by Mia Caldwell
My mother's words ring through my memory. "He's been working so hard for so long...."
Mentally I shake myself. I have an appointment at ten this morning to help Camilla with her wedding dress. She texted out of the blue at six in the morning to confirm, which struck me as rather odd, but I jumped to reply. After the debacle with Carter, I am surprised she hasn't fired me yet. But if anything, Camilla seems even more eager to see me than I am to see her.
"Sanniyah!" She greets me with a hug that startles me, and almost sets me to crying again. She is so warm and genuine, and I feel as fragile as an egg.
"It's so good to see you again," I tell her, feeling truly touched by her reaction.
"I'm happy to see you too," she smiles. "I need some expert guidance here. I'm not used to fancy."
"To be honest, neither am I." I look at her and widen my eyes in mock horror. "Whoops, probably shouldn't have told you that."
She laughed, then spreads her hands in mock submission. "Okay, let's do this."
Kaufman's is the most exclusive bridal salon in the downtown area, and I figured that, despite Camilla's protests to the contrary, it would most fit with her budget and tastes.
The entryway is through a heavy wooden door, more fitting for a ski lodge than a storefront. But once I'm inside, I can see why the owners chose to wall themselves off from the dirty streetscape below. The interior is all soft tones of blue, with tinkling spa music played in through hidden speakers. Black clad salespeople swish silently passed us, ferrying armloads of white dresses to the private dressing rooms, where, presumably, eager brides are receiving treatment that would fit royalty.
I sneak a quick look at Camilla, who is standing stock still, a fearful smile frozen across her face, her arms held stiffly at her sides. She looked terrified.
"May I help you?" The receptionist's voice is barely above a murmur, so it takes me a moment to register that she is speaking to us.
"Easton," I step in smoothly, when Camilla shows no sign of answering. "We have an appointment at ten."
"Yes, of course," the receptionist eyes are sparkling, and I know the Easton name means something to her. "I've put you with Veronica, one of our most experienced associates. Can I get you anything to drink, some champagne maybe?"
I look back at Camilla, who still resembles a deer in the headlights. "Yes, champagne might be exactly what we both need." Hair of the dog that bit you I think silently, Lord knows it can't make the pounding in my head any worse.
The receptionist ushers us back to an expansive private dressing room, tricked out with a lavish three-way mirror under a spotlight, with a wooden platform set in the center where the bride can stand to show off for her assembled audience. There is an elegantly carved armchair in the corner, and along the back wall sits a tufted loveseat. Camilla and I sit down on that; Camilla perched at the edge like she's ready to run.
She needs a distraction, I think to myself. "So we haven't talked about this," I start. "I know it's an island wedding, destination. When I went to visit the… " I couldn't bring myself to say Carter's name, "Wedding site… I was picturing a beach wedding. Is this what you're thinking too?"
Camilla nods, still wide-eyed. Her eyes are bright and shiny, like she is close to tears. Hurriedly, I change the subject.
"Well, I don't know why they're making us wait like this." I stand up in stride to the door, poking my head out. "Excuse me," I flag down a dress-laden associate. "We are waiting for Veronica?"
"Of course of course," she smiles unctuously at me, and gestures over her shoulder to a closed room. "Veronica is just finishing up with another client."
I narrow my eyes. "But we have an appointment," I say crisply.
The associate shrinks back from my glare. "I'll go tell her you are waiting," she says hurriedly, then turns on her heel to trot over to the far off dressing room.
I turn back with an exasperated huff, only to find Camilla watching me with a strange smile on her face. "Was I too harsh?" I ask her.
"No," she shakes her head vigorously. "In fact, I was just wondering if I could hire you to get other things done in my life."
I laugh and shake my head; "Wedding planning really is the only part of my life where I am this effective."
She cocks her head and gives me a sly look." Really?"
"Really," I say definitively, sagging back into the loveseat. "Everything else is kind of in a shambles right now."
Camilla is interrupted from answering by a soft knock on the door. "Camilla Easton?" The associate has finally shows up. I sigh with relief, but Camilla only looks more frightened. Veronica moves like a ballet dancer, all loose-limbed and lithe, her dark brown hair caught up in the severe bun at the crown of her head. Her perfect complexion is as pale as a ghost, with only a slight wing of eyeliner at the corner of each eye. The effect makes her look unnervingly like a cat.
Since Camilla isn't moving, I rise to my feet. "Veronica, thank you for seeing us. My name is Sanniyah Jones. I'm Miss Easton's wedding planner."
Veronica slides her hand into mine without shaking it, as if she expects me to kiss it instead. I instantly dislike her. "Miss Easton is planning a beach wedding for early October. We'd like to try on a few styles to start - strapless, A-line would be best I am thinking, but we are open to your input."
Veronica blinks slowly, fixing Camilla with a laserlike stare that, if Camilla wasn't nervous before, would have definitely set her on edge. The way she scans her up and down puts me in mind of a robot. Her eyes are just as dead.
