by Gayla Twist
“Plus Jessie’s mother isn’t here,” I added as I took note that Rebecca was one of the revelers in the crowd. “We really would like to get married in front of at least some family.”
Vagnar gave Jessie a hard smile, his eyes almost glittering with intensity. “Do you mean to tell me that you're rejecting my generous offer of throwing you the most fabulous wedding either of you is ever likely to see?”
Jessie stared at him for several seconds before saying, “Of course not. We would never dream of rejecting your amazingly generous offer.” He looked over at me. “Would we, sweetheart?”
“Not at all,” I immediately chimed in, pasting a smile on my face. “And I’m really looking forward to my wedding dress.”
“Of course you are,” Mr. Worth said, stepping forward from the crowd. “And it is a masterpiece, if I do say so myself. My entire staff has been working on it nonstop, all night and into the day, ever since Lord Vagnar informed us that your wedding is to be this very evening.”
“Thank you,” I said, forcing another smile in an attempt to look like the eager bride. “I’m so excited.” I was actually rather grateful to Worth for interrupting the awkward conversation we were having with Lord Vagnar.
Charles Worth took up both my hands and gazed into my face. “I have to admit, I’m rather excited myself. You are going to be a gorgeous bride. Not as beautiful as Elisabeth herself, naturally, but very, very near. I can hardly wait to see my beauty again. Or at least the closest I can get.”
“Thank you,” I said again, rather automatically, although I wasn’t quite sure that I’d actually been paid a compliment.
“You must come with me now,” the designer told me, folding my arm over his. “There are so many details that must be finished and there is no time left. We haven’t a second to lose.”
He began drawing me away, as if we would simply walk back to the faux-castle. I looked over my shoulder at Jessie. I couldn’t just leave him there to negotiate the treacherous water that was a conversation with Lord Vagnar. Especially after we’d been caught red-handed trying to make a break for it.
“Your bridegroom must come too, of course,” Worth said, noticing my gaze. He snapped his fingers a few times and one of his female assistants stepped forward from the crowd to hook her hand around Jessie’s arm. Looking back to me, Worth said, “I’ve always thought of a wedding like an engagement ring. The bride is the gemstone, of course. She is the sparkling diamond at the center. But the groom is the setting. He shows the bride off to advantage.” He took a moment to look Jessie over from head to toe. Not in a lurid way, but more to assess the raw materials he was dealing with. The father of haute couture seemed satisfied because when he turned back to me he smiled and said, “I think we have everything well in hand.”
I kept feeling Lord Vagnar’s lingering stare on my back, even though nothing in the world could have induced me to turn around and look. Smiling at Charles Worth, I allowed him to lead me back toward the chateau. It was impossible for me to tell if the man had intentionally saved us from what could have been a disastrous conversation with the host of our wedding, or if he truly was just excited to see me in one of his designs.
It couldn’t have been later than six o’clock. The people who lived in the chateau were obviously still awake. A light dusting of snow covered the ground and there were dozens upon dozens of footprints leading to the family’s crypt.
“What about the people who live here?” I asked Mr. Worth, nodding toward the house. “Won’t they… I don’t know, get kind of suspicious about all the people in their backyard?”
Charles gave me a grim look that he tried to conceal with a smile. “Let’s not worry about them,” he said, patting my hand. “It’s your wedding night, after all. This should be a time of joy.”
I felt my stomach drop. Something bad had happened to the occupants of the house. I could guess that much for sure. And it was Jessie’s and my fault. If we hadn’t chosen to conceal ourselves on their property, then they would still be… I didn’t want to think about what they would still be. At the very least they would still be blissfully unaware of the existence of vampires.
A waiting carriage took us back to the house, which I found rather odd, seeing that it would have been much quicker to fly. But many vampires seemed to enjoy horse drawn carriages, for some reason, so I didn’t ask Worth about it.
