A Winter’s Wedding (Christmas Cove #3)

Chapter 2

America sat alone in the luxurious fitting room, though it felt more like a pressure cooker threatening to overheat her nerves. She had become so accustomed to not checking her watch every other minute like she used to do before Leo showed her that life can be a little slower sometimes, that now—as she checked the time for a third instance in sixty seconds—she knew she needed a break from all of the wedding planning stress. How arranging something so wonderful could feel so dreadful, she would dig into later. Much later. For now, America just needed to tick off the last few items on her to do list, one at a time.

With a week to go to her big day, her reception menu still needed finalizing, her flowers were waiting to be handpicked, and her maid of honor had a final dress fitting scheduled. All the while, she was on assignment halfway across the country. With each passing month of planning, and the more hands that stirred the pot, she became increasingly nervous, wanting everything to go off perfectly.

The whole town of Christmas Cove was expecting her wedding to Leopold Thorpe, the former mayor, to be a grand bash. Last year, when she bought the old pink Victorian mansion, the town had accepted her into the fold just like family. She had received such a beautiful welcome that she knew there was no other town for her. While renovating her home, many people had chipped in with their power tool prowess or lent an extra hand with the demo. Her house had become a beacon of hope for the beleaguered town, and the wedding was a way she could thank everyone.

The wedding was to be the centerpiece for a place that was still healing from years of neglect and depression. No pressure , she thought. America was about to check her watch again when she heard the delicate clacking of stilettos on the polished wood floor outside the fitting room door. Her breath caught with each pound of her heart against her lungs.

This was it. The moment she had been waiting eight months for. Dress fitting day.

“Knock, knock,” the stylist’s voice sang out from the other side of the door.

America looked around the quiet, creamy space as she stood from the gold velvet chair and caught her reflection in the oversized mirror leaning against one wall. Her skin was radiant against her white silk robe. Her chocolate hair lay in long waves down her back, the way she planned to wear it on the big day, and her cheeks were rosy, but natural. She smiled and the water works began cranking behind her eyes.

“Come in,” America said.

“I’ve got it right here,” the cheery woman said. “Are you ready to see it?”

Of course she was ready. Does any bride, standing nearly naked in a bridal fitting room, not want to see what they’ve paid for? Her excitement was tainted with the fear that after months of waiting, her dress wouldn’t be right. She was unable to speak as she concentrated on keeping her emotions in check. She took another controlled breath and nodded to the woman. As the woman took hold of the zipper and unveiled the dress with torturous drama, America’s heartbeat seemed to vibrate with the same speed as the ticking of the tiny zipper fingers snapping apart.

Reaching the top, the stylist slipped the white satin garment bag over the hanger arms and fluffed the dress’s layers out from the bottom of the bag.

Cream and white tulle spilled out onto the floor in the middle of the room. The dress was big. Bigger than America remembered, but she would withhold judgment until it was on her body. So many things can happen in eight months, which is a short time to wait for a wedding dress to be produced, that she wondered how any bride was completely happy with their choice by the time of the actual wedding day, especially if that wait time was significantly more that hers had been.

As it was, she and Leo had already waited over a year to get married. They had only known each other for a couple of weeks when they got engaged on Christmas Day. A long engagement had been prudent, and it allowed them to really get to know one another. Early on, they had faced many challenges. Their courtship began during a time when Leo’s beloved town, Christmas Cove, was incorporated into the limits of a neighboring city. A few months later, a late spring storm had nearly washed away The Foundry, Leo’s freshly-opened retreat resort. Picking the day was the easiest part of the planning process; getting to the big day had been an exercise in fortitude.

America stepped into the dress opening and the stylist pulled the frock up her body. The skirt was big, like a snowball, but weighed nearly nothing. The dozens of tulle layers draped easily over her hips and cascaded to the floor like a fairytale princess gown. With a sweep of her arm over her shoulder, she moved her long dark waves around her neck and over the front of her shoulder. Holding the beaded bodice against her chest, the stylist threaded the corset strings back and forth for what seemed like an hour, though she didn’t check her watch to confirm. The whole time, unable to see herself, as the mirrored wall was behind her, she looked down and inspected each perfectly-placed bead and fluffy layer.

The craftmanship was incredible and took her breath away. Or maybe it was the laces being tightened up her back and restricting her lungs, but the effect was the same, tears. The water began to drip before she was fully laced in. As the stylist stashed the bow strings into a flap at her lower back and picked up the back of the dress, America knew she was in for a smeared-mascara kind of morning.

“I’ll follow you out?” the consultant said. America tried to turn towards the mirror but was rebuked by a single finger pressing into her spine. “Out. You should see it out there. Trust me.”

America did as she was instructed and walked out into the main salon. Round, cream-colored velvet sofas faced a central three-sided mirror, each with a pedestal positioned directly in front. Two stunning brides occupied their respective places around the central mirror, and an audible gasp escaped from one of them as America approached. America’s mind whirled. Is it that bad , she panicked?

“Now watch your step,” the stylist said as they turned towards the mirror.

America’s eyes were trained downward to where her feet usually were though she could only see the semi-sheer mohair mesh trim along the bottom edges of the tulle layers. She lifted the front of the skirt and perched herself in the center of the round pedestal.

“Gorgeous,” one of the other bride’s guests whispered.

“Like a princess. I wonder who she is?” another whispered and caused America to chuckle into her throat.

She was a no-one, in reality. Unless someone regularly consumed online travel magazine articles, there was little chance that her modest celebrity had escaped into the wider world of would-be bridal parties.

America had not yet looked in the mirror’s reflection. Standing behind her, the stylist parachuted the train of the gown with a large swing of her arms. As the billow settled and the tulle came to rest on the floor, the woman said, “You can look now, America.”

