“Hello, my dear!” Bev fluttered around Becca at once after the jingling bells on the glass door announced our arrival. Becca allowed a fuss to be made over her, and Samantha stood beaming at her sister.
“And how is your dear grandmother?” Bev held out Becca at arm’s length before letting go of her shoulders.
“We were worried we’d lost her,” Becca said in a small voice. “But Alma is now on the mend. She’s strong, and she won’t let this get her down.” Becca raised her chin a degree. “It’s important to Alma that I follow through with my wedding.” There was a tiny thread of defense in her last pronouncement.
“Of course it is.” Bev paused hungrily to let Becca go on, but Becca wisely went silent. Much as I loved Bev, it was well known that she was the most inveterate gossip this side of the Mason-Dixon line. If something happened in Port Quincy, Bev would find out in an alarmingly short amount of time, and spread the story far and wide in an even more shockingly short amount of time. No doubt the notorious gossip had already heard all about Alma.
“But I do worry if Alma will be well enough to attend.” Becca’s pretty, pert lips turned down in a frown. “The doctor hasn’t even said when she can leave the hospital. I wish I could do more for her.”
“There, there. Alma will work hard on recuperating, and today we’ll work hard to find you a magnificent gown that will help bring a smile to your grandmother’s face.” Bev smoothly changed the subject, and brought out a small smile of its own to Becca’s face.
“Okay.” Becca quietly agreed and sat on a plump purple chair, accepting a flute of champagne proffered by Bev’s assistant.
“Here’s one I think you’ll adore.” Bev returned with a rolling rack of gowns, each one prettier than the next. “It’s an Oscar de la Renta, in ecru silk, with a mermaid hem.”
Becca shook her head and pinched her mouth, as if she’d just taken a bite of something sour. “It’s too trendy.”
“Or this one? A Vera Wang ball gown in taffeta. This beading—”
“Oh, no, no, no.” Becca shook her head, her flaxen hair momentarily fanning out, then settling down and exposing her trademark stripe of dark roots. “It’s too . . . fussy.”
Again and again the show and tell continued, with Becca turning down gowns with alarming alacrity.
“Why don’t you just try one on, Bec?” Samantha gave her sister’s arm a squeeze.
Thank you, Samantha.
I didn’t want to butt in, but I thought Samantha’s suggestion a sound one. Many of the dresses would look different once Becca tried them on, and she wouldn’t get a feel for what style she preferred if she refused to don a single dress.
“How about a sleek sheath?” Bev wearily pulled out a slim silhouette of a dress, all slippery silk and silver thread woven through.
“Ugh, absolutely not!” Becca was the worst incarnation of a Goldilocks bride I’d yet encountered in my almost one year of planning, and I was about to give her a gentle but tough love talk.
“Hm . . .” Bev rapped her plump finger on her chin, and a slow smile graced her face. “Yes, maybe. Hold on a sec, ladies. I did get a delivery this morning that I think will pique your interest.” She shuffled off to the back of the store and left us in her wake.
“That’s it.” Becca slammed down her flute of champagne on the ottoman in front of her so hard I feared the stem would snap off. “Mallory, we’re catching a red eye to Manhattan. You need to get me an appointment at Kleinfeld’s immediately.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” I stood from my chair and grabbed my own flute of untouched champagne before it caromed from the armrest. “Kleinfeld’s has a waiting list several miles long. And I have other business here in Port Quincy to attend to. I can’t just leave—”
I stopped short as Becca’s hand reached out to grab my arm. Bev wheeled out a dress form clad in a striking gown.
“This is a Delilah French creation.” Bev grinned proudly and fussed over the dress. “I’ll need to fluff it out a bit, it’s been sitting in the shipping box all morning. This gown was inspired by—”
“Gone with the Wind!” Becca squealed and jumped up and down.
Phew.
At the end of the day, I wanted my brides to be happy, even if they were being a bit unreasonable. Planning weddings seemed to bring out crazy, exacting standards in everyone, and Becca was no different. But this gown seemed to have potential, and we were finally getting somewhere.