Finally she seems to blink to life. "I have some ideas in mind," she says coolly. "Make yourselves comfortable. Did you get your drink?"
"Actually no," I tell her, equally as cool. "The receptionist said she would bring it and never did."
"I'll see that you get it."
"Please do." I don't know why I am feeling so angry with this perfect stranger. Maybe it's because she seems hell-bent on deliberately intimidating my sensitive client. But I am ready to pull her hair.
When Veronica closes the door, Camilla lets out a huge exhale and that is the last straw. "We don't have to stay here," I remind her. "If you are uncomfortable, then we can just leave."
Camilla twists her wedding ring around and around her finger. "No, no we made the appointment, we should stay." But her voice is wavering, the slight tremor in the back of her throat telling me that she's lying.
"Okay, I hear you," I tell her. "I'll be the bad guy here."
I throw open the door and march to the back of the store, ignoring the wide-eyed protests of the receptionist. "Veronica? Yoo hoo, Veronica?"
Veronica slides out from the rack of dresses she is leafing through and raises a perfectly arched eyebrow.
"Veronica, I am so sorry, but Miss Easton has been called away. We have to go."
"Oh well, I am sorry to hear that!" It's startling how quickly Veronica veers from icy cool to overly sweet. "Let me get my appointment book and we'll definitely reschedule you for as soon as it's convenient."
I know this trick. "If Miss Easton wants to come back, I will call and make the appointment at that time. Thank you." I swivel on my heel and head straight back to Camilla who is sitting stock still in the dressing room.
"We can go, honey," I tell her.
Her eyes shine wetly for a moment, and then she bursts into tears. I stand for a moment, shocked at her reaction, and then I sit down next to her. I don't know what to do with my hands, so I settle on patting her knee quietly as she blots at her eyes with a tissue.
"I'm, suh...sorry," she quietly gasps. "This...this is harder than I thought." She takes a deep breath and collects herself. "My mother," she whispers. "It's not that I don't appreciate you being here with me..."
It clicks into place. "But I'm not the one you envisioned doing this with."
She presses her lips together in a tight line and looks down at her hands. I reach out and cover them with mine, and she grips me tightly before her face crumples and she is bawling aga
in.
"I am so sorry, here are your drinks right now...." The receptionist freezes in the doorway at the spectacle before her.
"Put them on the table there," I snap as Camilla hides her face in my shoulder. "Thank you."
When the door closes again, Camilla barks out a strange little laugh. "My mother would have had her head for not knocking," she says, her chest hitching slightly. "She was big on manners and politeness."
My mind flashes to Carter and the polite facade he wore just before he started kissing me and I shiver slightly. "She sounds like a great lady."
Camlla's eyes go far away, fixed at a point over my shoulder. "She was. I'm shy, always have been, and she was my protector. I had a terrible stutter growing up, and people would just gloss over me rather than listen to me struggling to talk. My mother went to bat for me a million times, speaking up for me when I couldn't find my own voice." Her eyelashes flutter slowly. "Carter tries to do the same now. I know he wants to have the wedding at his place to make up to me somehow that my dad and mom can't be there. He blames himself so badly."
Her words are hitting me in a sore, hurting place. It's all I can do to nod and keep my own tears from falling.
"Carter wants to be mom, and dad, and my brother all at the same time, because he thinks it's his fault that mom and dad were killed." She says this idly, like it's information that I should already know, but I am thunderstruck.
"How could it be his fault?" I blurt, then redden for prying into her personal grief.
Camilla's eyes move to mine. "Because the paparazzi thought they were chasing him."
I blink. It's like her words are bouncing off of me, hitting me again and again until I can't do anything but clutch my belly in submission. Suddenly things seem to slide into place.
"Which is why he lives alone on that island now," I realize. "He feels safe there."
Camilla nods her head.
Just then the door swings wide open. Seven women burst through, shouting loudly in Italian at one another. They all fall comically silent when they see Camilla and me sitting there, tear-streaked and clutching each other.
I rise with as much dignity as I can muster. "Sanniyah Jones, wedding planner," I smile, brandishing my card. "I'd love to help you plan your special day. Miss Easton and I are all done here, I hope you find the one!"
Camilla ducks behind me and I shield her with my body before we both break out in a run for the door.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Sanniyah
Out in the bright sunlight, we stand blinking for a moment. "So...that went well," Camilla deadpans.
"We can try another time," I tell her. I am ready to crash. I also find my fingers itching to reach for my cell phone to call Carter.
"I'm never going to be completely cool with it," Camilla says. "I'd rather go now, while I'm mentally prepared."
I sigh inwardly, then nod. "My morning is yours." I think for a moment. "Do you mind walking or should we grab a cab?"
"Let's walk, I could use the air."
"This way then."
