many options for a woman of—” she gave a measured look at Erin’s chest “—abundance.”

“Do it,” Riley hissed, her grin now almost predatory.

Erin stepped up on the dais. Three more Mildreds—who had previously kept a measured distance—now moved in with synchronized, silent precision, producing a pair of long, trailing veils and a bouquet that was at least eighty percent artichoke. Melisande arranged the veils across Erin’s shoulders in a way that was less about coverage and more about creating a kind of living modernist painting. One Mildred threaded the bouquet into Erin’s elbow, another adjusted a delicate chain to ensure its pendant would sit perfectly between her breasts, and the third, for reasons known only to herself, draped a thin ribbon of woven white flowers diagonally from one clavicle to the opposite hip. It did nothing to conceal, but everything to decorate.

Chloe made a small, high-pitched sound that could have been distress or delight. Riley started to clap, then checked herself and instead did a slow, ceremonial bow from the waist.

Erin caught sight of herself in the mirror and just shrugged, as if to say, This is my final form.

“God, she’s hot,” Emi said, not bothering to lower her voice.

“Intimidatingly hot,” Myra agreed. “I can feel it from here.”

Liesa took it all in, then raised her hand for attention. “Okay, we have four platforms and two hours before lunch, so let’s run through the schedule. Erin, we’ll set aside the veils and focus on shoes and jewelry. Emily, you’re after Claire, and we’ll need a volunteer to help with the hair situation.”

“Why?” Emily asked, stepping forward from the shadows with her hair already loose around her, the pink highlights catching the light like the inside of a conch shell. “Isn’t the whole point that my hair does all the work for me?”

Melisande answered with a laugh that was almost a giggle. “We want to see you, darling. The real you. Hair is beautiful, but so is your face. We want to give you the moment of the reveal.”

Emily took her place on the velvet platform with the air of someone lining up for her own mugshot. The mirrors caught her from all sides; every movement of her bare arms, the controlled swish of her thigh-length hair, was doubled and doubled again, as if the room itself meant to prove she existed in more dimensions than just the one. Melisande measured her in the round, hands darting like a tailor’s hummingbird, never quite making contact with skin, never settling for long.

Emily stood with her chin up, eyes fixed somewhere just above the tallest mirror’s horizon, her cheeks flushed the same improbable pink as her hair. Melisande circled her twice, muttering pet names (“my darling”, “precious”, “lovely one”) and then paused, hands at her hips.

“Sweetest, if I may,” said Melisande, “what’s the vision? Do we cover, or do we reveal?”

Emily’s face flickered, and for a second she looked helplessly at Erin, who grinned back with both hands jammed in the pockets of her own invisible jeans. “Uh. I mean, I always wanted to wear the dress. At least once. Even if I have to—” She stopped, gestured at herself, at the expanse of naked, never-blushing skin. “Even if it’s temporary.”

Melisande beamed, dazzling. “Nothing is truly temporary, my lovely. Once you wear it, it is yours forever, in the secret archive of the heart.” She snapped her fingers, and two Mildreds zipped in, each with an armful of silky, gossamer tulle.

They draped her in quick, overlapping panels, the layers floating over her body like a fog that never quite landed. Emily stared at herself in the mirror, the effect less “wedding” than “lost at sea in a cloud bank,” but she watched anyway, eyes going bright at the corners as the dress finally—finally—took shape around her.

Liesa watched, arms folded, but her tone was gentle when she checked in. “Is that what you pictured?”

Emily hesitated, then nodded. “I used to think about what I’d wear. A lot. Back when I thought… I’d do it the normal way.” She looked at her reflection, the pink and blond and white layered together like spun sugar, and made a small sound. “I kind of like it,” she said, and Melisande, catching the shift, immediately adjusted the waist, pinning it to a perfect fit with impossible speed.

Erin’s voice, warm, cut the silence: “You’ll be the hottest thing in the room, other than me.” She winked.

JJ, who had been stirring at the edge of the platform, now made a small squawk. Riley, who had watched the whole operation with her customary “amused court reporter” face, bounced him once on her hip and said, “You’ll look great, Em. Seriously.” Chloe, standing at her shoulder, beamed in agreement. “It’s amazing,” she said, and then, because it was her, added, “and I bet it’s really comfortable. I’m jealous.”