“Grandma will be tickled pink.” Samantha made a slow circle around the gown, nodding and appearing a bit wistful. The dress was worthy of a hoop, it was so round and voluminous. It was poufy, with a set of intricate ruffles descending into a deep V neckline, complete with a velvet green sash and a delicate smattering of barely perceptible green flowers embroidered over the skirt. Bev rustled the built-in petticoats and beamed with pride.
“Yes, it’s a gown with the wind, if you will,” Bev joked, her merry blue eyes twinkling at her pun. I let out a giggle, and Samantha laughed, a surprisingly healthy sound from such a small woman. But Becca remained unmoved, her pretty pink lips turned down in a pout.
“This isn’t a joke,” she whined. “This is my wedding, and I need to look fabulous.”
Samantha made a face behind her sister. This time I couldn’t help letting out a genuine laugh, one I tried to cover unsuccessfully with a small yelp.
“What matters,” Becca said, allowing herself a slow smile and seemingly ignoring my outburst, “is that this gown is absolutely gorgeous!”
Bev nodded vigorously, her butterfly earrings clanging and jangling with enthusiasm. “It’s meant to be, honey. I haven’t even placed it on the rack yet. You’ll be the first person to try it on.”
Becca simply glowed, two rosy spots of pink gracing her delicate cheekbones. I found myself warming to her and smiled despite myself.
“And it looks like the sample size zero will fit you perfectly, too.” Bev quickly circled Becca’s minuscule waist with a tape measure and nodded, her rhinestone glasses slipping down her button nose. She unzipped the dress from the dress form and held it out to Becca.
“Grandma will be ecstatic!” Becca held the gown up to her body and executed an excited spin in front of the three-way mirror.
“Then it’s all settled. Let’s try on the gown; it already looks like it’ll be perfect.” I opened the door to the dressing room and Becca gathered up the dress to try it on. I should have known I’d counted my chickens before they’d hatched.
“This will certainly honor your grandmother Alma,” Bev mused, chewing on the end of her glasses. “And because she has suffered so much as of late, you could take the gesture so much further.”
My ears practically pricked up as Becca stopped before the dressing room door. “What do you mean?”
“Well,” Bev began excitedly, seeming to warm to her idea, “you could have a Gone with the Wind–themed wedding as a way to venerate Alma!”
No, no, no!
The original plans for the Japanese-cherry-blossom-inspired wedding flashed before my eyes, muddled with Helene’s peach plans, and I considered for one moment changing up the wedding again to accommodate this new idea.
“Um, Bev?” I pleaded with the dress store owner, but she didn’t seem to hear.
“And,” Bev continued, placing the glasses back on her nose, “I know your grandmother is reopening The Duchess theater soon, too. A Gone with the Wind wedding later this year would dovetail so nicely with that.”
She doesn’t know the wedding is in two weeks.
My heart rate accelerated. I wondered if it would have made the monitors in Alma’s hospital room clang out. I gestured wildly to Bev from behind Becca’s back to stop suggesting ideas. Becca took that moment to turn around and offer me a quizzical, and pitying, look. I must have appeared to have been doing some kind of interpretive dance, what with shaking my head vehemently, my hands held up in front, and waving. Bev and Samantha started giggling.
“A Gone with the
Wind–themed wedding will be perfect,” Becca intoned. “Mallory, why didn’t you think of it?”
I blinked back at Becca, willing myself to be calm.
“Don’t look so alarmed.” Bev materialized at my side. “You’ll be able to whip up a lovely, Southern-themed wedding to emulate Gone with the Wind. When’s the wedding?”
“In less than two weeks,” I mumbled, my miserable voice barely above a whisper.
“Two weeks?” Bev dropped her tape measure and her cheeks colored. “Oh, dear,” she spluttered. “Perhaps, Becca dear, the Scarlett O’Hara–inspired gown will be enough in and of itself to honor your grandmother Alma. You could stick with your original wedding theme for the rest of the nuptials.” Bev furiously backpedaled, but I knew it was no use. The cat was already out of the bag.
