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Autumn chuckled. Half the time she hung out with Sammi involved a bathing suit out on the lake near his condo, at some pool party or an evening dip in the hot tub after clubbing.

  Bikinis, wedding dress and sunscreen. Anything else?

  “Here we go,” Rose said in a singsong voice as she hauled dresses longer than she was tall into a dressing room.

  Autumn followed her and eyed the gowns. There was an awful lot of white.

  In short order Autumn squeezed herself into a corset her breasts threatened to pop out of and Rose dropped a gossamer gown over Autumn’s head. Autumn pulled the straps up and studied her reflection.

  Rainbow tattoos encased her arms, her hair fell in long, gently curling waves and the white dress didn’t have a hope or a prayer of containing her breasts. The corset was clearly visible by a few inches over the bustline of the dress.

  But Autumn was in a wedding dress.

  A real live wedding dress. Except it wasn’t a creature, it was clothing, but it embodied the symbol of what was about to happen in her life. A change. Stepping into something new.

  Her muscles went lax and she trembled for a moment. She was really doing this.

  “This one isn’t zipping up all the way,” Rose muttered, breaking into Autumn’s thoughts after a moment of tugging. She leaned around Autumn to peer at her reflection. “What do you think of this though?”

  “It’s, um, it’s pretty, but—I’m not this elegant.” She lifted the top layer of transparent skirts and held them out to her sides. The empire waist and layers of skirts would be lovely. On someone else.

  “I picked this one because it would be beautiful for a beach wedding, but if you don’t love it, it’s not the one. Let’s get you into another, and I want you to step out onto the pedestal this time.” Rose’s tone brooked no argument. Autumn didn’t know how much difference a six-inch lift and a different mirror would make, but she was game to try.

  Rose kept Autumn’s back to the mirror with the second dress. The skirt stuck out on either side with weird poochy areas and little crystals all over. Autumn wasn’t sure what it would look like, possibly cupcake shaped, but at this point anything was better than the nothing she had.

  “Step out here and tell me what you think.” Rose pushed the door open and beamed at her as if Autumn were her own daughter.

  Autumn intentionally kept her eyes on the ground until she and her entire skirt were up on the pedestal. She sucked in a deep breath and lifted her chin.

  The woman looking back at her was, well, she was beautiful. Her boobs were sky-high and she was ready to go down a runway—not the beach. She was corseted to within an inch of her life, her bustline was bedazzled and rhinestoned, ready to signal outer space, and her skirt did have an oddly misshapen cupcake silhouette.

  Cupcakes were fine and all for her tattoos, but not her clothing.

  “These pickups give the skirt an interesting movement that might not try to fly away from you.” Rose gestured toward the little poochy areas that had stuck out to Autumn in the dressing room. “Also, it has the bling you wanted.”

  Autumn couldn’t deny that the dress fit her, where the other had not. All it would need was a hem job. She tried to picture herself walking toward Sammi, holding a bouquet, the sea breeze in her hair.

  And she just couldn’t see it.

  “It is sparkly. And it does fit. But…I’m just not in love with it. Sorry.” She winced and glanced at Rose.

  Rose merely nodded. “It’s okay. If it’s not the one, it’s not the one. Let’s get you into another.”

  Rose ushered her back into the dressing room and into another gown.

  And another.

  And another.

  And another.

  As Autumn gazed at herself wearing yet another dress perfect for someone else, she felt her hope slipping away. There weren’t many options left.

  “Rose, I’m just not sure.” Autumn smoothed her hands over her hips, watching herself in the large mirrors. The pedestal made her feel like an Amazon. The style was a mermaid, and though Autumn would love to wear a dress like this, it was one size too small and her breasts were barely contained by a four-inch-wide strap of fabric.

  “Oh dear.” Rose wrung her hands. They had three gowns left, none of which looked interesting enough on the rack to put on.

  This was her last option. So far the best thing was a short cocktail dress her breasts tried to fall out of.

  “There you are,” someone said nearby.

  Autumn glanced to her right and her jaw dropped. “Isaac?”

