"Thank you for coming on such short notice," I said with a sigh of relief.

"Of course," Trisha murmured as she secured the final bobby pins at the base of the French twist she'd somehow managed to construct despite the unruliness of my hair. "Anyways, gives me an excuse to see you. It's been awhile."

I had to consciously stop myself from nodding. "I know, sorry. Everything's just gotten a little... insane recently."

Trisha smirked at our reflection in the bathroom mirror. "Oh, I'm aware. I follow your tag on Instagram."

My eyes nearly doubled in size. "I have a tag?"

Trisha laughed as she deftly used the pick of a comb to pull out a few strands of hair, making the whole look appear effortless when in reality it had taken her near a half hour to create.

I still couldn't fully believe my friend had managed to pull it all off. When I had called Trisha to tell her about the dinner, I wasn't even sure it would be possible but within twenty minutes Trisha was strutting through the front door with a garment bag and robust-looking cosmetics kit.

"#EmmaHenderson," she supplied rather glibly.

"So weird..." I muttered.

Trisha hummed in agreement as she put down the comb and tapped my shoulder to follow her into the bedroom.

I hovered silently in the bathroom doorway, watching as she pulled the dress from the closet where she had hung it earlier to prevent wrinkling.

Trisha sent me a dubious look as she carefully laid the dress on the bed. "You really didn't know?"

I hugged my arms and merely offered her a tight shrug. "I try to stay off social media, especially anything with a comment section."

"Probably smart," she conceded. "Have the paparazzi been bothering you?"

I shook my head as I glanced down at the material of my robe. It was made of silver-colored silk that was cool to the touch. It had been a recent gift from Tom, one I had attempted to refuse for being far too luxurious, but he had easily silenced my objections with a soft kiss on my forehead and a murmured assurance that seeing my curves wrapped up in silk was a gift for him. I'd quickly put it on then, though, admittedly, it was just as quickly taken off...

I blushed at the memory and cleared my throat before responding. "I don't usually see them when I'm out, but I can usually feel them if that makes sense."

Trisha grimaced over her shoulder. "You make being famous sound like being haunted."

I merely shrugged again. "Pretty accurate description."

"I've, uh, been meaning to mention..." Trisha straightened and rubbed the back of her neck as she turned toward the closet to retrieve the heels she'd selected for me. "Some people have started calling me..."

I frowned. "Reporters?"

Trisha practically snorted. "Well yeah but I can handle them. I meant styling firms."

"That's great, isn't it?" I grinned. "You've been talking for ages about wanting to break out of retail."

She nodded. "Yeah, working in the boutique for the rest of my life certainly isn't the dream..."

"What is?"

Trisha's pale features reddened as she diverted her gaze to the floor.

"Hey..." I walked over and gingerly touched her arm. "It's me, Trish."

She rolled her eyes with a sigh, but I easily saw past my friend's bravado.

"I really don't mind the last minute phone calls and the odd event dress requirements..." She begrudgingly confessed as her fingers reached down and played with the dress's flowing tulle. "I actually really enjoy the challenge and the creativity."

"And you're bloody brilliant at it," I grinned again as I gave her arm a tight squeeze before dropping it. "So... you think becoming a personal stylist might be a new potential career path you'd be interested in?"

Trisha let out a short breath and then nodded eagerly. "I'd bloody love it to be."

I smiled softly. While Trisha was always quick to tell others to chase their dreams, she hardly ever spoke of her own. If anyone ever asked, she'd sidestep the conversation with a clever joke and a flip of the hair.

She constantly exuded an air of confidence, which admittedly, when we first met, I had found intensely intimidating. But as I grew closer and I grew to know her, I began to recognize the well-designed front for what it was.

"Then... " I probed her gently, "why aren't you more excited by the firms calling you?"

Trisha glanced at me pointedly. "Because they're not calling me, they're calling your friend."

"They're calling my stylist," I corrected her.

"Oh please," she laughed.

"You should get business cards," I advised, ignoring her comment.

Trisha balked. "And who would I give them out to?"

"Me," I shrugged as I started to untie the knotted belt around my waist.

"You're already my client," she teased as she carefully removed the dress from its hanger.

"Yes, but I could hand them out at events whenever a reporter asks me what I'm wearing."

Her perfectly manicured brows toward her hairline. "Y-you'd do that?"

