Page 59 of Tempt
And those stories were not unique—I came across many such personal narratives, reviews and blog posts and quotes full of praise for shops that treated plus-sized brides like queens after they’d been disappointed and stressed out by traditional salons that made them feel unwelcome and unworthy.
There were photos of gorgeous, curvy brides on their wedding days glowing with happiness, stunning in their gowns. Brides of all skin colors and body types. Brides with pink hair, blue hair, rainbow hair. Brides wearing their glasses, showing off their tattoos, lifting their dresses to reveal sneakers or cowboy boots or bare feet on the sand. Brides marrying other brides, also dressed in beautiful gowns—or sometimes dressed in suits. Grooms who gazed at the women they’d just married with looks of pure joy and thrilling disbelief, as if they couldn’t believe their good fortune.
More than once, I’d teared up scanning the pictures and reading about their experiences, which often included details about how far they’d traveled just to have the kind of luxurious, personalized service they’d dreamed of since they were small.
There was only one such shop in Michigan, and it was down near Detroit. I’d left a voicemail message for the owner, Alison, explaining who I was and asking if I might chat with her about her business.
More and more, I was feeling in my gut that a career change was the right thing to do.
Closing my laptop, I went upstairs and took a shower, loath to wash away the night before, but reluctant to show up at my parents’ house for Sunday dinner with the scent of sex on my skin. It was going to be hard enough hiding the truth from my sisters—I didn’t often keep secrets from them.
But this felt like one I might tuck away for myself.
* * *
When I arrived at my parents’ house, Winnie, Felicity and Hutton were already there. After offering to help Frannie and Felicity in the kitchen and being shooed away, I poured a glass of wine and went into the family room, where my dad and Hutton sat on the couch discussing the hockey game on TV, the twins were lying on the floor looking at their phones, and Winnie was curled up in an easy chair, glancing at a photo album.
“What’s that?” I asked, taking a seat on the ottoman in front of her.
“Dad and Frannie’s wedding pictures,” she said wistfully, turning another page.
I sipped my wine to hide my smile. “Seems like yesterday.”
“It does.” Then she giggled. “Those stupid shoes hurt so bad, remember?”
“Yes.” I leaned over to peek at the photos and saw Winnie, Felicity and me grinning at the camera in our matching pink dresses and gold sequined shoes. “But we insisted on them.”
“They were fancy!” Winnie laughed and flipped the page. “We wanted to be fancy. Oh, look at them.”
We studied the photo of our dad and Frannie, dressed in their wedding day attire, standing on the edge of the vineyard at Cloverleigh Farms. They were chest to chest, but Frannie was smiling at the camera and our dad was looking down at her, an expression of wonder and love and protectiveness on his face. Gooseflesh blanketed my arms. “That was such a happy day.”
“I hope my wedding is as beautiful as theirs,” said Winnie with a sigh.
“I’m sure it will be.” Hoping I sounded casual, I asked, “Think you’ll get married at Cloverleigh Farms?”
“Honestly, I don’t even care where it takes place. I just want it to be Dex at the end of the aisle.” She actually looked concerned that it might not play out that way.
I took another sip of wine. “Why wouldn’t it be? I thought everything was going well.”
“It is,” she said. “But we used to talk about the future more than we have been lately. It was more of an abstract thing, though...maybe the literal thing, the actually getting married, is too scary.”
“I don’t think you need to worry, Win,” I said, being careful not to give anything away. “Everyone can see the way he looks at you.”
“How does he look at me?”
“Like that,” I said, pointing to the photo of our dad and Frannie. “Exactly like that.”
Winnie’s face lit up, and I felt the slightest twinge of envy. Would anyone ever look at me that way? I took another swallow of my wine.
“So everything went well last night?” Winnie asked, closing the book and hugging it to her chest.
“Yes,” I said, dropping my eyes into my wine glass.
“Was Zach there?”
“Um, yeah. He was there.” Another hurried sip.
Winnie cocked her head. “And?”