Melisande finished her pinning, then stepped back and clapped, once, sharp enough to draw the room’s focus. “Divine!” she exclaimed. “You are a vision, a celestial body, a rhapsody in pink and air.” She did a slow, approving circle, her head tipping in reverence.

Emily just blinked at herself, the blush radiating out from her face to her chest, and then finally to her arms, which she crossed, a little defensively, over her middle. “Thanks,” she said. “It feels nice.”

From across the room, Claire had been watching, ears forward, notebook in hand. She scribbled something, tore the page free, and flicked it like a paper airplane toward Emily. Erin, with catlike reflexes, snatched it out of the air and handed it to Emily with a low bow.

Emily unfolded it, and read: You’re the only person here who could pull that off.

Emily smiled, eyes gone glassy. She held the note to her chest for a second before folding it in quarters and tucking it into the cleavage the tulle had done a heroic job of creating. “Thanks, Claire,” she said. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

Claire lifted her chin, then pantomimed blowing a kiss, her tail curling at the tip.

With Emily pinned and ready, the focus shifted. Dawn stepped down off her dais, the hem of her dress trailing behind in an accidental train, and immediately tripped over the extra inch of fabric. She yelped, caught herself, and shot a look at the nearest Mildred. “A little help, please?” Two Mildreds swept in, one supporting her elbow and the other deftly trimming the hem with a pair of micro-serrated scissors. Dawn’s face colored, but the moment passed in a blink, the cut edge already lost to the general froth of fabric.

Norah, who had been lurking behind a row of powder blue bridesmaids’ dresses, now made her entrance. She wore an ice-blue slip dress and four-inch stiletto heels, her hair slicked down in a perfect wave. She did a slow circuit of the room, inspecting each fitting in turn, and stopped at the edge of the nearest dais.

“Am I next?” she asked, with a tilt of her head.

Melisande arched an eyebrow, her whole body communicating delighted surprise. “We have been expecting you, Norah dear. Are you ready?” She gestured to the platform dedicated to the dresses of the women who were not getting married.

Norah gave a little shrug. “I’m always ready.” She climbed up onto the next platform with a kind of predatory grace, her heels clicking, and let Melisande’s helpers sweep her into a green, tea-length number that looked designed for a presidential daughter’s third wedding. As the Mildreds closed in, Norah kept her eyes on the room, never blinking, as if daring someone to make the first comment.

Liesa, sensing an opening, did. “You look amazing, Norah. It really is your color.”

Norah’s mouth twitched, the barest ghost of a smile. “I know,” she said. “But thanks.”

Across the room, Emi, now dressed in a sleeveless gown tailored for all six arms, did a sextuple thumbs-up, the gesture simultaneously supportive and a little bit ridiculous.

Next to her, Myra—her own gown in a blush so pale it was nearly white—turned her head, fox ears up and tails swishing, and said, “You look like a billionaire. Or like you could eat a billionaire for breakfast.”

Norah grinned, baring her teeth. “Why not both?”

The room dissolved into laughter, and even the Mildreds smiled, their perfect, painted lips stretching just enough, showing way too many teeth, to prove they had been listening the whole time.

The fitting cycled on, each woman taking her turn on the dais, each greeted with a fresh round of banter, awe, and mutual compliments. When Riley’s turn came, she handed JJ off to Chloe, who bounced him with obvious pleasure. Melisande wrapped Riley in a bias-cut silk dress with a capelet at the shoulders, the fabric so dark it seemed to drink the light, but she left the arms bare, showing off Riley’s ample cleavage. Riley rolled her shoulders, looked in the mirror, and said, “Not what I would have picked, but… yeah. It’s a mood.”

Dawn, watching, said, “You look like a superhero, but also like you’d solve murders for fun.”

Riley considered this, then nodded. “That’s exactly right.”

When Chloe’s turn came, the Mildreds did a double-take at her breasts, which they framed in a strapless confection of tulle and ribbon. Chloe’s blush reappeared, but she managed a brave smile as Melisande settled a garland of real flowers over her head, weaving the stems between the waves of her hair. “It’s so pretty,” she said, her voice gone tiny. She kept her hands at her sides, afraid to touch anything for fear it would all collapse.

Riley winked at Chloe, who giggled and, after a second’s hesitation, did a shy little curtsy to the room.

