What would Dauphine do? Would she scream and knock away the tinctures or pin me down as he administered them?
What was going on behind those green eyes of hers?
I could feel her fuss with the gown, fingers skimming over the netting of my sleeves, before fluffing out the skirt.
“Now,” Dauphine said, pleasure evident in her voice.
I opened my eyes and felt my lips part—saw them do so in the reflection in front of me—but no sound issued forth.
“I’ve never seen a lovelier bride-to-be,” Dauphine murmured, squeezing my upper shoulders. “You were absolutely right about this gown. I’m glad I listened to you.”
The dress had been the only part of the wedding that I’d staunchly refused to budge on. When gown designer Madame Fujiwara learned I was an artist myself, she’d delightedly told me they could produce lace in any pattern I’d dare to dream up. I’d immediately set to work, drawing out a sketch in the salon that day, determined to have one small part of the ceremony that was Alex’s and mine alone. She’d added in her suggestions and together we’d created something meaningful and symbolic.
The bodice was sheer lace and had a high neck and elbow-length sleeves, with three vertical lines of alyssum flowers slashing down the front and filled in with diagonal lines of tiny waves, washing away from my center. The back repeated the pattern and had a long row of tiny buttons trailing down my spine. The geometric lines of the top were cinched with a matching belt before falling into a long, flowing skirt of pleated chiffon.
Dauphine had said it customary for Bloem brides to choose a vibrant hue for their gowns, then use that shade as their signature color for everything from stationery to bedsheets.
But Salann brides wore white and the silk threads I’d chosen reminded me of the salty kisses left on our black sand beaches by adoring waves. It sparkled with a radiant luster and made my skin glow.
It wasn’t the big, show-stopping creation Dauphine had wanted, massive pilings of tulle and organza. There was no elaborate beading or patterned paillettes. Its beauty lay in clean, simple lines, well-executed and precise.
I loved it.
The design was perfect, a glorious merger of both Alex and myself. Behind me, the mirror showed ropes of greenery hanging from potted baskets around the shop and dozens of tiny tea lights that glowed in happy clusters, releasing a soft perfume of basil and mandarin. I could almost believe that today was my wedding day. That I was about to walk down the aisle and pledge myself to Alexander.
I held on to that feeling as long as I could, remembering the happier times before Viktor and Julien had crashed into my life, shattering my vision of what the future held.
“My darling…are those tears?” Dauphine asked, stepping forward to get a better look at me. “Do you not like it?”
“I love it,” I whispered. “It’s…perfect.”
“Then they’re tears of joy?”
I nodded, lying.
I was crying for all the things I’d thought I’d understood but didn’t. Crying for all I’d hoped for that wouldn’t be. A cold, cruel light had been cast upon Chauntilalie’s beautiful fa?ade.
It was not a happy, perfect family I would wed into.
It was family with pasts even darker than my own.
There was horror within those gilded walls.
I watched Dauphine’s movements through the mirror, wanting to believe she was as much a victim as we were, wanting to believe we’d have another ally to bring Gerard’s crimes into the light.
Kosamaras had told me to run.
Julien and Viktor had said to stay and seek.
What did I want?
I stared at my reflection, seeing all of the details and meaning and care I’d sketched into a dress I wasn’t sure I’d ever get to wear again.
My fingers skimmed over the gauzy silk layers.
I did want to wear it again.
Even knowing all I did. Even knowing what was said to come.
I wanted to marry Alex.
Viktor’s fervent kisses couldn’t change that.
Nor Kosamaras’s warnings or Gerard’s mad plotting.
I let out a short puff of breath, centering myself.
I would stay.
I would seek.
I would fight.
Fight for the truth. Fight to drag every secret and scheme out of hiding, letting the chips fall where they might.
I wanted to fight for the boy who was innocent in all of this.
The one who held my heart with tender, earnest hands.
The one I’d fallen in love with.
“I think we’re ready,” Dauphine said, calling Madame Fujiwara over to begin her final inspection.
I squared my shoulders and set my chin high, resolution steeling my frame.
Yes, I certainly was.
* * *
“I think I spotted a patisserie on the corner,” I mentioned casually as we stepped out of the atelier. All of the brothers had agreed my confrontation needed to happen away from Chauntilalie. “Would you like to stop for a little treat before heading home?”
Dauphine’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Verity—that was a final fitting. Even the great Madame Fujiwara won’t be able to take that dress out if you gain an ounce before the wedding day.”
“Just tea,” I promised with a winning smile. “I was hoping I could speak with you about something…outside the house.”
She checked the clock tower looming over the square. “Not today, I think. Our to-do list is nearly as long as the Menagerie itself.”
I grabbed her hand before she could indicate to the carriage driver that we were ready to depart. “I was thinking of…a gift…for Alex. A wedding gift. I just…I don’t want to chance him overhearing anything.”
Dauphine grinned wickedly. “My dear, you are meant to be his gift.” She twisted her lips thoughtfully. “Which reminds me, we ought to look through your trousseau next. You’ll want to have new nightgowns…chemises…silk stockings…”
“A physical gift,” I clarified, feeling my ears burn.
“Alex won’t be expecting it.”
“All the more reason for it, yes? A happy surprise.”
She studied me, her resolve wavering.
“Actually,” I began, wracking my mind to think of anything to tip the odds in my favor. “I wanted to speak with you about…about certain things…for the wedding night,” I stammered. “As you know…I didn’t grow up with a mother, and my sisters are all so far away…”
She let out a soft sigh of understanding. “Ah, yes. Of course. Of course we can talk. But not there…That sort of conversation requires privacy and the baker’s wife is such a gossip. Half the town will know your secrets before you’ve finished your first macaron.” She glanced down the street, brightening. “There’s a tavern around the corner that Gerard likes to visit. They’ve a little area set aside, just for him, can you imagine?”
“Being the duke comes with many privileges,” I murmured, hoping I captured the right amount of awe.
“And so does the duchess,” she said with a grin, tugging me down the promenade.
The duke’s private room was surprisingly rustic, and yet perfectly suited for Gerard’s tastes, making me wonder how often he visited, whiling away his hours while we all assumed him in the greenhouse.