Hi, my name is Bella and I'm one of Heidi by Design signature creations. I'm a wedding dress. Someday I'll find a young bride with stars in her eyes and dreams of a future with her groom. I can imagine it now. The groom standing at the altar waiting, his gaze fixed to the door where his bride will appear and then walk toward him. I'll hug her curves and she'll shimmer and shine with the promise of what their life will be.
It all sounds simple and easy, doesn't it?
My journey is more of a zig zag than a top stitch along a straight seam as I search for the perfect bride who is my soul mate.
From inside my garment bag, I could tell I’d been hung on a hook from the closet door. I must be in my angry bride’s room.
The scrape at the door, then a squeak as it opened, alerted me. My bride was home.
I could barely make out her silhouette through the plastic.
A click filled the air an instant before a light flashed on. She made her way over to me only to stop and reach out a hand to unzip the bag. The dark-haired girl swayed, blinked then focused. Once she freed me of my confines, she stared. My bodice burned from the intensity of her look.
“My dear…” She hiccuped and giggled then she plopped down on the edge of her bed. “…Bella. You are a beauty. Too bad, I’ll never get to wear you. Besides, you deserve to be worn on a happy occasion.”
What was she talking about?
Then her eyes widened, her hand flew to her mouth, she glanced around the room. I wondered if she thought someone else was there to overhear.
No one had entered since her mother had carefully hung me on the rack. I knew we were alone.
Cecelia leaned forward. “Don’t tell anyone, it’s our little secret. Okay?” She crawled into her bed, reached and flicked off the light and the room darkened.
I heard a soft chuckle. Premonition ruffled my lace.
Whatever she’d been talking about couldn’t be good. I waited. I wanted to know what she was planning. If she wasn’t going to wear me, then who would? Why did she pick me?
How I wished the magic Heidi had always told us about was real and I could speak. Then I could shout my questions to the girl who now lay snoring gently.
I sighed. There would be no more information.
Again, I found myself listening to the clock tick the seconds off. Waiting for the light gradually to seep through the slats of the blinds as dawn crested over Manhattan.
If Cecelia isn’t my soul mate, then what is my purpose? Must I do something in order to earn my right to my perfect bride?
My non-bride stirred on the bed. A miserable groan rent the air. The poor girl must be sick. She struggled to sit up, her head hung, her arms bent at the elbows braced on her knees.
“Oh…my…God… Why did I mix wine with the hard stuff.”
She bolted to her feet. My silk chilled as she brushed by me and disappeared into another room. Seconds after the door shut, I heard a strange sound.
What the scrap was wrong with her?
My only experience with people was Heidi and her assistants. They never acted like Cecelia.
Fear ripped down my zipper.