Chapter 9: The Boutique

Tobias had a veil.

He brought it to the car on Thursday afternoon in a garment bag, from the bridal suite at the lodge.

"A guest left it behind in June," he said. "She never called for it."

"Thank you."

"I would like to come in with you."

"No."

"Darcy."

"Terms, Tobias. I decide every move. You wait outside until I want you."

He looked at me for a long moment.

Then he nodded and sat back in the driver's seat.

"I'll be at the curb."

The boutique was called Farrell & Lace.

It stood on the corner of Delancey and Fourth, with a pale pink awning and a gold script sign Marley had paid a designer to draw.

Through the window I could see a late appointment in progress.

A young woman in a long ivory gown stood on the fitting platform.

Her mother sat on the sofa with a hand pressed to her chest, and two bridesmaids sat beside her with glasses of prosecco.

Marley was kneeling at the hem, pinning, in her black dress and her warm voice.

I knew every note of that voice.

I opened the door.

The bell rang.

"Oh, I'm sorry, we're closed," Marley called, without looking up. "Come back tomorrow, sweetie."

"It's me," I said.

She looked up.

The pins slid out of her fingers onto the carpet.

For one second, she had no face on at all.

Then the smile arrived, bright and warm, in a hurry.

"Darcy! Oh my God. Hi. Ladies, this is my oldest friend." She stood and smoothed her dress. "This isn't a good time, babe."

"I know. I'll be quick."

The bride's mother had stopped drinking.

She stared at me with the particular look of a woman who has seen something on her phone.

"You're her," she said. "You're the girl from the video."

"Mom," said the bride.

"I'm Darcy," I said.

I put the garment bag over the back of the sofa and unzipped it.

I lifted out the veil.

It was long, white, and simple, with a pearl comb.

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