“Mrs. Montague,” Dad says, giving me a thunderous look. To be fair, I had no idea she’d be showing up here today. I hold my palms up and out in apologetic surrender. “How may I help you? The academy encourages parents to call before stopping by for a visit or a tour.”
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous,” she says, waving her gloved hand around dismissively, a garment bag draped over her other arm. “I was in Nutmeg to work on a little business project and thought I’d come up to give Charlotte a present. Was is this I hear about staying with us? Charlotte is always welcome in our family.”
“Mother, you were eavesdropping?” Church chastises, but she waves him away.
“The children,” Dad begins, emphasizing that awful word in a way that only he could, “were discussing a trip to London over fall break. As you can imagine—”
“London? Oh, yes, we have a flat in Hyde Park. That sounds like a lovely way to spend break.”
I realize two things in that moment: Church’s mother is beyond nice, and she’s also beyond privileged. She doesn’t know the meaning of the word no.
“While I’m not opposed to Charlotte exploring the world one day, now just isn’t the right time,” Archie explains, finally turning and coming down the rest of the stairs to stand next to Mrs. Montague.
“If it’s supervision you’re worried about, David and I are more than happy to go with them. Charlotte will be well-taken care of. Now, look what I’ve brought for you.” She drags the zipper down on the garment bag and whips out a white dress, flashing it for the whole room to see.
“What … is it?” I ask, feeling my throat close up on a ball of raw emotion. I know perfectly well what that is.
“It’s your wedding dress!” Mrs. Montague says, draping it across her arms and holding it out to me. “It’s the same one I wore when I was seventeen years old.” She sighs and looks up at the ceiling, like she’s already caught up in a vivid daydream of David Montague as a young man.
“It’s bad luck for a groom to see the dress before the wedding,” Church says, looking slightly paler than usual. Elizabeth Montague waves his concerns away.
“That’s ridiculous. Your father and I picked this dress out together. We eloped to Paris with it.” She sighs again and fans her face. “Do you think you two might want to get hitched in London? We could borrow the abbey!”
“The … abbey?” I ask, noticing that Church is giving his mom a look similar to the ones I give my dad when he’s being completely over the top. Just, his mom goes over the top in a whole different way.
“Westminster Abbey,” she says, like duh. I choke on my own spit, forcing Spencer to rub and pat my back to help me clear my throat.
“I thought only royalty could get married there?” I manage to get out as Dad stands dumbfounded and speechless near the staircase.
“We have friends in high places,” Elizabeth says, and then she chuckles like it’s no big deal.
“Mother, that isn’t even a remotely realistic option,” Church begins, but she quiets him with a click of her tongue.
“Oh shush, Church. Here you go, darling. What do you think?”
She hands the dress over, and I take it reverently, staring down at the beaded bodice and then looking back up at her face. I’m dating her son, sure, but … I’m also dating four other boys. What the hell am I doing here?! Elizabeth looks so excited about the prospect of her son marrying me in this dress; she believes in old-school, love at first sight stuff. What happens if this doesn’t work out?
“Mrs. Montague …” Dad starts, looking at the offending dress like he’d rather burn it than watch me get married in it.
“Try it on,” she encourages, flapping gloved hands at me, and then reaching up to adjust her hat.
“You don’t have to, if you don’t want to,” Church says softly. I lift my gaze up to him, and then pan it across the rest of the boys. They’re all just … staring at me. Everyone’s staring at me. Someone’s trying to kill me. How did I even get here?
“Of course she wants to,” Elizabeth says as I shuffle in the direction of the downstairs bathroom in a daze. Voices start up behind me as I slip into the restroom and close the door behind me, putting my back up against it. I flick the fan on, so I don’t have to hear what they’re saying.
“What am I doing?” I wonder, looking down at the admittedly beautiful sweetheart neckline of the dress. It’s white, sure, but when I tilt it into the light, there’s the faintest pink sheen to the shimmery fabric. It looks old, too, and not just Church’s mom old, but like an antique. If both her and my engagement ring came from the antique store, then did this, too?
