Keats seems surprised to see us so close to the door, his eyes darting from the goddess Sofie, then me, then Isabella whose restrictive dress means she’s trailing behind the rest of us.
“You’re alive,” Sofie says flatly as she walks past him on her way out to the open hallway of the hotel.
“Um, yeah. I’ve been busy, sorry,” he says, and I get the feeling she’s angry with him.
I almost expect Sofie to hit Keats with her bouquet—strangely, not the first time he would’ve been attacked with flowers in the short time I’ve spent with him. Her animosity is news to me. I thought he’d resumed seeing her after giving up on Isabella a week ago. What else has he been doing with his time? Certainly not calling me.
Keats’ eyes flick to me again before he looks at Isabella and continues, “I’m just here to pick up the guys’ lapel flowers, and my mom’s corsage.”
“Oh, yes. They’re just over here,” Isabella says, heading to the box of floral arrangements on the floor. “All of the groomsmen’s flowers are identical. They’re red. Byron’s is the only white one and your mum’s corsage is the one with three flowers on it.”
I walk towards her to help out as Keats steps into the narrow hallway of the room.
Isabella bends down to pick up the small tray of flowers for the groom’s party. And chh-kk. The split appears along the seam over her butt, treating Keats and me to a view of the bride’s toned cheeks and lacy blue thong. She straightens up immediately, hands feeling for the damage.
“Shit!” Isabella screams, totally panicked. “Crap, Jess! Why can I feel my bum? How big is the tear?” She instinctively looks over her shoulder, then rushes to the mirror on the closet door near the hallway.
The other bridesmaids rush in, hearing the commotion. I look at Keats, wondering if he’s checking out her butt, but he just seems shocked and concerned for the bride.
“Oh my gosh,” Isabella says, voice quivering, eyes tearing up. “I can’t walk down the aisle with my bum hanging out.”
“Maybe your veil will cover it?” I say lamely, reaching out to rearrange the delicate organza but it only reaches her waist.
“Oh, babe, that looks bad,” Penny says, unhelpfully.
“I’ll buy you a new dress,” Sofie offers. With her money and charm, I have no doubt she can convince a bridal boutique to sell her one of their displays.
“What about Miz Peggy?” Mia suggests. “They fixed Fiona’s dress to fit Sofie.”
“Yes!” Penny says, taking out her iPhone to look up my website.
“We have forty-five minutes before the cars are supposed to take us to the cathedral.” Isabella frantically fans her face so her make-up wouldn’t be ruined by tears.
“Yeah, maybe they can’t do it,” Penny says, sounding deflated.
“I think they can,” I pipe up. I can go to the toilet and call in a favour in private.
“Miz Peggy doesn’t check her emails all day,” Penny tells me as the Miz Peggy website expert. “Sometimes I have to wait till the next day to hear from her.” She slaps Isabella’s hand away to inspect the damage again, then cringes. “No one would come with an hour to go before the wedding.”
“But it’s an emergency. I’m sure Miz Peggy would make an exception.” I take my phone out. I need to get away to make this call. Keats is still in the hallway caught up in the panic gripping everyone. Despite my annoyance with him, his opinion of me still frustratingly matters to me. And I don’t want to add to the crosses already against my name.
“Maybe we should buy a new dress,” Mia suggests, at the same time Isabella says, “Oh God, oh God, oh God.”
“Miz Peggy can do it,” I insist again. I need everyone to stop panicking, so I can make the call.
“But how do you know?” Penny demands, looking at me like I’m wasting time. She returns her attention to Isabella. “Let’s just fin—”
“Because it’s my bloody website!” I scream at the back of Penny’s head. Everyone falls silent and turns to look at me, including Isabella who’s been snapped out of her meltdown by the news. She’s now wide-eyed with her mouth open. On the periphery, I sense Keats also gazing my way.
“I’ll tell Byron you’re slightly delayed,” he says, turning on his heel and quickly leaving.
“Oh, gosh, Jess. Really?” Isabella says, eyes wide and judging me like she can’t believe I’ve stooped this low.
I ignore her and search through my contacts list for the seamstress I use. The shop’s right in the middle of the city and I am making her a very rich woman with all my referrals. She owes me.
“Hi, Kiran. I have an emergency. I need you at the Treasury Hotel right now.” I fill her in on the situation while the others eavesdrop on the conversation.
“Do you think I can get a discount now that we know?” I hear Penny whisper to Isabella before I end the phone call.
Chapter 32
The giant pipe organs in the cathedral play Mendelssohn’s “Wedding March”. One of Fiona’s boys is at the very front, carrying the ring boxes on a satin pillow. Cate, Mia’s newly nine-year-old, is behind him, ready with her flower girl bouquet since you’re not allowed to throw petals on the cathedral floor. The bridesmaids are next, lined up in order of importance—the closer to the bride, the higher the seniority.
Sofie is the furthest from Isabella, looking statuesque in her bridesmaid’s gown. Behind her stands Mia, who has Penny at her back. After Penny, is me and behind me is Isabella in her literally sewn-on elegant gown. I’ve already fanned out the train behind her before I took my place in the maid of honour spot. The seamstress has very sneakily added a small wedge of fabric matching the gown’s material to bridge