Liesa circled back, clipboard in hand. “Next up is shoes. We’ll do this fast so nobody falls and sues the store. Mildreds, would you bring out the choices?”

A flock of Mildreds materialized, each holding a tray with three or four pairs of shoes. Dawn was first—she picked a pair of ballet pink heels, slipped them on, and did a tentative test walk. Norah selected the highest, thinnest stilettos with the air of someone who expected to be challenged to a duel later. Emi went barefoot, her six arms making quick work of any stray threads on her hem, and when a Mildred offered her a tray of options anyway, she gave all a solemn once-over before selecting a pair of simple white flats, which she held up for the room’s approval. Myra—who had initially been dubious about the whole shoe situation—selected a pair of ivory kitten heels with delicate fox-tail pompoms on the straps. She wiggled her toes, grinned, and declared herself complete.

Erin, standing at the end of the row, scanned the shoe options, then pointed at a pair of white-on-white Nikes that looked like something from a couture track meet. “I’ll take those,” she said. “If I have to walk down an aisle, I’m not breaking an ankle for tradition.” Liesa wrote it down, looking pleased.

Emily considered her choices, then surprised everyone by choosing a pair of delicate, low-heeled, almost demure slippers. “If I have to be Cinderella for a day,” she said, “I want the shoes to fit.” She slipped them on, did a tiny, careful twirl, and landed without incident.

A Mildred moved to Claire next, presenting the tray with a small bow. Claire set down her notepad, took the tray, and went through each pair with a methodical patience that had the whole room quietly watching. She lifted one heel, checked the sole, replaced it. Tried the weight of a second pair in her palm. Reached for her notebook, thought better of it, and put it back down. After a long moment, she selected a pair of simple white satin flats—no embellishment, no heel, nothing that would make a sound on the floor—and sat down to put them on herself, waving off the Mildred who moved to help. When she stood, she took a few steps, stopped, and looked up to find Emily already watching her. Claire gave a small, satisfied nod. Emily pressed her lips together, eyes bright, and nodded back.

Melisande, who had watched the entire process with visible pleasure, clapped her hands together. “My brides, my darlings, you are perfection. The event will go down in history. Or at least in the private archives of the Hotel, which is even better.”

Liesa ran down her checklist, ticking names and confirming pairings. “If you want to do hair and makeup, we have Perran booked, but you can opt out. If you want anything changed, we can do that up to the last minute.”

“Last minute?” asked Chloe, a note of panic in her voice.

Liesa grinned. “Last minute. Trust me, Melisande’s team can remake a dress in a minute flat if they have to, and Perran… well, you know Perran.”

From the next platform, Claire tapped her notepad, then held up a sign: I believe her.

The whole room burst into laughter again, and Melisande gave a deep, gracious bow.

For a long moment, the group just existed—no deadlines, no drama, just the comfort of being together in a place that had tried, and failed, to break them apart. Even the Mildreds seemed content, their eyes gone soft, their smiles less brittle than before.

And then, as if on cue, Liesa clapped once, sharp and brisk. “We have time for one more round of discussion before we break for lunch,” she announced. “There’s a bridesmaid issue we need to resolve, and I want everyone’s input.”

The room stilled, curiosity snapping to the surface. Melisande waved her hands, and the Mildreds all stepped back, giving the brides the floor.

Liesa looked at each woman in turn, then said, “Arabella’s official rules gave us three bridesmaid slots. We’ve filled two already, but I want to talk through the third before we make anything final.”

Norah perked up. “Is it a competition? Because I’m ready.”

Chloe looked worried. “Are we supposed to vote?”

Liesa shook her head, gentle. “No votes. No contest. I just want to make sure we do this right.” She looked around the room. “So. Think about who should be up there with you. We can talk it out after lunch.”

The fitting over, the group drifted back toward the central aisle, each woman carrying her own version of herself—a little shinier, a little more real, than when she walked in. Even the ones who hadn’t expected to care, like Norah and Erin, looked reluctant to give up the moment. Emily lingered by the mirrors, one hand on her hip, the other pressing Claire’s note flat against her chest, as if to memorize how it felt to be, for once, exactly enough.

The sunlight outside had shifted, filling the room with a kind of gold that made everything look a little too perfect, a little too much like a fairy tale. In that light, the women—some in dresses, some in shoes, some in nothing at all—looked less like competitors and more like what they really were: a family built out of choice, survival, and the impossible beauty of just showing up.

