Empty Promises (The Promises Series Book 3) by Elle Brooks Read Free Book Online

replies and the lady beams at her.
    “So, ladies, do you have an appointment?”
    “You need an appointment to try a wedding dress on?” I mutter to myself, bemused.
    “Of course, I can book you in right now if you’d like,” she asks, pulling an enormous cream leather appointment book from under the counter. She begins leafing through the pages. “I know I have an opening, ah, here it is. How about three weeks from today?” she says, looking up over the rim of her glasses.
    Shit, it’s possible that I might not even be here in three weeks. I swallow the thought like an acrid pill, and it leaves a foul taste in my mouth. Well, I guess this solves my little conundrum about what tact to take. There’s only one way forward; I’m going to have to tell her the truth. As much as I hate playing the cancer card, I’m pretty sure it will be my only chance at getting to try anything on today.
    “Oh, I’m sorry—” Mom begins, but I cut her short.
    “The thing is, Miss—”
    “Please, call me Dana.”
    “Oh, um, the thing is, Dana, I have kind of a unique situation here.”
    I proceed to tell her about my prognosis, and what it is that we’re doing here and why. “So you see, I know it’s a lot to ask and I’d completely understand if—”
    Dana stands from the little couch that she’s been sitting on since I basically blindsided her and waves her hands in the air. “Sweetheart, I’ve heard all I need to hear,” she says, pulling out a tissue from a little silver box beside the couch, and wiping her nose. “I have a client booked in just over an hour for a final fitting. I know that’s not much time, but it would truly be my pleasure to help you.”
    My mom thanks her and passes her another tissue before she leads us through the store and into what can only be described as a dress closet on steroids.
     

     
    We spend a few minutes overwhelmed by all the dresses before Dana pulls out a pure white, silk Vera Wang strapless gown with a sweetheart neckline. It’s strikingly simple, except for the thin, light blue sash that ties in a neat little bow on my hip. If I actually were getting married, I have no doubts I would be begging my dad for this dress.
    It’s perfect.
    “Here, just slip those on and I’ll be in to strap you up in just a second,” Dana says, offloading a pair of white satin pumps. They have a gazillion tiny crystals shimmering from the heels and are off-the-charts beautiful. I clutch them to my chest, trying to keep the gown I’m half-wearing from slipping down. She’s back holding what I’m assuming is a veil before I even have a chance to adjust my stance. Mom’s patiently sitting in the viewing area, awaiting my entrance.
    “Okay, sweetheart, time to suck it in,” Dana warns before pulling the corset at the back of the dress so tight that I might actually faint. I’m pretty sure my circulation has been cut off from the waist down after she finishes manipulating my body into a perfect hourglass. It’s about as comfy as a G-string fashioned out of razor blades, but it looks incredible.
    “Final touch,” she says, taking the floor-length veil that’s attached to a crystal clip and pushing it gently into my short hair. I’m thankful now that I took the time to put a little product in it this morning, with my attempt at a messy-beach hair style, or there’s no way the veil would stay.
    “Wow, I had no idea that I could ever look like this,” I say, swaying the dress from side to side and marveling at my reflection. “Thank you, so, so much for this.”
    My throat feels tight and I’m unexpectedly filled with emotion. I don’t want to cry, but I know if I blink right now the tears will come.
    “You, my dear, are one of the prettiest brides I think I’ve ever had the pleasure of dressing,” Dana states with a warm, affectionate smile. It does nothing to dissolve the lump forming in my throat.
    Suddenly, the reality of what’s happening hits me like a sucker punch to the