Chapter 4
I walked out of the bridal boutique. A light drizzle was falling.
My assistant, Tara, ran after me and draped a trench coat over my shoulders.
"Claire, back there, Mr. Christian..."
"As of today, halt all wedding arrangements related to Christian."
I pulled the car door open.
"Notify the lawyer. Send over the divorce papers."
Tara nearly dropped her iPad.
"Divorce?"
I got into the car. Through the rain-streaked window, I saw Christian follow me out to the entrance.
He didn't come any closer.
Because inside, Bianca had called his name, softly.
He turned around.
Just like he had a thousand times in the past three years.
I shut the car door.
"Yes. Divorce."
As the car pulled away, my phone lit up.
A message from Christian: [Stop this. Let's talk at home tonight.]
I looked at it for two seconds and typed back three words.
[I'm not coming home.]
Then I changed his contact name from "Christian" to "Pending Signature."
I didn't go back to the Upper East Side apartment that night.
I went to my studio in Brooklyn.
At one in the morning, the lights in the cutting room were still on.
The walls were covered with over thirty dress sketches. In the very center was Belated.
Tara poured me a hot coffee and asked cautiously, "Claire, do you really not want the wedding anymore?"
I looked at the countless revision marks on the sketches.
Three months.
I had chosen the fabric myself. Drafted the pattern myself. Embroidered a line of tiny script inside the hem with my own hands.
It didn't say "Christian loves Claire."
And it didn't say "Happily ever after."
It said: May I finally become my own bride.
I wrote that line as I sewed the last stitch.
Because by then, I already knew deep down that Christian would not be my destination.
But people are ridiculous sometimes.
Knowing the answer, and still hoping for a miracle.
I picked up the scissors and snipped a loose thread from the spare veil.
"Not the wedding."
Tara looked at me.
I said, "But the show goes on as planned."
She blinked. "But 'Belated' is the finale showpiece. What about Mr. Christian's side..."
"Christian is not the client."
I looked up.
"I am."
By eight o'clock the next morning, Bianca was trending on Twitter.
