CHAPTER 27: Something Borrowed, Something Blue

The bridal boutique was called "Étoile" and it was the kind of place where you needed an appointment just to look in the window.

Victoria had arranged a private session. No other customers. Champagne—which I couldn't drink—and petit fours arranged on silver trays.

"This is insane," I whispered as a consultant in a black dress escorted us to a private showroom.

"This is standard," Victoria said. "Wait until you see the dresses."

Catherine touched my arm gently. "Are you nervous?"

"Terrified. I've never worn anything that cost more than $200."

"Well, prepare yourself. These start at $15,000."

I stopped walking. "Fifteen THOUSAND dollars? For one dress I'll wear once?"

"Welcome to my world," Victoria said cheerfully. "Don't worry, Dad's paying."

"That's not the point—"

"Bella." Catherine's voice was firm but kind. "You're marrying Alexander Sterling. People will photograph this dress. Analyze it. Copy it. It needs to be perfect."

"No pressure," I muttered.

The showroom was stunning. Soft lighting. Plush couches. Mirrors everywhere. And racks upon racks of white dresses that looked like they belonged in fairy tales.

"Let's start with silhouettes," the consultant said. "Are you thinking ball gown? Mermaid? A-line?"

"I'm thinking something that hides the baby bump but doesn't make me look like I'm wearing a tent."

Victoria laughed. "Honest. I like it. Let's try A-line. Classic, flattering, works with pregnancy."

For the next hour, I tried on dress after dress.

The first was too princessy. The second too tight. The third made me look like a cupcake.

"No," Victoria said to each one.

"Absolutely not," Catherine agreed.

They were bonding over their shared hatred of my dress choices. Somehow, that was actually sweet.

"What about this one?" The consultant held up a silk gown with delicate lace sleeves and a flowing skirt.

I tried it on. Stared at myself in the mirror.

It was... beautiful. Elegant without being fussy. The empire waist disguised my small bump while the fabric draped perfectly.

"Oh," Catherine said softly.

"Yeah," Victoria agreed. "That's the one."

I turned, examining myself. "You think?"

"You look like a bride," Victoria said. "Not a costume. Not trying too hard. Just... a bride."

Catherine's eyes were wet. "You look beautiful, Bella."

I felt tears threatening. Damn hormones.

"I look pregnant."

"You look radiant," Catherine corrected. "Pregnancy agrees with you."

The consultant appeared with a veil. Simple, cathedral-length, with a delicate edge of lace.

When she placed it on my head, I started crying.

"I can't believe this is real," I whispered. "Three months ago I was teaching Shakespeare to bored teenagers. Now I'm trying on $20,000 wedding dresses."

"Twenty-five, actually," the consultant said helpfully.

I laughed through tears. "Of course it is."

Victoria handed me tissues. "You're getting married, Bella. To my father. Who loves you. This is real."

"But what if—"

"No what-ifs," Catherine interrupted gently. "I spent my whole marriage worried about what-ifs. It stole my joy. Don't make my mistake."

I looked at her in the mirror. "You really approve of this? Of me?"

"I do." She stood, adjusting my veil. "You make my son happy. I haven't seen him smile like he does with you in... decades. That's worth more than any society approval."

"Even though I'm half his age and pregnant with his baby after dating his son?"

"Especially because of that." Catherine smiled. "Nothing worth having is ever simple, Bella. The best love stories are messy."

Victoria appeared with her phone. "I'm texting Dad a photo."

"Don't you dare! He can't see the dress before the wedding!"

"Please. That's a superstition." But she lowered the phone. "Fine. I'll just tell him you found it."

Her phone immediately buzzed.

"He wants to know if you're happy."

I looked at myself in the mirror. At the dress. At these two women who'd gone from strangers to... family.

"Tell him I'm very happy."

---

We were leaving the boutique—dress ordered, alterations scheduled—when Victoria grabbed my arm.

"Don't look. Keep walking."

"What?"