I shrugged again. "Why not? It'd be easier than spelling your name out for them every time."

Trisha froze and blinked several times before asking: "And why have you been spelling my name?"

"So they get it down correctly?"

She shook her head in confusion. "But why would they be asking how to spell my name?"

I smiled innocently. "Because whenever someone asks me who I'm wearing I tell them I don't know and they'll have to ask my stylist, Trisha Kramnik."

Trisha's eyes widened. "B-but I always tell you the name of the designers!"

"So I figured you'd know when they called to ask you," I laughed.

Trisha closed her eyes. "But why would you-"

"Because you've always been the one to push me to take risks and to believe in me even when I didn't believe in myself. And I believe in you, Trisha. You're bloody brilliant at this stuff," I said as I gestured between my hair and the dress she still held.

"Hey Ems," came Tom's voice from the doorway. "We need to get going. Almost ready?"

I smiled at him over my shoulder and nodded. "Just need to slip into my dress.

He grinned at me and nodded before slipping back into the living room. Only a second later, I heard his voice again and turned again toward the doorway. His toothy grin was gone replaced by a thoughtful expression that he turned toward Trisha.

"She's right by the way," he told her. "You are a brilliant stylist. Feel free to list me as a reference if you're not comfortable listing Emma."

With that, he left again, this time closing the door behind him with a soft click. I turned back to face Trisha fully prepared to tell her 'I told you so.' But when I saw the giant goofy smile she wore and the glint of pride sparkling in her eyes, I knew I didn't need to.

When Trisha had first pulled the dress from the garment bag, I immediately realized it wasn't a dress at all. It was a gown-a wedding gown. And a beautiful one at that. It was all white, with v-neck bodice embroidered with intricate lace and beadwork. The sleeves were short and flowy, giving off the impression of a rather regal looking capelet. The dress flowed into a simple A-line tulle skirt, and although there was no train attached there was no mistaking the gown's true purpose.

My breath hitched as I stared at my reflection in the mirror. Tom-along with Cynthia and Charlie-were constantly teasing me about my inevitable entry into their family. And while I had privately tried to imagine what life for myself in their world might look like, I'd never been able to see it properly. To my eyes, I would always be just a girl from Kerry.

But now, standing in front of the mirror, I saw it. I saw Tom's bride adorned like a princess.

And a knot formed in my stomach as I realized I wasn't sure I recognized the face staring back at me.

* * *

Tom glanced up from his phone at the sound of my throat clearing. He immediately grinned up at me, but his smile slowly faded as his eyes took in the sight of my dress.

I felt my chest constrict in panic. "Is it too much?"

He didn't say anything, which only caused my panic to worsen.

"Tom," I nearly exclaimed. "Should I change?"

He blinked several times and then cleared his throat.

"You're... perfect." He murmured barely above a whisper.

I hesitated, unable to read his expression. "You need to be honest. If I need to change-"

"No, really. It's-you're..." With a shake of his head, he slipped his phone into his jacket pocket and held out his hand for me to take. "Perfect."

I took a steadying breath and nodded as I slipped my hand into his.

In one swift movement, he bent down and placed a kiss on my temple.

"Think Cynthia will approve?" I asked.

He chuckled softly and kissed me once more before straightening. "I think your dress will be the only thing about this evening my sister will approve of."

I smiled up at him, trying my best to ignore my worsening nerves.

"Ems..." Trisha called as she walked out of the bedroom. Her eyes slowly pulled up from her phone screen and met mine. "You're trending."

My eyes bulged and I whirled around to face Tom.

He nodded in solemn confirmation. "It's what I was looking at when you came out. The photos of you and Margaret having tea together went viral."

I shook my head. "But we had a private room."

He smiled knowingly. "But you hugged goodbye outside."

My lips parted, but I quickly pressed them tightly together.

"Perhaps you should go alone," I suggested after a minute. "I mean, there's getting people's attention and then there's throwing it in their faces."

Tom seemed to consider my words. "No," he finally concluded. "This is good."

I lifted my eyebrows in question. "You're sure?"

"We're on the right side of this. And it's damn well time everyone else got on board." The corner of his mouth tugged upward in the beginnings of a smirk. "So long as you're still alright lending your star power, that is."

I snorted. "Nothing else I'd rather do with it."