The words slid over me but didn’t stick. Some stand-in Elodie had wrangled at the last second, probably. Maybe Cal or Hayes, conscripted against their will. The thought made me chuckle.
I shook my head. “No groom on this one. We’ll start with solo bridal shots. The dresses and the farm are the stars today.”
“Cool.” Mara gave me a look I couldn’t quite read—confusion, maybe, or curiosity—but she just nodded. “Works for me. I’ll get some establishing shots around the property and meet you by the inn when you’re ready?”
“Perfect. I’ll text you.” I checked my watch, then the light spilling in through the barn doors. We were on schedule. On paper, everything was exactly where it needed to be. “Text me first, if you need anything.”
She headed out into the snow, camera already lifted, her assistant trailing behind with a bag of lenses. People swirled around me—florist, caterer, Elodie’s staff, Cal hauling something heavy—but I felt weirdly separate from all of it, like I was directing a play from just offstage.
I took one more steadying breath, tucked the clipboard under my arm, and turned toward the cottage nestled next to the inn.
Time to make myself look like the kind of bride who didn’t have a heart that felt like a bruise.
I crossed the packed path between the barn and house, snow squeaking under my boots, cold biting at my bare fingers where they clutched my camera bag strap. From the outside, itprobably looked perfect—the barn, the wreaths, the lights, the woman in charge of making it all look like magic.
If I kept moving, maybe I could almost believe it.
I stoodin the renovated cottage, mostly put together, while winter light poured in through the big front window and turned everything soft around the edges. My hair fell in loose waves, one side pinned back with a comb of pearls and tiny crystal sprigs. My makeup was the kind I only ever gave other people—fierce and soft at the same time, liner sharp enough to cut and blush warm enough to make me look like I hadn’t spent the last week crying into Kit’s couch cushions.
The dress was a work of art. Winter-white lace sleeves hugged my arms, sheer and delicate, the pattern crawling over my skin like frost on glass. The bodice dipped low in the back, a clean, elegant swoop that met a skirt that spilled out from my hips like fog over snow—layers of tulle and satin floating around my legs when I shifted.
“Hold still,” Elodie murmured behind me.
I caught her eye in the mirror as she tugged the zipper up, fingers sure and gentle. The satin hugged my ribs and settled into place with a quiet, final little whisper.
For a heartbeat another dress hovered over this one. Stiff bodice. Too-tight lace. A chapel full of people holding their breath while I ran through two equally mortifying options: stay and be humiliated or run.
My stomach flipped, and I breathed through it.
I could barely remember that woman anymore.
I met my own gaze in the glass. There were nerves there, sure, but there was something else too—something steadier. I’dput a wedding dress on again. I’d stepped into it on purpose, knowing exactly what it meant and what it didn’t.
One day it would be real. One day I would marry someone who actually wanted to stand beside me. For a half second I saw it too clearly—Wes at the end of an aisle, grumpy and gorgeous, eyes soft just for me.
The ache that followed was so sharp I had to swallow around it.
“Hey.” Elodie’s reflection leaned in, fingers fussing with a curl near my temple. “If anyone pisses you off today, just remember you’re wearing enough skirt to hide a body.”
A startled laugh punched out of me. “Good to know.”
She smiled at me in the mirror, wise and kind. “You look beautiful, Clara. And not just in thegood for my marketingkind of way. You’re a vision.”
I blinked hard and turned the emotion into a smirk. “It’s just work,” I said. “We’re selling the dream, remember? No actual grooms were harmed in the making of this content.”
“If you say so.” Her tone suggested she didn’t entirely buy it, but she squeezed my shoulders anyway. “Cal’s waiting.”
A knock sounded on the door. “Ready, ladies?” Cal’s voice floated in, followed by his head. He gave a low whistle when he saw me. “Damn, Clara. You’re going to break the internet.”
“Please don’t let me fall on my face,” I said, gathering the skirt. “That’s all I ask.”
“Not on my watch.” He tipped an invisible cap and disappeared again.
Elodie helped to gather up the layers of skirt so I could shuffle forward without tripping. We made it outside in a rustle of fabric and nervous laughter. At the side door, the cold hit my bare back in a shocking rush, stealing my breath. Elodie grabbed a wool blanket, tugging it over my shoulders to fight the frigid temperatures.
The side-by-side idled just off the path, engine rumbling, a little plume of exhaust curling into the air. Cal sat in the driver’s seat, gloved hands on the wheel, his expression a mix of professional calm and boyish excitement.
“Your chariot awaits,” he called.