Liesa led the way out of the dressing room, clipboard in hand, her heels silent on the plush white carpet. Dawn followed, giggling as she looked at her dress hanging placidly from a Mildred's hand. Riley scooped up JJ, who had slept through the whole ordeal, and Chloe, flushed but beaming, took his tiny hand in hers, as if to show him the world as it really was.

The rest followed, each in their own orbit, the Mildreds holding the doors and bowing them through with a flourish that bordered on camp. Emily was the last to leave, and for a moment, she looked back at the room, her reflection caught in a dozen different mirrors. She smiled at herself, small but certain, and then she let the door close behind her.

In the sudden quiet, Melisande swept through the room, collecting stray pins and loose threads with a zeal that suggested nothing gave her more pleasure. She paused at the largest mirror, studied her own reflection, and—catching her own eye—winked.

Somewhere in the back of the store, a dozen Mildreds giggled in perfect unison.

---

As everyone moved to the main room of the store, Dawn looked at the group and said, “So, has anyone heard yet who’s actually showing up for the wedding?”

Heads turned. A Mildred, who’d been carrying an armful of seemingly loose pieces of tulle into the store, froze mid-motion, ears pricked.

Emi answered first, a little too fast. “Skye’s coming with Harper, Scarlet and the others. She's bringing her children, Arabella confirmed.” She looked around, a little sheepish. “I… I’m really excited.”

Chloe beamed. “Candy wrote me a few days ago, to congratulate me for the pregnancy. And she’s coming, too. With Laura Black and the others. I haven’t seen her in over a month, but—” She went pink. “It’s weird to be this nervous about it. But also, I can’t wait.”

Erin snorted. “I love how you both have your Harem Hotel friends coming to your wedding. That’s some advanced modern family shit.”

The group laughed. Then, softly, Laura said, “I don’t really have anyone coming for me. I mean, it would be my parents, but they’re not—” She cut herself off. “It’s okay. This room’s fuller than I ever thought it could be. That’s more than enough.”

There was a hush, then Dawn said, “I would have liked my family to come. My dad and my brothers at least. But when we saw them, two nights ago, it was the first I introduced them to Andy.” She looked to Liesa, as if there might be a secret protocol for this. Liesa shrugged. “Arabella’s supposed to handle the guest list. If anyone can get them, she will.”

Marissa, until now absorbed in her thoughts, went still. She didn’t look up, just pressed her lips together. It was Riley who noticed. “Hey,” she said, “everything okay?”

Marissa looked up, face carefully blank. “Maeve isn’t coming.” She shrugged, as if it meant nothing. “I haven’t heard from her since before the fourth challenge, and Arabella said she’s fine, but she’s not coming. I know it hasn’t been much time for her, but… I don’t even know if she wants to talk anymore.” She smiled, brittle. “She was always the one to send the first message. Maybe she’s moved on.”

Nobody said anything, for a moment.

Then Chloe reached over and set her hand on Marissa’s arm, warm and solid. “I’m sorry,” she said. “That sucks.”

Norah, who’d been standing nearby, echoed the sentiment with a nod. “It does.”

Riley chimed in, “Maybe she’s just busy being a badass somewhere. You don’t quit being a mentor just because the mentee graduates, right?” She glanced down at JJ, who had started to fuss, and glared at a Mildred who’d been eyeing him with rapt, unnerving attention. The Mildred stepped back, hands up, as if caught sneaking snacks from the display.

Myra edged closer, her tails drooping. “If you want, we can call her? Or Arabella can do it for you? You shouldn’t have to do it alone.”

Marissa shook her head, the smallest motion. “It’s not about that. I just thought—” She stopped, looked at the floor, then straightened, spine going rigid. “It’s fine. It’s not even my wedding.” She tried to laugh. “I’ll get over it.”

Claire, who’d been sketching something in her notebook, tore out a page, folded it once, and placed it in Marissa’s hand, closing her fingers gently over the note. Marissa didn’t open it, but her face softened. She squeezed Claire’s hand, once, before letting go.

The group drifted, then, the conversation splintering into smaller orbits: shoes, accessories, the logistics of what would happen if three ex-girlfriends and a baby showed up at the same reception. For a while, everything was noise and light.