"Paparazzi. Across the street."

I looked anyway. Three photographers with cameras aimed at us.

"How did they find us?" I asked.

"They're always watching," Catherine said calmly. "Just smile and keep moving."

The photographers shouted questions.

"Bella! How much did the dress cost?"

"Mrs. Sterling! Have you forgiven Bella for stealing your grandson's girlfriend?"

"Victoria! Is your father making a mistake?"

I kept my head high, but inside I was shaking.

Catherine looped her arm through mine. "Ignore them."

Victoria took my other arm. "They're parasites. Not worth your energy."

We climbed into the waiting car—a Sterling company vehicle with tinted windows.

Once inside, I exhaled shakily.

"I hate this. The constant watching. The questions. The judgment."

"It gets easier," Victoria said. "You learn to tune them out."

"Does it ever stop?"

"No," Catherine said honestly. "But you learn to build walls. Protect what matters. Let the rest roll off."

"I don't know if I can do that."

Victoria squeezed my hand. "You're already doing it. You handled the GMA interview. You're here dress shopping despite knowing you're being photographed. You're stronger than you think."

My phone buzzed. Alexander.

"Victoria says you found a dress. Can't wait to see you in it. How are you feeling?"

I smiled and typed back: "Overwhelmed. Happy. Scared. All of it."

His response was immediate: "That's called being alive. I'm proud of you."

God, I loved this man.

"He's good for you," Catherine said, watching me smile at my phone.

"He is."

"Better than James ever was."

I looked at her, surprised by the directness.

"I know my grandson, Bella. He's charming. Handsome. But he's also selfish. He would have made you miserable."

"He already did."

"And yet you forgave him. On national television. You didn't have to do that."

"He's still your family. And he's hurting."

Catherine studied me. "You have a kind heart. Alexander doesn't deserve you."

"Nobody deserves anybody," I said. "We just choose each other every day. That's what makes it work."

"Wise words for someone so young."

"My mother used to say that. About love being a choice, not just a feeling."

"Your mother sounds like a smart woman."

"She was." Past tense. It still hurt. "She died when I was twenty. Cancer."

Catherine's face softened. "I'm sorry. That must have been very difficult."

"It was. Still is sometimes." I touched my stomach. "I wish she could meet this baby. She would have loved being a grandmother."

"She's still with you," Catherine said. "In here." She touched my heart. "And she'd be proud of the woman you've become."

I wasn't expecting that. Tears spilled over.

"Sorry. Hormones."

"Don't apologize for having feelings." Catherine handed me a tissue. "That's something else I did wrong with James. I taught him emotions were weakness. That's partly why he is the way he is."

"You can't blame yourself for all of it."

"Can't I?" She sighed. "But you're right. He made his choices. I made mine. All we can do now is move forward."

Victoria's phone rang. She glanced at it and frowned. "It's Marcus."

She answered on speaker. "What's wrong?"

"James." Marcus sounded tense. "He's posted something. On I*******m. It's... you should see it."

Victoria pulled up I*******m on her phone.

There was James, in what looked like a bar, surrounded by empty glasses. The caption made my blood run cold.

"To the family that chose a stranger over their own blood. Congratulations on your upcoming wedding, Dad and Bella. Hope it's everything you deserve."

The comments were vicious.

@JamesSupporter: Stay strong! They betrayed you!

@NYC_Gossip: This is so sad. Poor James.

@MediaWatcher: That caption sounds like a threat.

"Hope it's everything you deserve," I repeated. "That's not a congratulations."

"That's a warning," Victoria said grimly.

Catherine's face had gone pale. "He's drunk. Look at his eyes."

She was right. James looked disheveled. Angry. Dangerous.

"We need to tell Alexander," I said.

Victoria was already dialing. "Already on it."

As the car pulled up to the penthouse, I couldn't shake the feeling.

This wasn't over.

James wasn't done.

And our wedding—whenever it happened—was going to be ground zero for whatever he was planning next.