It was the most expensive article of clothing I’d ever bought. Jaw-droppingly expensive, but if I was going to spend money on a dress, I figured this was the one. And the price still probably paled in comparison to the dresses Ethan had bought for me. The fact that I’d used hardly any of the House stipend I’d been collecting for a year helped ease the guilt.

“Sure,” I said, and they moved aside to let me rise to the dress bag. When I turned around again, they were watching me.

“I can pick my own clothes,” I said sheepishly.

“This isn’t just clothes,” Mallory said. “It’s your wedding dress.” She held up her hands. “But the bridge has been crossed and I’m not taking it personally.”

“You are a little.”

“I am a little. But I will live. So let’s see it.”

I unzipped the bag, unexpectedly nervous about whether Mallory would like the dress or not. I needed her to like it.

“Oh,” Mallory said, barely a sound, her eyes welling at the sight of it. “Oh, Merit. That’s just . . .”

“It’s very you,” Lindsey said, reaching out to squeeze Mallory’s hand.

That was why I’d grabbed the first dress I’d tried on. Because it was absolutely me, and I felt like me when wearing it. Me, but maybe something more. Me-plus, if the plus was a kind of elegance I’d never really felt. But an elegance I imagined my mother would be proud of.

It was a slender dress, overlaid in delicate French lace. There were short cap sleeves of the same lace, and a bodice with a sweetheart neckline. The lace continued through the waist, where the underlying bias-cut silk draped to the ground and pooled in a short train of more lace. It was delicate and romantic and old-fashioned, and it fit my tall frame to a tee.

“It really is,” Mallory said, tears falling in earnest now. She stood up and wrapped her arms around me in a fierce hug that made me teary, too.

“There’s no crying in baseball or vampire fashion,” I said.

“There will be tears at the wedding,” Lindsey said. “From those of us happy that the two of you found each other—and those jealous that both of you are off the market.”

I almost snorted, until I remembered the fact that Lacey Sheridan, head of San Diego’s Sheridan House, had been sufficiently in love with Ethan to try to push us apart. Vampire etiquette demanded we invite her, but I wasn’t sure whether she’d RSVP’d. Not that I was worried overmuch about it now. If anything, watching him say “I do” might help her move on. And it would probably piss her off a little. Which was fine with me.

“You will knock his socks off,” Mallory said, using a tissue to swipe at her eyes. “I mean, he is totally crazy about you, but if you didn’t have him in the palm of your hand before, you will now.”

• • •

Makeup was followed by dress, which was followed by hair. By the time Lindsey had finished rolling, teasing, pinning, and spraying my hair, my scalp felt like it had nearly been tugged off my head.

I winced as she adjusted a final pin, which poked right into the skin behind my ear. Across the room, Helen smiled. I decided to give her the benefit of the doubt and assume she liked the hair, not the pain.

“Here we go,” Lindsey said. “Mirror time.”

“Oh, here!” Mallory said. “For full effect.” She opened a glossy white box on the counter, pulled out my bouquet.

“Oh, that’s beautiful,” I said, taking it. There were enormous frilled white peonies and pale green hydrangeas, with sprigs of white lily of the valley. The stems were wrapped in white satin. “And it’s heavy,” I said as Mallory passed it over. “How does yours look?”

“It’s mini-Merit!” she said, and pulled hers out of a second box. Same flowers, smaller size.

“Can I see now?” I asked, holding the flowers obediently in front of me.

“Voilà!” Lindsey said, and rotated the chair.

I stared.

My makeup was, just as Lindsey had said, soft and romantic. My skin looked luminous, my lips bee-stung and just the right shade of warm pink, my pale cheeks prettily flushed. My eyelashes looked a mile long; I’d have to get that secret from her later. There was something a little bit antique in the look—a softened version of a movie star’s makeup from the forties.

She’d found the same balance with my hair. She’d waved it into soft curls, then arranged it in an elegant loose knot at the back of my neck. Delicate white flowers that matched my bouquet were pinned into the top of the knot.

“It’s amazing,” I said, looking back at her. “Seriously—you could do this professionally.”

She winked. “One of my many talents. And I did, for a very brief time in the forties. So many pin curls and pompadours.”

That explained that.

• • •

Harold Washington Library sat heavily in the middle of the Loop, built like a fort to guard the knowledge held inside. It was watched from above by well-patinaed bronze owls and was edged by a sharp crown of the same bronze, which made the building seem more regal.

I’d stepped off that railing once upon a time, when Ethan was gone and Jonah was teaching me how to jump. Oh, how times had changed.

There were guards outside the building, along with a few dozen humans with smiles and cameras and CONGRATULATIONS! posters. They screamed as we walked toward the door, and I offered a quick wave between very tall security agents as we were shuffled inside. Ethan hadn’t spared any expense with the security.

Heels clicking on stone floors, we were escorted to an elevator, which rose slowly and quietly to the Winter Garden that topped the building. The doors opened, revealing Jeff and Catcher standing in front of the doors that led into the space where we’d hold the ceremony.

“You look beautiful, Merit,” Jeff said as Shay moved silently around us, capturing the moment. “Like a Final Fantasy character come to life.”

“Thank you, I think.”

“A moment, ladies,” Lindsey said, sticking her clutch under her arm while she gave me a final look. She scanned hair, makeup, dress, bouquet, and hem, before nodding with approval. “This House is clean,” she said.

“That bit doesn’t really work here,” I said. “Which means you’ve been spending too much time with Luc.”

“Can’t help it,” she said, squinting as she leaned forward to tuck in an errant lock of my hair. “I’m crazy about the guy.” She glanced back at Jeff and Catcher. “It’s time for me to take my seat. Which one of you handsome lads would like to escort me?”

“It’s my turn,” Jeff said, offering Lindsey his arm as Catcher opened the door so they could slip through.

When they had, I gestured toward the door. “Can I peek in there?” It was time to face the music—and the possibility of doves.

Catcher pointed a warning finger at me. “Don’t let them see you, and don’t make a scene. We just got everyone into their seats.”

“Not a problem,” I said as he pulled open the door a skinny inch.

“Oh,” I said, eyes widening as I took it in.

It looked like a fairy tale. The garden was swathed in pale, gauzy fabric as delicate as clouds, illuminated by what must have been a thousand candles that reflected off stone floors, glass walls, and rows of lacquered white chairs.

The air was cool and crisp with the scent of flowers—more densely ruffled peonies and pale green hydrangeas bundled together with Lindsey’s “branches” in tall crystal stems and swags gathered at the corners of the rooms, and covered an arch at the end of the aisle.

And in front of that glorious arbor stood the man I’d marry. He wore a black two-button tuxedo with a black bow tie that fit his long, lean body perfectly. His shoulder-length hair was brushed back, a smile hinting at the corners of his lips. His hands were crossed in front of him, but his shoulders were straight and proud. He looked powerful, happy, and very content with his lot.

My favorite human, my grandfather, stood behind him in a very smart suit, his hair slicked and combed back, his hands clasped around a small leather book. The mayor had given him authority to conduct the wedding as a thank-you for Towerline and an apology for letting Sorcha slip through her fingers when it was over.