“How did you find us?” I ventured to ask, after we’d sat for several moments in silence. I could have just as easily asked, “How long did Rebecca wait until she ran to Lord Vagnar?” but I needed fuel for my suspicions before I said anything to Jessie.
“Lord Vagnar has spies behind every clump of clover,” the designer said with a hint of resignation in his voice.
I knew it! I knew Rebecca wasn’t someone to be trusted. I gave Jessie a sharp look, but he was gazing out at the landscape, probably trying to orient himself in case we needed to make another sudden departure.
I just couldn’t wrap my head around the fact that I was about to get married. Even though I loved Jessie with all my heart, I was still only seventeen. And my wedding was to be in front of complete strangers, rather than all of the people that I loved.
We can just have a do-over, I thought to myself as a way to fight back some tears that were threatening to spill out of my eyes. In a year, when I was eighteen, by mortal standards, Jessie and I would have an evening wedding where my mom and friends could attend. I would just have to think of the event at Lord Vagnar’s as a practice wedding, or something like that. Besides, being married would probably help our cause with the Bishops. Plus, it was apparently important to Lord Vagnar, for some weird reason. And if he had half the amount of influence with the vampire courts as he thought he did, then keeping him happy and having him like us was vital. I lifted my chin and the tears recede from the corners of my eyes. This wedding was a good thing. I was going to have to stop worry about all the things I couldn’t control and just focus on the fact that I was about to say, “I do,” to the man I loved.
“Head right upstairs, the two of you,” Worth said when the horses came to a halt outside the faux castle. “I’m sure you’re hungry, but I’ll have some refreshments sent up. There’s no time left to linger over a meal,” he informed us, as if we’d actually tried to protest. “If you wanted to waste your time on fine dining, then you shouldn’t have run off and made such a nuisance of yourselves.”
“I feel like a scolded child,” Jessie said under his breath as we climbed the stairs, side by side. “But I’m also grateful to Mr. Worth. He saved us from a very dangerous situation.”
“Do you think he did it on purpose?” I asked, matching the volume of my voice to his.
“I’m not sure,” Jessie admitted, shooting a thoughtful look over his shoulder. “I’d like to say yes, but I really couldn’t tell you.”
We both headed to my room, unsure of what we were actually supposed to be doing. But as soon as Worth entered, he shooed Jessie away. “Traditionally, a groom isn’t even supposed to see the bride until the ceremony,” he exclaimed.
Charles had Jessie escorted away by his male assistant. “Don’t worry, my dear,” he assured me as I watched my soon-to-be groom being ushered out of the room. “He’s in good hands. Armani, after all.”
I did a double take. “But… Isn’t Armani still alive?”
“Of course he is. But Armani always mentions my assistant as one of his great influences,” Charles explained.
“Oh.” I didn’t know much about high fashion, but his information let me know two things. First of all, Jessie would be dressed in something incredibly handsome. And secondly, for a man who was influential to Armani to be acting as his assistant, then Charles Frederick Worth really was a world renowned fashion designer. And he was making my wedding dress.
A wedding dress I wasn’t allowed to see. Even on my wedding night. Worth insisted that all reflective surfaces in the room be covered. I wasn’t allowed to glimpse myself, even in the bowl
of a spoon. And he had an assistant wrap this tremendous, stiff, frilly collar around my neck. It spread out a good twelve inches in every direction. I felt like a cross between a noblewoman from the seventeenth century sitting to have her portrait painted and a dog that was being prevented from licking its stitches.
“It’s my custom ruff,” Worth explained. “I designed it myself exactly for this sort of occasion. This way I can absolutely guarantee against peaking.”
“Great,” I told him, doing my best to summon a smile. “I love surprises.” Which was a lie. I’d learned to hate surprises, but I wasn’t too worried about the dress. I somehow doubted the father of haute couture was going to dress me in anything less than a gorgeous wedding gown. It probably wouldn’t be exactly to my taste, but I would have been very surprised if it wasn’t stunning.