“We’ll just scrap all our current plans,” Becca said crisply. She undid all my carefully, if not hastily, drawn-up elaborate plans for the two weddings we’d already contemplated.
Maybe the third time’s the charm.
I’m so sorry, Bev mouthed behind Becca’s back. I gave my friend a weak smile and shrugged.
“It’s probably for the best,” I admitted as Becca disappeared into the dressing room to try on the gown. “Helene has taken over Becca’s latest iteration of her wedding, and Becca wasn’t happy about any part of the plan. She’s actually excited about this. And even Helene won’t be able to take this new wedding plan off the table, because it’s honoring Alma in her current state.”
I sank into a velvet love seat, ideas swirling around in my head. A Gone with the Wind wedding would be traditional, if not exactly Southern couture, and Helene wouldn’t be able to quibble about it too much. But she would try to get her way in the end. I closed my eyes and thought of the dizzying jumble of contracts and contacts I’d amassed to quickly pull off the scrapped cherry blossom theme, Helene’s peach pageant, and what I’d have to rustle up to plan this new wedding. I worried in the end that I would make no one happy. And I also wondered if the logistics would work out at this late date. There was the reality of florists and table linen rentals, tents and dance floors. Helene or Keith would no doubt attempt to throw money at the problem to make a wedding materialize in such a short time, and I hoped it would work.
“I’m sorry about my sister.” Samantha sat next to me and offered me a rueful smile. “She’s hard to please, but I think this really is the last change in plans. Let me know what I can do to help this wedding go off.”
I grinned at Samantha, and turned to see a radiant Becca emerge from the dressing room. The white gown with green accents fit her as if it had been tailored precisely for her tiny frame. The voluminous bell skirt floated across the floor as Becca made her way to a platform with a triptych mirror. She brushed tears from her eyes as she fluffed the delicate ruffles of the dress’s neckline, her shining hair brushing her shoulders. I had to admit she looked lovely.
“This is the one.” Becca quickly composed herself, and dabbed at her eyes to quell a run of mascara. Samantha quietly studied her sister, her smile falling. I couldn’t help but compare the twins, who seemed so different in appearance and demeanor. It couldn’t have been easy sharing the spotlight with Becca. I had some inside knowledge of the situation, growing up with Rachel. We were opposites in so many respects, and it might have been even harder if we had been the same exact age. Still, I shared a strong and irreplaceable bond with my sister, and I would do anything for her, and I knew she would for me too. And there seemed to be just as strong a bond between Becca and Samantha.
“You were meant for this gown, sweetie.” Bev helped Becca step down from the platform and hustled her off to the dressing room. “We’ll barely have to alter it. We’ll just let out an inch of the hem if you’re planning to wear heels, because you’re so tall. I’ll work double-time to get this dress ready in time.”
“Thank you, Bev,” I gushed to the seamstress.
Becca sniffed. “Of course you’ll alter the dress,” she whined, squinting at the price tag. “I’m paying a fortune for this gown!”
I felt my eyebrows shoot up in shock at her pettiness, but before I could come back with a measured reply, an altercation grabbed everyone’s attention. Two increasingly heated voices drifted over from a dressing room across the store. I caught snippets of a piqued conversation between two women, something about money and time and leaving.
A pretty brunette spilled out of the dressing room in question. She smoothed her silver robe embroidered with the Silver Bells logo and attempted to compose herself. She scanned the store with large brown eyes, and did a double take when her gaze alighted on Becca.
“Becca Cunningham, is that you?” A wily smile graced the woman’s face as she advanced across the store to greet us.
* * *
Becca emerged from her dressing room clad in a silver robe matching the brunette’s. She adopted a haughty look and sat down on a plush purple chair where she sipped the dregs of her champagne. She took her time in answering the woman.
