Heather's POV

The boutique is pristine, all sleek ivory walls and gold-accented mirrors, the kind of place meant to make you feel like a princess. But instead of feeling swept up in the magic of it all, I just feel tired.

It's been a long day already, and we're barely halfway through.

Melanie is perched on a velvet chair near the fitting rooms, scrolling through her phone between barely interested critiques. She's passive for the most part, only looking up when necessary, but when she does care-God, it's frustrating.

"I don't know," she muses, tapping her chin. "The neckline is fine, but the fabric is giving... curtain."

I exhale sharply, biting back a groan. "You don't like any of them?"

She shrugs. "Not really. You're getting married. Shouldn't you wear something that demands attention?"

I glance at Robin, who's been uncharacteristically quiet the whole time, flipping lazily through a bridal catalog. She meets my gaze and smirks, but it doesn't reach her eyes.

Melanie sighs and finally points at one of the gowns hanging by the mirror. "That one. Try that one."

Then, as if her duty is fulfilled, she flops back onto the chair, puts in her headphones, and tunes us out.

Of course.

I roll my eyes but grab the dress, stepping into the dressing room. It's heavier than I expect, smooth fabric sliding between my fingers. I struggle with the back for a moment before hearing a soft knock.

"Need help?"

It's Robin.

I hesitate before opening the door just enough for her to slip inside. The space is small, intimate. She stands behind me, her hands brushing against my back as she starts working on the buttons.

I watch her through the mirror, and for the first time since we walked in here, I feel something real.

Her fingers move carefully, slower than necessary, as if she's memorizing every inch of my skin. I swallow hard, my breath uneven. When she's done, she doesn't move away. She just stares.

"You look gorgeous."

Her voice is quiet, almost reverent.

But it's also sad.

And I understand.

I'm standing here in a wedding dress, choosing something to wear for another man, and yet I'm sleeping with Robin. I'm loving Robin.

And she's here, helping me into a dress that symbolizes something neither of us wants to acknowledge.

I turn around before I can think better of it. Before I can stop myself.

And I kiss her.

For a moment, nothing else exists. The boutique fades away, the dress fades away, and all that's left is us. I close my eyes and pretend-pretend this is our wedding day, that this moment is something real and tangible, not some twisted fantasy.

She kisses me back, her hands gripping my waist, holding me like she doesn't want to let go. And maybe she doesn't.

Maybe I don't.

When we finally pull apart, she breathes out a small laugh and reaches up, wiping my lipstick off her lips with her thumb.

"Melanie will choke."

I giggle, pressing my forehead to hers for a lingering second before stepping back.

"Let's go see what she thinks."

I already know the dress is perfect. But right now, I don't care about the dress.

I care about her.