For the next few hours, I was forced to stand almost motionless with my arms stiffly away from my sides. Mr. Worth and two of his assistants buzzed around me like bees around a flower. At first I was embarrassed while I was unceremoniously stripped down to my underwear. But neither Worth nor his assistants seemed to react as if it was anything out of the ordinary, so I eventually got over it.
“You are so lucky you were turned with so many lovely curves,” one of the assistants told me as she pinned some fabric around my bust. Glancing over her shoulder to make sure Worth wasn’t standing nearby, she added in a whisper, “That isn’t something the Empress was blessed with.” She leaned a little closer and added, “The poor child starved herself, just to keep a sixteen inch waist, but I don’t think it was worth it in the big picture.” She nodded at me, very sagely. “Sometimes the addition of strategic padding was necessary.”
I wasn’t a fan of criticizing other women’s looks. But I also wasn’t used to being complimented about my own, somewhat generous proportions. I had to admit, the compliment part felt pretty good.
Every once in a while a female mortal would enter the room with refreshments to keep everyone’s strength up. I was only allowed to sip through a straw from a cup that was held in front of me, and even that was done with a large tarp tucked under my chin.
“Don’t fill up too much,” Worth warned me at one point. “We want you to fit into this gown.”
“And to have plenty of appetite for the wedding day,” one of the assistants said, following the comment with a high pitched laugh. The rest of the room quickly joined in. Everyone but me, of course. I just felt embarrassed. It seemed weird to have total strangers joking about something so intimate between Jessie and me. I glanced in Worth’s direction and noted that he was also not amused, even though he didn’t say anything.
As Worth got closer to putting the finishing touches on the dress, a stylist came in and set to work on my head. “You have lovely hair,” he told me, clucking over every curl. “It’s to die for, really.” I gazed up at the man, taking in his well-oiled black hair and pencil thin mustache. Was the expression “to die for” just something left over from when he was a mortal, or was it some kind of vampire joke? I really couldn’t tell.
But the man turned out to be very good at his job. He pinned the front portion of my hair into an upsweep with the rest of it cascading down my back in loose ringlets. After that he strategically placed some pale pink and creamy white tea roses throughout my hair. Stepping back to admire his handiwork, he said, “Not too much makeup, I think. No reason to gild the lily.” After that he opened an enormous black case that was filled every conceivable powder, cream and liner known to woman. When I remarked on his massive collection of makeup, he said, “Isn’t it just dreadful? I never even use half of this stuff, and yet still I cart it around.”
True to his word, the stylist only applied a little blush, some powder, and some pale pink gloss before he called my face complete. Clasping his hands together in delight and turning to Worth, he said, “She’s pretty as a picture.”
“She’ll be almost as pretty as the picture, once we sew her into her gown,” Worth said in reply.
“Sew me in?” I asked, caught by surprise.
“Oh course,” Worth insisted. “It’s the only way we’ll get the right line.”
“Don’t worry, sweetie,” the friendliest of the assistants said. “I’m sure your groom will be so eager that he’ll be able to get you out of it with no problems whatsoever.”
“I’m sure someone will,” the stylist said in a snide aside. He’d done an excellent job with my appearance, as far as I could tell without a mirror, but I was really beginning to dislike him.
“Alright, everyone,” Worth said, clapping his hands together several times. “We’re running out of time.” Addressing the stylist, he said, “If you are finished, then you need to make yourself scarce.”
The stylist acted as if he’d been personally wounded by the remark. “But I need to put on the final touches before she walks down the aisle,” he protested.
“Yes, but until then you should relax and enjoy your evening.” The stylist looked like he was going to continue to protest, so Mr. Worth added, “You’ve done such a wonderful job; you deserved a little time for yourself.”
I was grateful that Worth had coaxed the man out of the room. There was something about his last remark that really made me anxious. But even after he left, with just Charles Worth and his assistants buzzing about me, I still felt anxious. It suddenly occurred to me that it was my wedding night. Any bride had the right to feel a little nervous. Yes, I was about to marry the man that I loved quite desperately, but that didn’t preclude me from feeling anxious about the whole thing.
