Part 3: The Threat in Ivory and Champagne
The morning of the wedding, the autumn air was crisp, and the Vermont forest outside the bridal suite windows was a brilliant cascade of burning oranges and deep reds. It was the exact setting brides spend thousands of dollars trying to capture. Inside, however, the atmosphere was suffocating.
Joan arrived early. She didn't wear beige. She didn't wear cream. She walked into the bridal suite wearing a sharply tailored, heavily structured suit of pure, radiant ivory.
My maid of honor, Claire, froze mid-motion, nearly dropping the heavy fabric steamer. "She cannot be serious right now," Claire muttered under her breath.
Joan glided across the hardwood floors like a hosting dignitary, her hair pinned up into a flawless, rigid twist. Right behind her came Madison, smiling smoothly as she dragged the train of her champagne satin gown across the floor. A train. At her stepsister's wedding.
Claire immediately stepped forward, placing her body between them and me. "Madison, that dress is entirely inappropriate for today."
Madison blinked innocently, looking down at her skirt. "What do you mean? It’s champagne."
"It photographs pure white, and you know it," Claire snapped.
Joan let out a soft, melodic laugh that didn't reach her eyes. "Goodness, girls. Are we really policing color palettes now? Don't be petty." She completely ignored the bridesmaids and turned her sharp gaze onto me. "You look... sweet, Dakota."
The deliberate, mocking pause before the word sweet felt like a needle pressed against my throat. I looked at the clock. It was three o'clock. Guests were filling the lower pavilion. My father was downstairs greeting dignitaries, and Luke was waiting. I was simply too exhausted to turn my wedding day into a courtroom where I had to argue for basic human decency.
May you like
"Fine," I whispered, turning away. "Let's just get through the day."
Joan smiled, fully convinced she had won the first round. She had absolutely no idea that Claire had already text-warned our wedding coordinator, or that Elena, my master dress designer, was currently in the building.