  Isaac, in a suit with a modestly trendy woman on his arm, stopped a few feet away. Their eyes were large, taking in the full impact of Autumn’s overflowing breasts and the tattoos.

  “Hi.” Autumn pressed her hands over her breasts and smiled. “Yeah, this one doesn’t fit well.”

  Isaac gestured at the woman to his side. “Autumn, this is my wife Ester.”

  Ester smiled and spread her arms open. Autumn accepted the invitation from the stranger and bent and hugged her.

  “Nice to meet you.” Ester stepped back. She had a kind smile and a sweet, heart-shaped face. “How many more do you have to try on?”

  “Well, I think we might be done. I only have today to shop.” Autumn stepped off the pedestal, disappointed that there wasn’t anything to show for it.

  “I’m sure there’s something that’ll work.” Isaac frowned and glanced around the shop. “You can’t have tried on that many. We came straight over. There’s got to be over a thousand dresses here.”

  “I have an idea.” Rose’s brow wrinkled and there was a certain determined curve of her mouth that made Autumn think she was planning something.

  “About what?” Autumn asked.

  “Let me go look real quick. I’ll be back.” Rose marched off, no doubt formulating her battle plans.

  “What’s the problem?” Ester glanced between the two of them. “I’m sorry, I only learned about fifteen minutes ago what’s going on. I’m still getting up to speed.”

  “It’s happening pretty fast.” Autumn nodded. “I’ve tried on about seven dresses. They either fit in one place and not in another or the dress is completely inappropriate.”

  Autumn did know what was appropriate at times. Not always, but every now and then she did. She just chose to ignore it more often than not.

  “Are you looking at any other shop?” Ester asked.

  Autumn shrugged and tried to come up with an answer that didn’t pain her to speak, but there was nothing to say except the truth. “I didn’t really figure a wedding dress into my budget, so I’m limited in where I can go shopping. Plus not everyone will see a bride who needs a same-day dress.”

  Ester glanced at Isaac. “I don’t know about that. I think we could make something happen.”

  Isaac shrugged. “Sure.”

  The difference between Sammi’s circle of people and her own could not be more pronounced. Her friends would pass a hat, donate five dollars each and hope it was enough. She wasn’t too proud to accept the gift, but Isaac and Ester weren’t her friends. Not yet at least.

  “That’s very nice of you—”

  “I found it!” Rose breezed back, carrying a black bag that looked very slim.

  “Is that for me?” Autumn asked.

  Please let it be perfect.

  “It is. Now I will warn you it’s a little unorthodox, but I thought you’d really like it.” Rose pulled the dressing room door open and held it for her. The black dress bag mocked her, disclosing nothing about its contents.

  “Hey, that sounds like me.” Autumn stepped off the pedestal with a hand from Isaac and wiggled her way over to the dressing room, where she peeled out of the latest dress disaster and closed her eyes, not wanting to spoil the surprise.

  Rose dropped the gown over her head and tugged it into place. Autumn could feel light, flowing fabric brushing her calves. A halter top held her breasts in place without feeling too exposing. The only downside was that
it felt a little big through the bodice. She felt clamps being applied to the back of the dress to mold it to her body.

  “Let’s take a look now.” There was no missing the sense of excitement in Rose’s voice.

  Autumn stepped out of the dressing room and her gaze flicked to Isaac and Ester. Their brows rose in unison, but she couldn’t tell if it was bad or good. She stepped onto the pedestal and turned to examine herself.

  “Oh—my—gosh.” Autumn clapped her hands over her mouth.

  It was too perfect for words.

  “It’s actually a bridesmaid dress, but I thought it might work for you.” Rose stood to her side, a proud smile on her face.

  “The dress is unique.” Ester circled to stand on Autumn’s other side. A slow smile spread across her face. “You love it, don’t you?”

  Tears pricked Autumn’s eyes. She picked at the skirt, swishing it around her thighs. “I do. Is that stupid?”

  “No, not at all. The dress kind of picks you, if you ask me. It really suits you.” Ester’s smile was genuine.

