Iris~~

Though I tried the wedding dress on three months ago, the bridal shop employee won't let me stand in a mirror as she helps me into it. She insists that seeing myself in it be a surprise. This is my final fitting before the wedding, which is only a week away.

            I follow her out of the dressing room and into the front of the busy New York City bridal store where Gwen waits on a couch for me, a glass of champagne in hand.

            She and I arrived in the city last night.

            My future sister-in-law sips on the champagne as the woman helps me onto a small platform, finally allowing me to turn around and face the mirrors.

            The dress is beautiful, the fabric a creamy white. It's simple without any embroidery or lace. The front is modest with a boatneck whereas the back is open in a wide V. I pick at the sleeves, catching Gwen's gaze in the mirror.

            She sets her glass down on a silver tray that's rests on a fuchsia footrest and waves the woman away. "You hate it," she says once the woman is out of hearing range.

            "No, it's not that."

            Walking over, she takes hold of the end of the dress and pulls on it so the fabric is not all bunched under me.

            Before we came to the store, Gwen insisted I have my hair and makeup done. She said that if I didn't, I was going to hate the dress no matter what, which I'm fairly certain was an insult whether she meant it to be or not.

            Even with my hair curled and styled, and face limned in highlighter and eyes lined and shadowed, the dress isn't what—

            "It's the sleeves, isn't it?"

            I let my offending hand fall to the side, away from where it wants to pick at the bandage through my sleeve.

            "I know I have to cover my Mark up." I won't wear the bandage on my wedding day. The sleeve will be enough. I'm marrying the leader of the country; the pictures won't only be going into a photo album. Everyone in Elleany will see them, as will the world. I may not have to hide my Expired Mark from the Society, but Elleany and the world can't know that I lived past my Expiration Date.

            "If you could wear any dress in this store, which one would it be?"

            I let myself give into the fantasy and allow my gaze to wander the store. Gathering up the skirt of my dress in my hands so as not to trip, I step off the platform, the plum-colored heels precarious and yet comfortable at the same time.

            The store is filled with one of a kind wedding dresses any person would be blessed to have the chance to wear for even a minute. There is no reason I shouldn't be content with this dress. Why should it bother me that I have to cover up my Mark? I've spent plenty of time hiding it under a bandage. Isn't what matters that I get the chance to keep living?

            Still, I find myself stopping in front of a mannequin toward the back corner of the shopfloor. The dress is made of regency organza, ivory silver lace, and tulle, the gown a Moscato color and decorated in floral lace and beading.

The dress is sleeveless.

            I place a gentle hand on the fabric, soft against the firmness of the beading.

            This is the dress I wish I could wear.

            "It certainly is beautiful." Gwen's managed to creep up behind me without my knowing. A rare feat.

            I nod, focused on the intricacies of the gown. 

            Gwen motions for the woman, who was helping us, to come over. "She'd like to try this one."

            The woman bows to the Tresais and calls for help from two fellow employees to remove the dress from the mannequin.

            I pull Gwen aside. "There's no point."

            "Nonsense. You should at least get to try on the dress you want to wear even if you can't wear it in the end."

            The woman leads me to the changing rooms and helps me out of the dress I will wear on my wedding day. She hasn't commented on the bandage wrapped around my Mark. It's not an uncommon accessory in Elleany, but it's not something I want to wear with my wedding dress, sleeveless or not. I've never liked covering up my Mark, even if it's brought me sorrow. If people couldn't accept me for my early Expiration Date, then they wouldn't have been true friends. I needed people who would stand by me in my final moments. I still do.

            Once more, I'm led to the front of the store where Gwen lets a rare soft smile appear on her face.

            "What?"

            She only sips on her glass of champagne.

            I face the mirrors and my heart starts to race.

            If I wasn't Expired, this would have been the one. Growing up destined to die at nineteen didn't give me any delusions. I knew I wouldn't be getting married, so I didn't waste too much time picturing myself as a bride.

            The bandage wrapped around my Mark is familiar to me in this moment like an acquaintance who thinks you're friends; however, the bride of the Preeminence covering her Mark will never be a good look. It's not that it would cause people to think I am Expired, but rather that I didn't support Expiration Dates.

            Sacrilege for any Society member.

Trying on this dress was the Tresais's idea. If trouble arises, we'll say the third in command of Elleany signed off on it.

            My life would have been easier without it. But there's something to be said for knowing you can't die on all the days leading up to your Expiration Date.

