Page 62 of The Marriage Clause

By the time I get to Trinity's studio for the final fitting, I feel wrung out in the strangest way. Raw, like Brookhaven cracked a window I don’t know how to close yet.

Trinity takes one look at my face and clucks her tongue. "No crying before I lace you in, darling. I'm a genius, not a magician."

"I wasn't planning to cry."

"Mm-hmm. And brides never panic, grooms always show up on time, and men who look like Everett Kauffman are always emotionally available."

Everly nearly chokes on her champagne, sitting on the couch behind me, her reflection in full display.

I let out a startled laugh. "You've met him for all of five minutes."

Trinity gives me a look as her assistant helps me step into the gown. "Please. I've dressed enough society brides to identify a commitment-phobe at twenty paces. Lift your arms."

I do, and the dress slides up my body in a hush of silk and structure.

Then Trinity moves in herself, fastening, smoothing, tugging, adjusting with the kind of focus that makes it feel less like she's dressing me and more like she's building me into something flowing and whimsical, yet sophisticated. It's as if both Everett's and my world collided in a dress.

When I finally turn toward the mirror, the room goes quiet.

The gown is somehow even more beautiful than the last time I tried it on. The neckline is softened just enough. The waist fits perfectly. The skirt sways easily with my movement.

Like a bride.

Not a girl playing pretend in expensive white silk.

"It's perfection. Perfectly made for you. My best work yet," Trinity murmurs.

Everly goes suspiciously still on the silk couch, which is alarming all by itself. "Okay," she says finally. "My brother is going to have a heart attack when he sees you."

"Do you think it's too much?" I ask, nerves bubbling up at the idea of Everett seeing me walk down the aisle.

"Are you kidding? I can't wait to see him fall in love with you the moment the silk curtains are pulled back."

I laugh, but it comes out shaky.

Trinity circles me once, then again, and stops behind me so our eyes meet in the mirror. Her expression turns thoughtful, and now I'm immediately nervous.

"I've been doing this for a very long time, Aria." She folds her arms. "I've dressed hundreds of brides. Probably thousands by now. Society weddings, shotgun weddings, second weddings, strategic weddings, weddings where the bride loved the groom, weddings where the groom loved the groom, weddings where one party was clearly there for money and the other was too stupid to notice."

Everly raises her hand. "My favorite category."

Trinity continues like she wasn't interrupted. "And I have a ninety-five percent accuracy rate when it comes to knowing which couples will make it."

I blink at her reflection. "That can't possibly be true."

"It makes me sound mystical, doesn't it?" she says smugly.

"It makes you sound like you need a hobby," Everly teases.

"Hush. I am having a moment."

Everly grins. "Please continue, oracle."

Trinity steps closer and lightly adjusts the fabric at my waist. "The couples who don't make it are easy. They care more about the production than the person. The flowers matter more. The photographs matter more. The guest list matters more. Half the time they look more turned on by the room than they do by each other."

"And the ones who do make it?" I ask before I can stop myself.

Her mouth curves.