Chapter 1: The Dress She Built With Her Own Hands
I spent four hundred hours embroidering my own wedding gown by hand.
Then I saw it on my little sister, twirling in a bridal salon mirror, with my fiancé standing behind her holding her champagne.
I'm Juliet.
I'm thirty-four.
For eleven months I had been building that gown with the most sought-after couturiere in Bellmare.
Silk crepe.
A low, clean back.
And four hundred hours of lily-of-the-valley stitched by my own hands, because they were my grandmother's favorite blooms.
My final fitting was next Thursday.
My wedding was June 7 at the Ashcombe Glasshouse.
**Two Months Earlier**
I learned to sew at my grandmother's feet.
Nana Rose did alterations out of her front room for forty years.
She let me thread her needles when I was four.
Lily of the valley was her favorite.
She said it was the bravest flower, tiny and white and up first through the frost.
So when I got engaged to Graham, I knew.
My gown would be her flower.
Every stem curving like wind.
Tiny seed pearls sewn in one by one.
**Sunday Night**
At six o'clock on a Sunday evening I was on my studio floor with reheated pasta.
My phone lit up.
An Instagram story from my sister, Sienna.
Fifteen seconds.
Sienna spinning slowly in front of the tall gilded mirror in my salon.
In my gown.
My lilies catching the chandelier light.
And behind her, leaning against the velvet sofa with champagne and smiling at her the way he used to smile at me, was Graham.
The caption said: Just playing dress-up.
In the video Graham raised his glass to her reflection.
"To the most beautiful bride in Bellmare."
Sienna laughed.
"Should we tell her?"
"Tell her what?" Graham said.
"Do you think she'll even notice?"
My hands went ice cold.
I watched it four times.
I didn't call her.
I didn't call him.
I grabbed my keys and drove across town to Harbor Row.
**The Salon**
Atelier Fontaine is all white marble and crystal chandeliers, cream velvet sofas, and fresh gardenias.
A little brass bell rang when I stepped in.
The manager, Margot, looked up from the counter.
She saw my face and went pale.
"Ms.
Hale," she said.
"I didn't know you were coming tonight."
"I'll wait," I said.
I stood by the counter with my hands folded.
Eight minutes later, I heard my sister laugh.
She came around the corner first, lifting my hem off the marble so it wouldn't drag.
Barefoot.
Glowing.
Graham walked right behind her, carrying her heels in one hand.
They both stopped.
"Jules," Sienna said quickly.
"It was just hanging there.
I only wanted to see."
"It looks gorgeous on you," I said.
She lifted one shoulder.
"Come on.
It's fabric."
Graham set her shoes down on the sofa.
"Jules, let's not do this here."
"Do what?" I asked.
Nobody answered.
Sienna looked at me in the mirror and her smile shifted.
Smaller.
Harder.
"Honestly?
It was never really about the dress," she said softly.
"Some things just suit some people better."
I knew she wasn't talking about silk.
"You didn't try on a gown, Sienna," I said.
"You tried on my life."
I turned to leave.
Margot cleared her throat behind the counter.
"Ms.
Hale," she said.
"Before you go.
I think you need to see this."
She slid a single sheet across the marble.
An alteration order.
For my gown.
Take in the bodice one inch.
Raise the hem two.
Sienna's measurements.
At the top, under Bride, it didn't say Juliet Hale.
It said Sienna Hale.
Wedding date: June 7.
My date.
Venue: Ashcombe Glasshouse.
My venue.
And at the bottom, under Balance paid in full, was a sloping signature I had seen on every birthday card of my life.
I looked up very steadily.
And the silk curtain at the back moved.
My mother walked out of the fitting room, carrying my veil.
The paper in my hand proved this was no accident, and the look on my mother's face told me she had known all along.
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What does Juliet do next — and what has her mother been hiding?
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