            I don't support Expiration Dates, but it's a view I can share with few outside the Order. Not everyone in the Society has or will support them, but we can't make that known. Not with Amoria watching.

            I run my hand over my side, enchanted by how the light plays off of the dress.

            It fits almost perfectly. It would only need a few adjustments.

            It's better not to let my thoughts wander in that direction. This dress can't be mine. A small sacrifice in the grand scheme of getting to live past my Expiration Date.

*****

            After Gwen makes arrangements for the original wedding dress to be shipped to the Society, she has our driver take us to a bar she's visited before. It's on the top floor of a skyscraper near the Chrysler Building.

            Exclusive, she was sure to add when she mentioned it.

            Upon arriving, I quickly decide lounge is a better fitting label than bar, which conjures images of cramped spaces and sticky tables.

            The bar is spacious with rounded tables and seats spread throughout the room. It's early in the afternoon so there aren't many others here. Of those that are, most are dressed in professional attire, here on work business most likely.

            Gwen finds a table near the center of the room, and before we have must time to settle in, a man comes to ask for drink orders, bowing to Gwen and then to me.

            The drinks come back faster than they should, and I'm certain it has to do with Gwen being Tresais. We clink our glasses filled with mango margarita together, and Gwen settles back in the seat, looking out the window that is the back wall at the cityscape of New York.

            Welcome to my bachelorette party, I think.

Gwen knew this is what I wanted. She had asked if I wanted to invite Vienna on this trip, but I said no. She can't marry Colton because I'm marrying Jonas. The guilt of that gnaws at me every day. As much as I like Vienna, neither of us would have been happy while together on this specific trip. For this same reason, Gwen is my only bridesmaid. Though when Colton asked to walk me down the aisle, I couldn't say no. There was no one else I would have wanted to walk with, but how could he ask when both Jonas and I feel as if we're robbing him of happiness?

            Gwen nudges me with the toe of her high heel. "Have you been sad all day because you're marrying my brother or because you're not with my brother?"

            "It's not that I'm sad. I'm just reflective."

            "Don't let Colton sour the mood. His heir gets to be Preeminence. He's getting the better end of the deal."

            I narrow my eyes.
            "Not that you're not fantastic," she deadpans. "But marriage is temporary. Your decedents are, in a sense, forever."

            "You would choose having a legacy over love?"

            She laughs, motioning the waiter over from the bar. "You make it sound like Amoris are impossible to love," she says before he walks up and can hear us.

            After ordering a cosmopolitan—the menu promises is pink and sparkles—she leans back in the seat again, her legs crossed and blouse and flowy cotton pants wrinkle free. Her wrist has healed since it was injured in France months ago, but Jonas has said he's noticed that it sometimes still gives her trouble.

            "Is there an Amoris we should be keeping our eye on?" I ask, thinking of Alastair.

"As of now, there's no one, though I know I need to hurry up and make a decision."

            I decide to bite the bullet. "What of Alastair?" Being locked beneath Paris in the catacombs, I didn't have the same amount of time that the others did to view the two together, but even in my short time with the heir and Tresais, I thought I could see a spark there; Gwen, though, has been adamant there is nothing between them. I would have thought the heir to all Amoria would be someone who could pique her interest. "He's going to be here in a few days." I've lost count of how many times she's been reminded of this fact.

            The waiter returns to hand her the cosmopolitan before moving onto other patrons.

            "It will be nice to see him again."

            "That's all?"

            Her fingers tighten around the stem of her glass. "Why are we talking about me? This is your party."

            "Do you really want me to sit here and gush about how much I love your brother?"

            She frowns. "Fair point. I could pay someone here to listen to you."

            "Please, don't do that." I sigh.

            "Do you keep up with Amoria's news?"

            "Unless one of you tells me about it, no."

            She stares down at her pink and sparkly drink. "You've heard how Alastair is always in their tabloids?"

            "Yes."

            "He's appeared a few times over these past three months. Pictures of him on dates, kissing women. I think it will be a long time before he settles down."

            I finish off the remains of my margarita. "From what I saw, he looked ready to follow you till your Expiration Dates."

            "He's the future head Preeminence, Iris, and I'm a Tresais on a different planet. There is only work between us. Yes, the match would be advantageous, but there are plenty of Amoris who won't put me in line for a scandal."

            Before she's even finished with her drink, she calls for another.

What do you think is up with Alastair and the tabloids?

Here is how I picture the second dress Iris tried on: