CHAPTER THREE – THE WEDDING DRESS

But the next several selections only furthered Charlotte's sinking feeling that her dream dress wouldn't be found here among the Old Guard of Manhattan society bridal fashion. The puffy-sleeved, heavily embroidered ball gown with its accompanying jewel-encrusted bodice made her look like a cross between a renaissance princess and a Christmas ornament. An elaborate ruffled lace mermaid number completely overwhelmed her petite frame. And the less said about the high-necked, long-sleeved confection that would have looked more suitable for a Church of England ceremony, the better. "That's it. I can't do this anymore," Charlotte declared as Vanessa zipped her into yet another ill-fitting sample. She began struggling to shimmy out of the dress, praying the delicate fabric wouldn't rip under her frantic tugging. Lillian shot her an appalled look. "Charlotte Elizabeth Jones! What on earth has gotten into you?" Fighting back frustrated tears, Charlotte whirled on her mother. "None of these dresses are me! They're inappropriate old-fashioned costumes better suited for ladies-in-waiting at the French court, not a modern bride." "How dare you speak that way about the impeccable Amsale collection!" Lillian hissed, her tone dropping to a furious whisper despite their relatively private surroundings. "Generations of the most elite Manhattan wives and daughters have worn these renowned creations." "Well I'm not a Jones daughter or a Montgomery bride by blood, remember?" The bitter retort left Charlotte's mouth before she could stop it. She instantly regretted her harsh words as her mother visibly recoiled, a flash of hurt rippling across her elegantly coiffed features. A pained silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating. The only sounds were Sienna, Jade, and Bianca's uncomfortable throat-clearing and shifting in their seats. Finally, Lillian seemed to recover some of her regal poise. "If that's truly how you feel, then we're clearly at an impasse today." She drew herself up to her full imposing height, back ramrod straight. "Come along girls, I believe we've overstayed our welcome here." With a few muttered apologies and grimaces to the consultant Vanessa, Charlotte's bridesmaids filed out of the dressing room, leaving mother and daughter alone in the aftermath of their blowup. Charlotte sank down to the plush velvet ottoman, shoulders slumped in defeat. She didn't know whether to laugh or cry at this entire fiasco of an afternoon unfolding all because she simply wanted to buy a damn dress that felt authentically her style. Her satin-shoed feet sank into the soft shag carpet as the fight drained out of her body and mind, only to be replaced by an overwhelming sense of exhaustion. Instead of the triumphant bridal moment she'd envisioned from watching rom-coms and attending friends' weddings, dress shopping with her mother had turned into an embarrassing disaster zone. How did things get so blown out of proportion so quickly? Charlotte squeezed her eyes shut, desperate to will away the tears prickling at their corners. Eventually, she heard the click of her mother's kitten heels against the hardwood floors return. She tensed, bracing herself for another round of recriminations or Lillian's patented frosty silent treatment. But her mother surprised her. "I've spoken with Vanessa and the manager," came Lillian's soft, measured tone. "And they've agreed to waive our exorbitant cancellation fees for the day, despite the inconvenience." One eye cracked open. Lillian stood a few feet away, hands folded in front of her and jaw set in that stubborn, defiant line. But her expression had shifted to a look of resignation. Of acceptance, even. "You were right," she finally said after a long pause. "About this experience not going as you'd envisioned. And about me...that is, about me being too inflexible, too stuck in how I assume things must be." Lillian tugged at one of her diamond stud earrings, a nervous tick Charlotte hadn't seen in years. "It's only...I want your wedding day to be perfect.” Lillian took a deep, steadying breath and met Charlotte's gaze head-on. "This is your wedding day, darling. And you should have the dress of your dreams, even if it doesn't align with...tradition." The naked vulnerability in her mother's expression caught Charlotte off guard. Suddenly, she was transported back to being a little girl again, curled up in Lillian's embrace as she smoothed back her hair and softly sang nursery rhymes. Her mother's softer side - the side not obsessed with propriety or maintaining appearances - was laid bare in this tender moment. Tears blurred Charlotte's vision as she stood and pulled her mother into a fierce hug. "Thank you," she whispered, all hurt and anger evaporating. "For understanding." Lillian simply squeezed her tighter in response. When they finally broke apart, twin streaks of mascara striped her perfectly made-up cheeks. "Well, I certainly didn't intend for this day to turn into such a dramatic affair," she sniffed with a watery chuckle. "That's the Jones family way, isn't it?" Charlotte teased, eliciting a reproachful swat on the arm from her mother. But there was no real sting behind it, only affectionate exasperation. As they filed out of the bridal salon, the bridesmaids keeping a respectful distance, Charlotte felt lighter than she had in weeks. Her dress woes were finally behind her - no thanks to the Upper East Side bridal industrial complex. But more importantly, she and her mother had reached an understanding, one built on mutual compromise and putting aside their own bullheaded expectations. If only extending that same open-mindedness to compromise would be as easy when it came to the rest of their families... Two weeks later, the Joneses and Montgomerys reconvened for their latest joint wedding planning session. This time, the location was the soaring two-story great room of the Montgomery's luxury Park Avenue apartment, all gleaming marble and floor-to-ceiling views of twinkling city lights. "Honestly, it's a wonder the two of you got engaged at all with the way your families act," Alexander muttered, pulling Charlotte close as they entered the fray. She stifled a snort at his wry observation. For all the wealth and prestige their influential families commanded, neither the Joneses nor Montgomerys could seem to get through ritual gatherings without at least a few underhanded barbs or snide remarks being traded like salvos in their escalating cold war. Charlotte had hoped that planning her and Alexander's nuptials would be a chance for some common ground, a joyous occasion to put aside the bristling rivalry and focus on uniting the two clans through matrimony. But of course, that would be setting expectations far too high. "Ah, there are the lovebirds!" Henry Montgomery boomed in an overly grandiose tone, rising from the Empire leather sofa to greet them with a bone-crushing handshake and obtrusive back slaps for Alexander. Richard Jones materialized beside him, jovial but already visibly bristling at Henry's bombast. "About time you two showed up. We've been waiting to go over the seating arrangements and you know how deuced important that little detail is." "More like you all have been nattering about nothing as usual," Alexander muttered through a tight smile. Charlotte shot him a warning glance. "Be nice. For me?" He rolled his eyes but gave a acquiescing nod. Better to grin and bear their families' antics for the time being rather than pour gasoline on the flames. Over the next thirty minutes, an impressively detailed seating schematic took shape on the oversized iPads Set before them - a masterful feat of strategic wedding guest mapping rivaling the complexity of a civil engineer's traffic flow plans.