Though hesitating wasn’t something she was accustomed to doing, she lifted her wrist just enough to glimpse the time. She had to hurry up, or she would risk being late for her next meeting. She pushed a breath through pursed lips, dabbed the dampness from under her eyes with the back of her forefinger, and lifted her gaze.

The skirt glittered in the light emanating from crystal LED’s rimming the mirror in front of her and from the chandelier hanging overhead. Sheets of fine netting terminated at her natural waist, though the oversized proportion of the skirt compared to the cinched tightness of the bodice caused her waist to appear dramatically thin.

Her fingers floated above the swirls of beads that wrapped around her curves and gave the impression of little hearts. The cherished shape was fitting for a wedding during the month of love, February, and she had known this dress was the dress at the first sight of the pretty symbology.

“Well? Is it everything you dreamed?”

America nodded and sniffled the meldrop from the tip of her nose. “It’s perfect. Everyone will love it.”

The stylist stepped away and America was helpless to set her eyes on anything else in the salon. She was a vision in white as bright as winter snow. Until that moment, the gravity of the situation had failed to fully hit. Sure, she had managed everyone’s expectations well —even her own— but she was about to marry her best friend. The man that had so wonderfully helped her out of her own way and showed her a different kind of life. Leo had swept her away with his charm and gentle heart. Like the comfort of a cinnamon roll on a cold morning, he was everything she wanted in a partner and couldn’t imagine a future without.

America Thorpe flashed in Broadway-style bulbs in her mind, though having a new last name would take some getting used to, she thought it had a nice ring to it. Leo Greene, on the other hand, sounded like the name of a lead guitarist of a wicked garage band. She held in a smirk as her mind settled back on taking Leo’s name soon.

Pressing the tulle down in hopes the layers would settle a little more before next Saturday, there was no doubt that she would make a grand entrance walking down the aisle in front of the whole town looking the way she looked or smiling the way she was smiling. The blond man of her dreams would marry her, no matter how poofy her skirt was.

The stylist returned with an armful of white lace. “I brought a veil for you try on and?—”

“Oh, I have one!” America exclaimed. “It’s back in the fitting room.” Taking one very wrong step off the pedestal, America stumbled over the front of her skirt and face-planted into the hard floor. She was pretty sure she wasn’t dead as she lay staring at the glossy wood planks, though she wished she could rewind the last fifteen seconds of her life and have a redo.

“Goodness,” the stylist said and came to America’s aid. The whole tumble lasted mere seconds, but the embarrassment and concern was palpable in the eyes of the other brides there.

“Oh my gosh. I’m so mortified,” America said, knowing the best way to defuse a moment was to name it for what it was. She straightened the dress and fluffed the skirt, but as she did, tiny crystals and seed beads spilled onto the ground like sugary sprinkles. What had been a straightforward embarrassment, was now a humiliation. Fear gripped America’s gut at the fact that she might have just ruined her one and only wedding gown. “I am so sorry.”

“It’s not the end of the world,” the woman said. “We can fix this, no problem. You’d be surprised how many beads need touching up after the final fitting. Happens all the time.”

“Are you certain it’s no trouble? I feel terrible,” America said.

“I’m just glad you’re alright. You stay here, I’ll get the veil.”

America returned to her position at the mirror while the stylist retrieved the lace and netting veil that had been a gift from her mother, Vivian. America squatted down low enough for the stylist to affix the comb into the hair at the crown of her head. When she stood tall, the veil topped off the white look and was the icing on the cake. She couldn’t wait to see Leo’s face at the wedding. She was a traditionalist and didn’t want a first-look moment as was the trend amongst other brides. Rather, she wished to knock his socks off and witness his squirming and holding back tears along with all the other guests attending the ceremony.

“It’s picture-perfect,” America said.

“Congratulations,” one of the other brides said as she stepped down from her own pedestal and headed back to a fitting room.

“Now, America, how long will you be in town? A note on your file says the wedding is in somewhere called Christmas Cove. So, I’m guessing you’ll need a quick turnaround?” The stylist took America’s hand and helped her down from the platform.

“I fly out tomorrow afternoon. Is that enough time?”

“I’ll put a rush on the beading, and you’re lucky this dress fits you like a glove and that you don’t need additional alterations.” Once safely back inside the fitting room, the stylist helped America out of the dress and rehung it inside the silk garment bag. “I’ll take this to alterations right now and get you a firm time when you can come pick it up before you leave.”

America slipped on her favorite jeans and checked the time. “I appreciate it. And again, I’m so sorry,” America apologized as the woman set off and closed the door. After tugging on her white cable-knit sweater, she twisted her long hair into a fresh knot at the top of her head. Though it would have been nice for her mother to be at the fitting, she was glad no one she knew had been present there to witness her clumsiness. With her parents on a cruise for another couple of days, and the rest of her friends back home on the east coast, Las Vegas had seemed too big a place to go solo. But now, she could see there was a silver lining to having gone alone to her appointment.

America gathered her things and exited the fitting room. She had a little over an hour to get back to the hotel, change into her work clothing, and make it to the conference hall for her meeting. Out in the salon, she waited for word about the beading fix. One of the other brides was bouncing up and down, and nearly spilling out from the ill-fitting bodice between hugging her guests and crying. America couldn’t help but grin at the joyful bride.

“Ms. Greene, thank you for waiting. Alterations say the earliest they can have it done is noon. Will that work with your travel plans?”

America’s flight was scheduled for 4:17 the next afternoon. As the Las Vegas airport was small, she knew noon would allow her plenty of time to make her flight. “That will absolutely work. Thank you, again.” She shook the woman’s hand politely.