Sure Shot (Brooklyn #4)(87)

“Fine. Your dress is a maxi length, anyway. Let’s see what they have in a ballet slipper style.”

Agreeing, I’d tried on a couple options. But then I’d spotted something shiny and weird on a display in the corner. “What are those?” I’d asked the young saleswoman.

“Oh, we call those the glass slippers. They’re made by an Italian designer, but they have a Cinderella look to them.”

“I want to try them on!” I’d said, sounding exactly like someone’s evil stepsister.

“Everybody does,” the saleswoman had said, retreating to find a pair in my size.

“Are they too weird?” I’d asked Becca as I’d strode around the shoe department in the strange, shiny slippers. But I was a little in love with them already, the same way I’d fallen for Tank across a steak dinner. “Am I crazy?”

“It’s your wedding, Bess,” she’d said. “And you’re going to look like a bohemian fairy sprite in this groovy dress. These shoes are killer. Although you’ll have to let me paint your toenails, because they will show through.”

I’d bought the shoes, and, of course, I’d let Becca work her pedicure magic.

And I am, just three weeks after Tank’s proposal, listening to the muted strains of a string quartet playing as my guests take their seats in the rented mansion’s ballroom. I’m sporting a pumpkin-colored pedicure and pale pink nails. My hair has been tamed into a loose, wavy knot at the back of my head.

“Isn’t there supposed to be a rehearsal before the wedding?” My brother takes a sip of wine and leans against the carved mahogany mantelpiece of the library where we’re waiting. “Will someone announce the starting lineup? Are we singing the national anthem? How will I know what to do?”

“David,” Zara chides, powdering my nose to prepare me for my big entrance. “All you have to do is walk your sister down the aisle. Don’t tease, or she’ll think you’re going to check the groom against the boards.”

“Sorry,” my brother says. “I’m just trying to make jokes so she won’t be nervous.”

“I’m not nervous,” I say, and it’s 85 percent true. So long as I make it down the short aisle without tripping over anything, I won’t be nervous at all.

There’s a knock on the door, and Heidi steps in. “Two minutes until faceoff,” she says, her brand new engagement ring flashing in the light from the chandelier.

“Thank you Heidi,” I say.

The week after Tank proposed, a sheepish Jason Castro came into my office and asked me how much he could afford to spend on an engagement ring. “Not because Tank shamed me into it,” he’d said. “But because it’s time.”

Eric had snickered into his coffee while I helped Jason look at his accounts and decide on a budget.

“You look ridiculously beautiful,” Heidi says. “You’re setting the bar really high, here.”

“She’s right,” Zara agrees, stepping back to admire her work. “We have to get you into dresses more often.”

“What for?” I ask. “I think your work here is done.” I take one more glance in the mirror. I look like an honest-to-God princess. It hardly seems real.

“Show time!” Dave says, putting his wine glass down on the mantel. “Let’s do this. Zara, honey, you’re first, right?”

“Here, baby.” Zara hands me the bouquet of orange roses that the florist chose for me. “Ready?”

I nod and take a deep breath, and she slips into place in front of my brother.

The string quartet begins to play a minuet, and my heart rate doubles. This is really it! Although Dave is blocking my view of the ballroom, so I can’t see Tank yet.

This mansion we’re renting is owned by an Upper East Side museum. It’s the perfect space for my little wedding—sixty guests, many of whom are hockey players.

The music changes, and Zara steps out to join Tank’s mother for a short walk up the aisle.

We’d decided against a formal lineup of bridesmaids and groomsmen, so only our closest family members will take part in the ceremony. I rise on my tiptoes and peek over Dave’s shoulder to get a glimpse at the other reason we’re getting married in a hurry.

Henry Kassman is easing himself onto a tall director’s chair at the front of the room. His nurse hovers in the first row, but Henry carefully seats himself without assistance and smiles. He’s wearing a pinstripe suit and a red tie.

He doesn’t show it, but he’s in a lot of pain. That’s why I wanted this wedding location—it’s less than a mile from his apartment building. I was hoping it would be possible for him to come. And here he is. “You were wrong, kid,” he’d told Tank. “You said you wouldn’t get married again. And now I’m holding the invitation in my hand.”

The music changes again. Here comes the bride. My pulse jumps and the world seems to slow down.

“That’s us!” my brother says gleefully, offering his arm. “This is fun. I never gave anyone away before.”

“You will,” I remind him, taking his arm. “Someday Nicole is going to call you up to say that she met a nice hockey player—”

Dave grunts. “Hush. Everyone is standing up.” He guides me forward. We step out of the library, and I get my first look at the crowd. Smiling faces are turned in our direction as Dave leads me slowly forward. I’ve never seen so many candles and flowers.