“Felicity. So interesting to see you here.” Becca, now composed, smiled serenely and identified the brunette by name. I had to give Becca credit. Felicity had originally seemed to rattle her, but now Becca was calm and in control.
“So you’re finally sealing the deal with Keith?” Felicity flipped a lustrous lock of chestnut hair over her shoulder, where it slithered down the back of her robe.
Becca smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I’ll be wed in two weeks. Mallory,” she gestured toward me with a regal flip of her hand, “had an opening to accommodate us early. Keith and I are so in love, we can’t wait.”
“And I hear your grandmother has suffered a mishap. How is dear Alma?” Felicity’s sharp beauty was piqued as her mouth curved up into a cunning smile.
Becca’s own fake smile dissolved into an ice-hard line. “My grandmother is recuperating in the hospital. Someone attacked her and tried to steal her Gone with the Wind collection.”
Felicity’s deep-set brown eyes went wide. “That shouldn’t have been able to happen. Alma has a duty to protect one of the greatest Gone with the Wind collections.” A wry smile lifted up the corners of Felicity’s lips. “Maybe she’ll finally sell all her items now that it’s proven she can’t adequately protect the memorabilia. I made her an offer myself just last week, but Alma wouldn’t hear of it.”
Samantha took a closer look at Felicity after this last admission. The attorney’s eyes flicked carefully over Felicity, studying her with keen interest.
Becca rolled her eyes heavenward and more firmly tied her robe’s sash. “You’ve asked my grandma several times to sell, and each time she’s had the same answer. Absolutely not! Here’s a clue, Felicity, since you seem especially dense when it comes to this matter. Alma’s not selling today, or tomorrow. Not ever! Especially now that she’s given me—”
Bev chose that moment to bustle back in, her entrance stopping Becca from revealing that Alma had given the collection to her as an early wedding present. Bev wheeled the Scarlett O’Hara–inspired gown on a dress form, a garment bag slung over her arm. “I’ll just ring you up, Becca, dear.” Bev seemed to want to get us the heck out of her store, and I didn’t blame her. The tension was unbearable between Becca and Felicity.
“Oh. My. Goodness.” Felicity materialized next to the gown and stood in rapture before the dress form. She took in the wide expanse of white with the barely perceptible overlay of the most delicate spray of green flowers, and the off-the-shoulder sleeves with the neckline’s riot of frothy ruffles.
“A Gone with the Wind gown,” Felicity nearly whispered in her reverence. “I must have it!” I realized who Felicity reminded me of. With her lustrous dark locks and delicate looks, she’d be a close double of a young Vivien Leigh. The dress would look fabulous on her, just as it had on Becca.
“You’re too late.” Becca nimbly sprang up from her chair and positioned herself between Felicity and the dress, as if the dress form were a human
being she was trying to protect from intimidation. “This dress is mine.”
Felicity let out a joyless laugh. “Don’t be silly. You haven’t purchased it yet. And you don’t even care about Gone with the Wind.”
It was a fair point. Felicity obviously had a vested interest in the gown if she had been pursuing purchase of Alma’s collection. But, Becca had tried on the dress first.
Felicity stretched out a hand to lovingly caress the gown. Becca, in a flash, rapped on Felicity’s fingers and pulled the dress form back a foot.
“You struck me! How dare you! That’s assault.” A stung look marred Felicity’s pretty face.
“I barely touched you. And I had to get you to stop soiling my gown!” Becca stuck out her lower lip like a chastised toddler and crossed her arms over her robe. Samantha slung an arm around her twin, seemingly as much to curtail her from resorting to getting physical as to protect her.
“Besides,” Becca continued, “the last time I checked, Felicity, an engagement usually precedes a wedding. And because you aren’t engaged, and I am, I take precedence for the dress. You can find another Gone with the Wind dress to fuel your obsession. This dress was meant for me, and for my wedding.” Becca presented her case as if she were the attorney she’d trained to be and was delivering a triumphant closing argument.
Gown with the Wind Page 5