We walk in companionable silence, but I am burning up inside. I want her to keep talking about Carter. "Do Greg and your brother get along?" I ask, innocently enough, I think.
Camilla smiles. "Greg can be...intense. He's on, 24/7. It's good for me, since I have a tendency to be passive. He balances me out, helps me go for my goals and all of that. But he doesn't always recognize when he should turn that off and just...chill."
I nod. "Does that cause any problems?"
Camilla laughs a little. "Yesterday I was fairly certain that Carter was going to punch Greg out. But I couldn't really blame him. If my brother hadn't hit him, I would have had to. Luckily Greg is pretty self-aware and realized he was out of line."
I swallow back my curiosity. "What did he say? What did he do? What did Carter do? How did he look while he was doing it?" I don't ask any of these questions. Instead, I nod sagely. "It must be hard being caught between the two most important men in your life."
"Not that hard," Camilla shakes her head. "In the end, I know that Carter only wants me to be happy. He's like that. His temper flares up, but then it immediately settles back down again."
I remember the coldness in his eyes as he watched me from the bed. "Hmm," I say.
"We didn't come from money," Camilla says suddenly, striding forward like she wants to escape the memory. "Mom was a home ec teacher at our high school and Dad was a writer. When he sold a book, which was rare, happened only a few times that I can remember, we would go on fancy vacations with the advance money and I would pretend that I was one of the rich people. It seemed like such a simple thing, having a lot of money. Like it solved all the problems you could have."
We're nearing our destination and I have to put a gentle hand on her arm to keep her from starting to sprint. She is anxious and coiled up like a spring. "But it doesn't solve anything, you know. You're still the same person you were back before the money came into your life, with the same hurts and the same memories. The money doesn't change who you were and it doesn't fix the parts of you that you don't like very much. And sometimes you acquire a whole new set of hurts and memories to go with the new money."
Her words ignite a struggle inside of me. Rich people don't have problems, the perpetual outsider protests, but the truth of Cammy's words cannot be denied. I nod slowly, remembering something I read and scoffed at long ago. The words come back to me slowly, and I speak them with a voice that I don't recognize as my own. "Everyone carries their own set of hurts. You can't know what's in someone's heart unless you let them show it to you."
Her eyes flit back to mine like she is just remembering that I am there. Her lips quirk up in a mysterious little smile. "I think Carter would agree with you, even if he doesn't realize it yet."
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Sanniyah
Her words hang in the air for several moments, settling around my shoulders so that I feel them wrap around me like a warm blanket.
Then she abruptly turns her head and looks at the door. "Is this it?"
The spell broken, I turn and look at the tiny storefront. We're on a nondescript block, the crash-bang of a loading dock three doors down is making it so we need to shout. "I think you'll like it here," I promise her.
She nods and I push my way into Melanie's Bridal, a homey little shop that is my hidden resource.
"Ms. Jones!" Melanie Rankoff is a Russian immigrant with a regal bearing and a warm smile made even warmer by the motherly crinkles around her eyes. She's been in the States long enough to soften her accent to a soft burr around her words. I could listen to her talk for hours.
"Mrs. Rankoff, so good to see you again." We exchange cheek kisses and I pull Camilla towards her. "Beach wedding in October," I say.
Melanie nods. "Light and unfussy." Her long fingers dart out to caress Camilla's cheek. Camilla shies away for a moment, then smiles under the motherly touch. "You should definitely wear your hair down, my dear. You will look like a mermaid with those waves."
Camilla catches her fine hair back. "Not an updo?"
Melanie shakes her head firmly. "A single braid to frame the face, that is it. And you will wear this."
Melanie disappears around the corner. We stand in the vestibule of the cramped little shop. "Should we follow?" Camilla whispers.
"Just wait, she'll bring it out. Melanie has a system," I assure her.
Camilla laughs, clearly as enchanted by Melanie's eccentricities as I am. Just then, the salon owner pokes her head around the corner. "You may come now, you must see this. I have outdone myself."
Camilla looks at me. "Well, you heard the woman, go ahead," I urge her.
Camilla steps around the corner and I hear a little gasp. Crossing my fingers, I step to follow her and gasp myself.
My bride's hands are clasped over her mouth. She is crying, but they are happy, smiling tears. She reaches out and touches the dress, and her face goes soft and dreamy as she caresses th
e simple chiffon layers that flit like fairy wings along the hem of the tea length dress.
"Ms. Jones," Melanie winks at me. "Will you lock the shop door?"
Camilla is already undressing, entranced by the gown in front of her. I flick the bolt on the door to give her privacy, and move to gather her things and fold them neatly. Melanie lets the dress fall over Camilla's head. It flows like water, hugging but accentuating her small curves, and then she pulls her hair free of the loose bun and lets the waves fall about her face. Then she turns to the mirror.
"Yes," I say. "This is it."
Camilla nods, clearing her throat and wiping away her tears. "It's so simple," she says.