Then, once more, Liesa brought them to order. She tapped her clipboard, sharp. “We have one last thing before lunch, as I said before. Bridesmaids.”

The room turned to her, every woman suddenly attentive.

Liesa waited until every woman was circled around the center of the fitting room, a low murmur from the Mildreds providing the only background. She tapped her clipboard once for silence.

“Okay,” she began, glancing at each face in turn. “Here’s how it works: Arabella’s wedding protocol called for three bridesmaids and three groomspeople. The first two bridesmaids are Skye and Candy, for reasons everyone here knows. I held off on the third because… well, you’re all here. And there’s no way to pick one without making it into something it shouldn’t be.”

Norah, standing at ease, cocked her head. “You could have done a lottery. Or a fight club. I’d have bet on myself.”

That got the room laughing. Even the Mildreds on duty cracked a smile, their identical teeth a little too perfect.

Liesa grinned back, but her eyes stayed serious. “That’s exactly the point. The six of you—” she gestured to the non-brides “—are all equally important. I wasn’t going to put any of you in a situation where you might feel less than, or more than, or like a show had to go on to prove something. This wedding isn’t about that.” She paused, the silence warm and thoughtful. “I want it to be about us as a whole. Family, not a pageant.”

Chloe piped in, “I don’t mind not being up there. I just want to see Andy actually get married. I can’t wait.”

Norah, quieter now, added, “I probably would have minded, eventually. But thanks for not making me find out the hard way.”

Liesa gave her a little salute. “You’re welcome.”

Riley, who’d been swaying JJ in her arms, asked, “So, who’s the third, then? If you already picked.”

Liesa looked around, her face glowing with the anticipation of someone about to give a perfect present. “I wanted to bring this up to everyone first, because I didn’t want it to be a surprise, or to make anyone feel strange.” She drew a breath. “The person I thought of, that could be up there with us is Katherine.”

There was a half-beat of stunned silence. Emi’s hands shot to her mouth, eyes wide. Claire immediately wrote something in her notebook and held it up: YES.

Dawn said, “Are you serious?” but there was already a smile on her lips, and her bunny ears twitched with glee.

Liesa nodded, slow and certain. “She’s been supporting Andy from the beginning. She’s helped each of us, one way or another, without asking for anything in return. She’s been a confidante to Andy when he needed to talk about things he couldn’t share freely without worrying us, and if anyone’s earned it, it’s her. Plus, I already asked her to come by for a fitting later, so if we’re quick, she should be here any minute.”

Erin, who had been propped against the wall in a studied pose of indifference, grinned. “About damn time somebody let her get fussed over.”

Marissa, eyes a little damp but smile steady, added, “She was Andy’s secret-keeper even when we all thought she was just a painting. If anyone belongs in front of the room, it’s her.”

Riley said, “She gave me a flower and one single gesture the worst day of this whole season, and I never forgot it.”

Myra, near the back, chimed in: “I can feel it from here. The whole room just went brighter.”

Chloe, moved, whispered, “She’s always been so kind to me.”

Claire, still holding her sign, scribbled another line and passed it to Emi, who laughed and then cried, both at once, clutching the note in her fist.

Before the mood could settle, a bell at the back chimed, and the double doors opened. Katherine entered, silent as always, moving with a grace that was neither careful nor shy, just completely herself.

For a second, nobody in The Gushing Bride noticed her. The post-fitting glow still hovered over the group, everyone rehashing the shoe drama or sharing photos snapped in the triple mirrors. Katherine, standing at the threshold, scanned the room—shelves spilling over with veils, racks of blinding white, every surface so heavily mirrored it seemed designed to catch her from every possible angle at once.

At the center of the room, she saw the harem: Liesa, clipboard in hand, a little ahead of the group; Chloe and Riley in a tangle of arms, with JJ’s blue-swathed body a bright patch at Riley’s chest; Claire, Myra, Emi, and the rest, all in their own little orbit. She felt every eye settle on her as she stopped at the edge of the gathering.

A hush rippled through the crowd, a wave of awareness. Emi’s hands went straight to her mouth, eyes so wide it looked like she might cry or sneeze, and nobody could have called which.

Liesa set down her clipboard and strode to meet her, heels making no sound on the thick carpet. She stopped a pace away and, without a word, reached out and took Katherine’s hand, folding it between both of her own.

