"Good thinking," Eddie said. His eyes lingered on the tantalizing
array before him, and he reached out to finger the nearest number and see for himself just how translucent the fabric was when paired with human skin. He hadn't even thought about the wedding night.
"If your fiancé doesn't show…" One of the salon girls surprised him by appearing to volunteer her services. Eddie turned to her and arched an eyebrow; two other female employees half-hidden behind an open fitting room door giggled and receded as if they were working. He wondered if he had inadvertently become the subject of a dare.
Evidently his consultant wondered also. "You. Take these to the other room." Zelma unloaded what must have been five different wedding dresses into the girl's arms. "And shoo." She spoke with a tart accent he didn't recognize, but he thought she might be German. Then again, maybe it was only the tone of reprimand that made him think so.
The fitting room was unrecognizable by the time he returned to it. There were dresses piled everywhere, hanging off of doors and partitions, and it appeared that extra mannequins had been hauled in from the back and draped in wedding finery. It looked like a snowstorm had blown through and deposited an avalanche. Eddie rubbed the back of his neck and contemplated voicing concern; Zelma noticed, and simply shook her head.
"I assure you, Mr. Jameson, it is a normal amount. Can I get you a Perrier?"
"Sure," Eddie said. He thought Zelma was probably also looking for an excuse to chastise her employees, but waved her off to let her know he would survive a minute without her. He felt momentarily relieved to be left alone...before realizing that he wasn't supposed to be doing this alone. He couldn't do any of the actual trying-on—although that would certainly expedite the process at this point.
"Come on, Margot." Eddie checked his watch again. Margot was late, and he was getting antsy. He hadn't planned for the possibility that she might be a no-show, but now the dread was creeping up on him. Margot was usually so on top of things, but lately she seemed off her game. Eddie liked to think he understood completely—and that the new role he inhabited in her life enabled him to pick up the slack—but what if Margot's distraction came from a place he hadn't anticipated? What if she was already getting cold feet?
If Margot backed out of the engagement, then he would be the one responsible for losing the Daley account. Eddie had done some snooping—which mainly involved calling up Trinity and asking for info he hadn't kept up with during his prodigal years abroad—and had confirmed his suspicion that Daley Flights was currently the agency's biggest client. They had maintained the number one spot for almost all his years of existence. Sam of all people had tried to downplay it the other night, as if Eddie could genuinely afford to lose them Jonathan Daley's business.
Panic was setting in. He could feel it crawling up his throat; he was afraid that if he opened his mouth, he'd accidentally shout in primal dismay, or worse, call the whole thing off. Eddie swallowed the sensation back down quickly, and smoothed a thumb across one eyebrow. He was perfectly in control.
"Eddie?"
It was her voice. His bride-to-be. Suddenly, Eddie didn't need to establish appearances or coping mechanisms; a feeling of instant relief washed over him, and he turned with his arms already spread to greet Margot.
"Your kingdom, my queen."
Margot snorted. She was wearing a short red sleeveless dress, and there was a black belt cinched around her waist. Her beautiful long legs extended downward to a pair of matching heels. She balanced a small purse on her shoulder, and the hand clenched over the strap wore his ring. His heart jolted at the sight. He still wasn't used to seeing it there, nestled between her pinky and middle finger.
"Hey, relax. I already did most of the hard part for you." Eddie stepped to her and pulled her hand free, sealing it between both of his. "White-knuckle that purse any more and you'll turn that diamond ring into a lump of coal."
Margot compressed her lips and gave a little laugh through her nose. "I knew you flunked geology, Eddie. I just didn't realize you flunked it that badly."
He watched her take in the array of dresses. He waited, half-expectant, for the inkling of a smile.
When it never came, he realized suddenly that this may have been a bad idea.
"Sorry. I didn't mean to inundate you with e-mails all week," he said as he led her deeper into the dressing room. "I knew blasting your inbox with wedding plans was probably a risky maneuver, but…"
I wanted you to feel like I was taking charge. Not exactly something he could openly admit to a girl like Margot. She was fiercely independent, what he had once heard his father call a 'ball-buster', and that had been when they were six. He had to mold himself into the right man for her without too obviously letting onto the fact.
Easier said than done.
"No. I...really appreciate your maneuver, Eddie. All of your maneuvers." Margot waved to the dresses scattered around the room. Zelma chose that moment to return, and momentarily spared Eddie from trying to unpack the meaning behind Margot's words.
"Beautiful bride," Zelma said approvingly. She passed them both a bottle of mineral water and gestured toward the dresses. "Shall we get started?"
"Might as well make a dent," Eddie agreed as he sat down. He was suddenly too nervous to twist the top off his water, much less take a drink. "Margot?"
"I'm on it." She grinned and gave him a game thumbs-up. The feeling of ease that just having her around returned to him, and Eddie laughed. Zelma didn't appear to appreciate them making light of her mountainous piles of dresses, but the consultant only thinned her lips and nodded. She selected one off the top and accompanied Margot behind the fitting room screen.
An hour later, and their spirits were starting to dwindle. Eddie kept an encouraging smile plastered to his face as Margot reappeared in—was this dress five? Ten?—a monstrous white ensemble, looking for all the world like a deflated balloon. As the consultant bent to study something around the hem of the sequined skirt, Margot's wild eyes sought and found his. She mouthed something that looked like a plea for help; she clamped her teeth shut once more as Zelma rose. Her smile for the consultant looked excruciatingly painful.
"These muumuu-style dresses are very beautiful," Zelma said as Margot made a first, second, and third pass before the mirrors. "So girlish. So modest."
So not Margot, Eddie felt like volunteering. He watched her turn repeatedly; to the outside observer, it looked like she was desperately hunting for an angle she found flattering. He would never admit it out loud with their consultant in the room, but the dresses so far all looked awful hanging off Margot's slender frame. She might as well be trying on an assortment of high-end trash bags.
"It's…" Margot fished for a word and came up short.
Eddie turned to their consultant. "Zelma? Can we have a minute?"