  Autumn turned this way and that. Overwhelmed was a mild word to use.

  “Here.” Rose stepped onto the platform behind her and fastened a short, netlike veil into her hair. It only covered down to her chin, but something about it completed the look. A little jewelry, some makeup and she was a bride.

  A real bride.

  A tear rolled down her cheek.

  “Oh Autumn, you look beautiful.” Ester squeezed her arm.

  Autumn turned to the woman and hugged her. Her friends and mother weren’t there, but she’d take what comfort she could.

  “What’s wrong?” Rose, ever astute, steered her to the couch and offered her some tissues.

  When she could see again, Isaac had disappeared and Ester and Rose sat on either side of her. Autumn wiped her nose again.

  “I’m sorry,” she muttered.

  “No, it’s okay.” Ester rubbed her bare back in soothing circles.

  “You look beautiful, and we can get it taken in just a bit,” Rose offered.

  “Thank you. I really appreciate this. I just, well, I never thought I’d actually be a bride.” She’d never expected to find someone who loved more than her body, let alone a ring.

  “You are a beautiful bride,” Ester crooned.

  Autumn wiped a fresh fall of tears from her cheeks. “That’s just it. I’ve always been told that because of my tattoos I would never be a ‘beautiful bride’.”

  “That’s ridiculous.” Rose snorted. “You’re a beautiful young lady. Of course you’re a beautiful bride.”

  “Someone said that to you?” Ester gaped at her.

  Autumn had to laugh at that. “I guess you’d be surprised by what people say to me, but yeah. I’ve been told that. More than once.” She wiped her eyes and laughed. Fuck the disbelievers. All of them.

  She’d seen herself in the mirror.

  She knew the truth.

  She was every inch a beautiful bride.

  Chapter Three

  Gray Wash—Style typically used for portraits. It has a smooth appearance and lends itself to the dark-to-light gradient.

  Sammi strode through his family’s large home. The only sound was his loafers on the marble flooring. He’d grown up in this house, but it had never felt very homey. There was too much history, too much formality in the carved columns, oil paintings and leather furniture to evoke warm thoughts, but Father had been proud of it.

  His father had sat with him on more than a few evenings during Sammi’s recovery as a teen, telling him anything was possible. How their family had fled from Iran with little to nothing, and yet they’d built themselves into a real estate powerhouse. After all, Persians owned property, they didn’t rent it. Purchasing this home had marked his parents’ successful rebirth into American life.

  He stepped through French doors to the sunroom. His mother’s domain. Flowers sat on wire racks, little beds were constructed along the walls. It was a piece of the outdoors in the comfort of air-conditioning. Soft gauze curtains diminished the midday glare from the sun, but only a little.

  “Samuel, there you are. You’re late.” His mother, Tamara Zimmerman, sat at a white wicker table set with lunch and tea, wearing her trademark frown.

  “Hello, Mother.” Sammi bent and hugged her shoulders gently. While his mother was something of a hypochondriac, there was no denying her advancing age, and the death of her husband wore on her. There was more gray in her hair, her shoulders stooped lower each year and her frown lines had grown deeper.

  “Sit. Have some tea.” She patted the table with one hand and lifted her flower-print porcelain cup to her lips.

  Sammi folded himself into the small chair and tucked his legs under the table. “You’re looking well.”

  More accurately, she didn’t appear to be any worse or better since the last time he’d seen her, but he’d learned long ago to put a positive spin on everything. She was perfectly coiffed, from her chin-length bob to her pale-green brocade suit and white loafers.

  “Nonsense. This heat is giving me hives.” Tamara waved her hand, dismissing Sammi’s attempt at derailing her imaginary ailments. Their family had had a doctor on speed dial since he was a kid, and it hadn’t always been for Sammi’s benefit. Someone was always “coming down with something” around the Zimmerman house.

  “I can’t even tell. What’s for lunch today?” He grasped the metal cloche covering the meal and whisked it aside.

  “Fish. The chef is out sick this week. I told her to be careful about shopping at those bargain stores.” Tamara wrinkled her nose, disgusted by the idea of anything that wasn’t from a kosher store.

