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Authors: Richelle Mead
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simply fetching the dresses I indictated. I studied each one Maddie tried on, keeping my standards high. With so many stores to choose from, we could afford to be picky.
“That one’s good,” I said at our third store. It was corseted, narrowing her waist, and had a skirt that didn’t flare. Those puffy ones always made the hips look bigger, though no one ever seemed to realize that. You had to be tall and thin to get away with that, not short and buxom like Maddie.
She admired herself in the mirror, a look of pleasant surprise on her face. She was still drawn to ones that I didn’t think were good choices, and this was the first of my picks that she really liked. The eager saleswoman jotted down the style number, and then Maddie started to turn around and try on the rest waiting in her dressing room. As she did, a dress on a mannequin caught her eye.
“Oh, Georgina, I know what you said, but you have to try that on,” Maddie begged.
I followed her gaze. The dress was slinky and sexy, floor-length violet charmeuse with straps that tied around the neck. You were wearing that color the first time we met.
I averted my eyes. “Not ugly enough to be a bridesmaid dress.”
“It’d look great on you. Everything looks great on you,” she added with a shake of her head. “Besides, you could wear that to other things. Parties and stuff.”
It was true. It didn’t scream bridesmaid. Not taffeta or bright orange. Before I could protest further, the saleswoman had already fetched one from the rack, guessing my size with that uncanny ability her kind had.
So, reluctantly, I tried the dress on while Maddie went to her next option. The size wasn’t perfect, but a little shape-shifting neatened it up where it needed to be. Maddie was right. It did look good on me, and when I stepped out, she took it as a done deal that I’d buy it—no, she offered to buy it—and would be in her wedding. The saleswoman, seeing an opportunity, and possibly getting back at me for my tyrannical attitude, had “helpfully” fetched two more dresses for me to try while I waited for Maddie. Maddie claimed she couldn’t stand the thought of me waiting around with nothing to do, so I reluctantly took them into the dressing room. They too looked good, but not as good as the violet.
I was returning them to the saleswoman when my eye caught something. It was a bridal dress. It was made of ivory duchess satin, the fabric wrapping around the waist and halter top. The skirt was draped, pulled into little tiers. I stared. It would have been a disaster on Maddie, but on me…
“Want to try it?” asked the saleswoman slyly. Something told me that bridesmaids covertly trying on brides’ dresses wasn’t a rare phenomenon around here. The desperate and mournful not-getting-married attitude in action.
Before I knew it, I was back in the dressing room, wearing the ivory dress. You were wearing that color the first time we met. Seth had been wrong about that and corrected himself, but for some reason, the words came to me yet again. And the dress looked great. Really great. I wasn’t overly tall but was slim enough that it didn’t matter—and I filled out the top beautifully. I stared at myself in a way I hadn’t with the other dresses, trying to imagine myself as a bride. There was something about brides and weddings that instinctively spoke to so many women, and I shared the impulse as well, jaded succubus or no. The grim statistics didn’t matter: the divorce rates, the infidelity I’d witnessed so often…
Yes, there was something magical about brides, an image fixed into the collective subconscious. I could see myself with flowers in my hands and a veil on my head. There’d be well-wishers and joy, the giddy faith and hope of a beautiful life together. I’d been a bride once, so long ago. I’d had those dreams, and they’d blown away.
I sighed and took the dress off, afraid I might start crying. There would be no wedding for me. No
“That one’s good,” I said at our third store. It was corseted, narrowing her waist, and had a skirt that didn’t flare. Those puffy ones always made the hips look bigger, though no one ever seemed to realize that. You had to be tall and thin to get away with that, not short and buxom like Maddie.
She admired herself in the mirror, a look of pleasant surprise on her face. She was still drawn to ones that I didn’t think were good choices, and this was the first of my picks that she really liked. The eager saleswoman jotted down the style number, and then Maddie started to turn around and try on the rest waiting in her dressing room. As she did, a dress on a mannequin caught her eye.
“Oh, Georgina, I know what you said, but you have to try that on,” Maddie begged.
I followed her gaze. The dress was slinky and sexy, floor-length violet charmeuse with straps that tied around the neck. You were wearing that color the first time we met.
I averted my eyes. “Not ugly enough to be a bridesmaid dress.”
“It’d look great on you. Everything looks great on you,” she added with a shake of her head. “Besides, you could wear that to other things. Parties and stuff.”
It was true. It didn’t scream bridesmaid. Not taffeta or bright orange. Before I could protest further, the saleswoman had already fetched one from the rack, guessing my size with that uncanny ability her kind had.
So, reluctantly, I tried the dress on while Maddie went to her next option. The size wasn’t perfect, but a little shape-shifting neatened it up where it needed to be. Maddie was right. It did look good on me, and when I stepped out, she took it as a done deal that I’d buy it—no, she offered to buy it—and would be in her wedding. The saleswoman, seeing an opportunity, and possibly getting back at me for my tyrannical attitude, had “helpfully” fetched two more dresses for me to try while I waited for Maddie. Maddie claimed she couldn’t stand the thought of me waiting around with nothing to do, so I reluctantly took them into the dressing room. They too looked good, but not as good as the violet.
I was returning them to the saleswoman when my eye caught something. It was a bridal dress. It was made of ivory duchess satin, the fabric wrapping around the waist and halter top. The skirt was draped, pulled into little tiers. I stared. It would have been a disaster on Maddie, but on me…
“Want to try it?” asked the saleswoman slyly. Something told me that bridesmaids covertly trying on brides’ dresses wasn’t a rare phenomenon around here. The desperate and mournful not-getting-married attitude in action.
Before I knew it, I was back in the dressing room, wearing the ivory dress. You were wearing that color the first time we met. Seth had been wrong about that and corrected himself, but for some reason, the words came to me yet again. And the dress looked great. Really great. I wasn’t overly tall but was slim enough that it didn’t matter—and I filled out the top beautifully. I stared at myself in a way I hadn’t with the other dresses, trying to imagine myself as a bride. There was something about brides and weddings that instinctively spoke to so many women, and I shared the impulse as well, jaded succubus or no. The grim statistics didn’t matter: the divorce rates, the infidelity I’d witnessed so often…
Yes, there was something magical about brides, an image fixed into the collective subconscious. I could see myself with flowers in my hands and a veil on my head. There’d be well-wishers and joy, the giddy faith and hope of a beautiful life together. I’d been a bride once, so long ago. I’d had those dreams, and they’d blown away.
I sighed and took the dress off, afraid I might start crying. There would be no wedding for me. No
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