The Winters(44)

“I was hoping you’d come, too. You have such good taste.”

And you can protect me from her, in case she plans something nefarious.

“So does Dani. No, this will be good, just the two of you. Seven . . . eight . . . ,” she said, counting the small pile of gold envelopes.

“If you have any dress ideas or suggestions, feel free to pass them on.” I had stopped asking for details about Rebekah’s wedding after Louisa told me, jokingly, that I seemed more fixated on Max’s first wedding than my own.

“. . . Thirteen . . . fourteen . . . Surprise us, dear. I’m sure you’ll look terrific in anything you put on as long as it’s not too fancy. You’d get swallowed up in a ball gown. Just wear something that looks like you. A month is enough notice for invitations, don’t you think? It’s not high season or anything. And we are holding it on a Friday.”

That had been Louisa’s suggestion, so as not to compete with better-prepared couples that had long since booked their caterers and florists.

I shrugged. “If people can’t make it, they can’t make it.”

“Darling, everyone will make it. They’ll be very curious to see who the hell Max Winter’s marrying.”

After Rebekah, I wanted to add, imagining guests stifling giggles as I made my way alone down the aisle of that cavernous room, holding a clutch of wilted wildflowers in my hand.

“Oh and of course, Elias,” Louisa said, finding his name on the list, “and his husband, I can’t remember his name. Polo player, handsomer than Elias, if that’s possible. Max said you’re having the ceremony in the great hall.” She scrunched up her nose. “It might be too late to rent a tent.”

“I had a much better location in mind, but Max shot it down.”

“Oh?”

“The greenhouse.”

Her eyes flashed wide open. “Oh my God, yes!”

“Max said absolutely not.”

I didn’t mean to relitigate the issue, nor inspire Louisa to action. But she was adamant.

“Don’t worry. You shall have your greenhouse reception. Just let me deal with Max.” Her eyes drifted to my hair. “Now what did you do to your lovely curls?”

I touched it, embarrassed. I forgot that I’d parted it to the side and straightened it, the result, admittedly, of looking at too many photos of Rebekah, who often wore her hair this way.

“Well, I like your hair just as it is. I’m sure Max does, too.”

“He’s never really commented on my hair,” I said, uncertain if that was a good or bad thing. “Anyway, I was just experimenting for the wedding.”

On the way to our cars we passed a clothing store with headless mannequins in the window, dressed in every conceivable style of white linen shirt, their balletic feet pinioned to the floor. Louisa pulled me inside. A brief stop turned into an hour-long spree, pushing back the poor saleswoman’s closing time. At one point, Louisa took over for her, tossing item after item over the top of my dressing stall, commanding me to step out so she could see, vetoing some of the things I liked and insisting on some of the things I didn’t. It was fun, in a way, to be regarded so intently by someone who was so decisive, who held maternal sway over me. She scanned each outfit, a finger to her mouth, adding a scarf, a sweater, a belt to a dress. When it came time to choose what to buy, she laughed out loud. She meant for me to have all of what passed her muster, an obscene pile she scooped up like a human backhoe and deposited on the counter.

“I can’t possibly go home with all this, this . . . stuff. It’s ridiculous. I don’t need all these clothes. Where would I wear them?”

“Dani tells me you do need new clothes,” she said, “and that you’ve been wandering Asherley for weeks in the same four things. We can’t have that. If you’re going to be a Winter, you have to start dressing like one,” she said, with a joking flare.

“I have clothes,” I mumbled. In truth I had only two pairs of jeans, but quite a number of tops and Tshirts that I hoped had camouflaged that scarcity. It didn’t bother me that Dani noticed what I wore, but it stung that it distressed her enough to tell Louisa.

When I placed Max’s credit card down on the counter, Louisa flicked it away.

“Consider this your trousseau—a wedding gift from Jonah and me,” she said, and gave instructions for the packages to be delivered to Asherley the next morning. There was no arguing with her. What could I say except thank you? Before we parted ways, my phone rang. It was the bridal shop. Dani must have given them my number. They had a cancellation the next afternoon. I took it.

“Perfect,” Louisa said. “While you’re in the city, I’ll talk to Max about the greenhouse.”

I texted Dani to tell her I took the cancellation, but she didn’t reply. I pulled up to Asherley and checked my phone again. Still no reply. The lights in the turret were on, which meant she was still up. I put on my nightshirt and washed my face. I thought of texting her again. It was a big house; that wouldn’t be weird. Hey, still haven’t heard back if you want to come dress shopping tomorrow. The appointment is in the afternoon. We should leave here by noon.

No. I had to go to her. The more I shrunk from her, the more she sensed my fear and attacked. What was the big deal? She arranged the call. She had offered to come. I was merely knocking on the door to confirm our departure time.