Total pages in book: 31
Estimated words: 28341 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 142(@200wpm)___ 113(@250wpm)___ 94(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 28341 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 142(@200wpm)___ 113(@250wpm)___ 94(@300wpm)
I chuckle a bit, appreciating how approachable the woman seems. Goofy, gorgeous, and talented. The woman was a true treasure. The three of us go through the showroom, Hanna letting Caroline lead the way to see what she’s most interested in. When she stands at a dress for more than a few seconds, Hanna goes over the details of the dress with her. The kind of material, the style it’s called, the weight, and how long alterations for a dress of that grandeur will take. I’m only interested in the last bit of information, considering Caroline is getting married in two months.
At last, Caroline loses her mind over one. It’s a satin gown with delicate beading detail, lace collared but sleeveless, a form-fitting bodice, and a subtle mermaid shaped skirt. “This is the one. Oh my God! It’s perfect! Do you think it’s possible to get the underskirt in a blue? I love the idea of it for my ‘something blue’.”
“Of course,” Hanna nods. “This one should fit in our schedule to alter before your big day. Let’s try this one on, shall we?” She calls to the clerk, who is apparently named Justine, to get the dress in Caroline’s base size. Moving back to the fitting room area, the clerk, Hanna, and Caroline all step into a stall. I can’t so much as see their feet, the door going all the way to the floor. Though I can hear them chatting with excitement and giggles. I’m left to sit on the couch alone with nothing more to do than sip my champagne.
Eventually, they all step out and I bring a hand over my mouth. My sister is absolutely stunning. Her slender frame looks made for the style of dress it is; which is a peculiar yet fantastic blend of modern and traditional. “Oh my gosh, Car,” I breathe.
As I stand, I can see then that her eyes are misty before she even turns to look at herself in the mirror. “Isn’t it amazing?” she gushes, as she finally looks at it in the three-panel mirror. Her hands grip the skirt, which hugs the very top of her thighs before falling into a fuller shape, and twirls side to side.
“You look just… words don’t describe,” I manage to get out.
The emotion that’s overcoming me is familiar, but different. I’m the oldest of four girls, and the middle two have already married. Our mother is alive and well, but she’s not exactly… warm. I’ve always filled the role of the cuddly, doting mother figure for my sisters. It is moments like this that remind me just how honored I am to be such a person for them. Caroline is twenty-one, and still a baby in my eyes—well, until now. She looks like a radiant, picturesque depiction of womanhood. It could make me feel old, but I have to remember I’m only six years her senior.
“Is this the dress?” Hanna asks in the reflection of the mirror, grinning ear to ear.
Caroline, while fanning her eyes, nods frantically. “Absolutely. Absolutely it is.”
“Perfect,” Hanna grins. “I’ll go get my brother, Emanuel, he’s our dressmaker and tailor.”
As Hanna fetches the tailor and Caroline takes selfies to show her friends, I go ahead and pay for the dress and alterations at the front desk. It’s even more expensive than I thought it would be, but I don’t have to sweat it. Even if I would have had to go into debt to get her that dress, I would have. There isn’t a price tag I wouldn’t pay to keep that look on her face. By the time I'm heading back to the fitting area, a man is walking out of an office and headed in our direction.
Hanna said he is her brother, but for some reason my mind had pictured him as an older, cheerful man. Emanuel Efron looks more like a model than a dressmaker, especially with the alluring, dark energy that radiates from him and his intense chocolate eyes. He’s tall and a bit lanky, but even with a suit on I can tell there’s firm muscles underneath helping fill him out the slate gray fabric. His hair is just as black as Hanna’s, but it’s disheveled and pushed back, as though he has a nervous habit of pushing it out of his face. When his gaze shifts to me, I have to consciously rip my eyes away from him to keep myself from ogling at him.
Sitting back down on the couch, I continue to polish off my champagne and listen to my sister excitedly chatter on a video call with her best friends. Without anything else to focus on, I occasionally find myself watching him fit her. He treats the fabric with care and makes sure not to let his hands linger too long on her as he pins the dress into shape and measures her. When he’s nearly done, I notice his eyes shift to me. My heart pounds in my chest. I'm far too excited about this stranger looking at me and I blame the three-year dry spell I’ve forced myself into. Overthinking is my specialty and out of desperation to not, I try to sip from my glass to distract myself— only to realize it is empty.