Katherine waited, eyebrows arched in a question.

Liesa’s voice was softer than usual, pitched for only them. “You look beautiful today. The light in here really suits you.” She let the compliment hang between them for a breath before continuing. “We want you to stand up with the brides, at the wedding. As one of the three bridesmaids.” She squeezed Katherine’s hand. “If you want to.”

Katherine stared, not blinking, not moving, just taking it in. The words took a long second to land. Then, slowly, she brought her free hand to her chest and pressed it flat over her heart.

Behind them, the rest of the room caught up. Emi launched herself from her seat, navigating three Mildreds and a mannequin in her flight path, and threw both arms around Katherine’s neck. Katherine startled—genuinely startled, her body tensing, every muscle lighting up at once—but then she melted into the hug, resting her chin on top of Emi’s head. The tears Emi had been holding off for the last half-hour finally broke free, and she shuddered with a hiccupy laugh.

Dawn clapped her hands in delight and called, “We’ll have to find you something to hold at the altar! Maybe a bouquet that isn’t just—” She looked at the Mildreds. “What’s your favorite flower, Katherine?”

Katherine shrugged, the gesture small and helpless, but smiled, and pointed at some of the flowers in the vases around the store. “Got it,” Dawn smiled.

Norah, who was always first to shoot down a sentimental gesture, was the next to speak. “Honestly? I’m just glad Liesa said something now and not at the actual wedding. I hate surprises almost as much as I love being right. And this is the best surprise I’ve had all week.” She raised an imaginary glass, as if toasting Katherine, and mimed draining it.

Claire wrote something fast on her notepad, tore the sheet free, and rather than passing it around, held it out directly to Katherine. Katherine took it, unfolded it, and read:

You have been one of us all along.

Katherine’s eyes went glassy. She crumpled the note softly in her palm, not out of disregard but as if tucking it away somewhere permanent.

Erin, leaning against a display of crystal hairpieces, grinned. “Guess you’ll get a taste of what it’s like to have everyone fuss over you for a day. Hope you’re ready for it.” Her voice was warm, and Katherine, reading the sincerity in her eyes, gave a little nod and rolled her eyes as if to say, Sure, let’s see what happens.

Chloe stepped forward and hugged her, too, arms less desperate than Emi’s but no less sincere. “I’m glad it’s you,” Chloe said, voice barely above a whisper. “It wouldn’t feel right if it was anyone else.”

Marissa, who’d hung back, waited until Katherine’s eyes found hers. “After so many years of not being able to have anything real, being asked to stand up in front of everyone—” She broke off, then went steady again. “It’s going to feel weird before it feels good. That’s okay. We’ll help you get there.”

Katherine nodded, once, slow and deep.

Myra, near the platform, watched the colors of the room shift through her emotional sight: an instant, radiant bloom. “It’s like the whole place just went up five degrees,” she said, grinning. “I can see it.”

Riley, not to be left out, held JJ up, his tiny hands flailing in the air. “See? Even he’s on board.” She brought JJ close so that his foot grazed Katherine’s wrist. Katherine, remembering, this time reached out and touched the foot lightly, gentler than she would have ever dared with an ordinary baby, and smiled with all her teeth.

Emily, who’d watched the whole thing from just out of the blast radius, crossed to Katherine and, instead of a hug, took her hand and squeezed it, once, firm. “I know what it’s like, having your body decided for you by other people, for years.” She looked up, eyes bright. “I’m happy you can finally be part of something like this.”

Katherine, shaken but in a good way, squeezed back. She glanced around at the harem, searching for a word she could use, and finding none, just pressed her hand to her chest again, then pointed at each of them in turn. A silent inventory of the people who’d carried her, and been carried, and survived.

Laura had been quiet the whole time, but when the others had said their piece, she stepped up. She set her hand on Katherine’s shoulder and said, “Thank you. For taking care of Andy. For taking care of all of us.” Her voice was flat but charged, the kind of gratitude that had spent a long time figuring out how to say itself right. “We’re better for having you.”

That did it. Katherine’s eyes welled up, and this time she didn’t bother to hide it. She wiped her cheek with the back of her wrist, then, laughing without sound, nodded at all of them, the motion so fierce and final there was no mistaking it for anything but yes.