  Sammi didn’t have the heart or desire to tell her even kosher grocery stores carried only specialty items. She’d come down with five different illnesses if she knew that her kosher food might share shelf space with potato chips.

  Tamara continued to speak, unaware of Sammi’s mental aside. “I’m making do with a temporary replacement. The woman seems to only be capable of cooking simple things.” She removed the cloche from her meal and one of the hired help appeared to spirit both away.

  Sammi shrugged and grinned. “I like fish. It’s hard to get wrong. Even I can cook it.” The small filets appeared to have been rubbed with seasoning and baked. He bit into the first one and an unexpected medley of flavors burst on his tongue. There were spices present the regular chef wouldn’t have used and maybe shavings of some kind of nut. Whatever the variation, it was delicious and perfect.

  “Disgusting.” His mother dropped her fork back on her plate and turned her attention to the floor-to-ceiling windows that gave an excellent view of the well-manicured backyard through the sheers.

  “It’s not too bad.” There were some battles he would never win with her. He cut the filet into bite-sized chunks and popped another in his mouth.

  “I spoke with Dalya’s parents yesterday.”

  Sammi reached for his teacup, wishing it were cold water, or better yet a beer. Instead he tossed back the bitter brew, coughing only a little. How he hated her tea. But she always insisted it helped cure any ailments and so everyone who stepped foot under this roof drank some. Even the help. “Yeah?”

  Tamara turned to glance at him from the corner of her eye. “She’s willing to have you back—”

  “I’m sure she is,” he muttered.

  “If you apologized.”

  “What? Oh hell no.” He shook his head and wiped his mouth.

  Sammi had no interest in reconnecting with Dalya, a Jewish heiress with no sense of humor. It didn’t matter how fat her bank accounts were, he wouldn’t spend the last months of his life with someone he couldn’t stand. No, Autumn would be his companion.

  “Samuel, language.”

  He bit the inside of his cheek. There was no way he could tell his mother about his illness returning. She was supposed to be recovering from a psychological condition and his sickness would only compound her problem. Then the
re was Autumn, whom he most certainly couldn’t tell her about. No, it was better to keep things separate. By the time it all came to a head he would be gone.

  “Sorry, Mom. I broke up with Dalya. It’s over.” He braced for her rebuttal. As far as marriage went, he’d gotten off lucky compared to most Jewish men his age. Typically it was pressed upon them to marry and carry on the family legacy, but his parents had lived with the uncertainty of his survival for so long that marriage had never been a reality.

  She shrugged. “Fine.”

  Wait—what?

  Sammi took a bite of fish, surreptitiously watching his mother.

  Mother dropped her napkin on the table and sighed dramatically. “Tomorrow we will have to go out to lunch. This is unacceptable. I’m going to starve. I think Chef isn’t on vacation. I think she came down with something.”

  “Sure, we can go out to lunch,” he said automatically, ignoring her complaints.

  There was just one catch.

  Tomorrow he would be headed to St. Maarten.

  To get married.

  * * * * *

  Autumn clutched the railing on the stairs of their tiny luxury plane and willed her rubbery legs to hold her at least until she got to the tarmac. It wouldn’t do to face-plant into the diva lady in front of her and tumble down like a stack of dominos.

  A few more steps and she’d officially be on the island.

  “You going to be okay?” Sammi asked her from behind. His voice was stolen away almost immediately by the wind blowing in from the sea.

  “Fine.”

  Six more steps.

  Autumn held her breath until her toes touched the sun-warmed ground. She breathed a sigh of relief and shuffled to one side so she could admire the view.

  “Oh I could kiss the ground, but I might throw up moving that fast,” she said to Sammi.

  There were buildings interspersed with palm trees and flowers here and there. In the distance she could see the blue expanse of the ocean kissing the sky. Fluffy white clouds chased each other overhead and the scent of flowers perfumed the air.

  It was beautiful.

  And hot.

  “Our ride’s here.” Sammi took her large tote and gestured behind them.