At a certain point, Worth raised his arms and said, “Stand back,” chasing his assistants from my sides. Smiling up at me, he said, “We’re almost done. Just adding the final touches now.” Then, after glancing at his watch, he commented, “And just in time.”
Worth fussed with a few of the details on my dress and then he began to untie the ruff around my neck. “Don’t look down just yet,” he said. “Wait for the mirror.”
The assistants whipped the sheet away from a full length mirror. “There now!” Charles Worth exclaimed, spreading his arms wide like a magician’s assistant revealing an illusion. “What do you think?”
I was left staring at a reflection that was very different than the one I had become accustom to seeing every day for the last seventeen years. It was a woman who gazed out at me from the mirror. She had a mass of glossy chestnut hair cascading down her back in great waves, and it was decorated with flowers in the valleys between the crests. The stranger had on a gown that was half dress and half something out of a confectioner's dream. There were miles upon miles of creamy white tulle forming a skirt that was more like a cloud. The tulle was periodically accented with small, flowery embellishments done in a gold thread. My waist was pulled in with a satin covered bodice, also done in cream, and my bosom was accented with an off-the-shoulder neckline and elaborate, puffy lace sleeves. The woman in the mirror looked like she had stepped out of the history books from the Gilded Age.
“I think she’s speechless,” one of the assistants said after I didn’t say anything for several moments.
Worth smiled. “I’m going to take that as one of my greatest compliments.” And then he added, “Just a few more details before we go.” An assistant handed him a long piece of gossamer fabric and he hung it loosely around my shoulders. It was another length of tulle edged in gold thread. “There,” he said, his voice filled with satisfaction. “Oh, and let us not forget your fan.”
“My fan?” I said, coming slightly out of my stupor. I’d always loved hand fans, but never expected to be carrying one on my wedding day.
“Of course, my dear,” the father of haute couture said. “You wouldn’t expect to go without a fan, would you?”
“No,” I hurriedly assured him. “Of course not.” He looked so potentially disappointed that I hadn’t the heart to tell him that I’d never even considered whether I would need a fan on my wedding day.
“Good,” h
e said, beaming at me while bestowing me with a cream colored lace fan. “Then the look is complete.”
There was a knocking on the door and the stylist stuck his head in. “Is it time for me yet? I’m getting bored.” And then he let out a great, “Aah,” when he caught sight of me. “She looks so very, very like the original,” he said with a wistful sigh.
“Who?” I couldn’t help but ask. I didn’t enjoy the feeling that I was being dressed up just so a couple of vampires could reminisce about some chick they use to know.
There was another knock on the door and Vagnar stuck his head in. “It’s time,” he announced. Then he took in my appearance, his eyes glittering as they traced my figure. He gave a nod of approval. “You look lovely, my dear,” he said, holding a hand out to me. I felt like I had no other choice, but to reach for him. “And I hope your future husband doesn’t think me impertinent, but I’ve brought a little bauble for the bride.” Vagnar was wearing a classic tuxedo with tails. Reaching inside the breast pocket of his jacket, he pulled out a velvet jewelry box about the size of a paperback book. I knew instantly that it was probably a necklace and I immediately experienced two conflicting emotions. I had a great desire to see what was in the box, but I also felt repelled by the thought of wearing any jewelry given to me by a man who wasn’t Jessie Vanderlind.
“I can tell by your expression that you’re excited,” Vagnar said, so I won’t leave you in suspense. He stepped forward and, with a small bow, he opened the box, presenting me with the contents.
It was a necklace and earring set done in gold and diamonds. The overall effect was that of a delicate garland of flowers, each petal and leaf done in enamel in a variety of soft colors. Small diamond accents subtlety outlined each miniature work of art giving each petal movement as it danced in the light. “Lalique, of course,” Vagnar said.
